In the surgeon's wagon

"And your mum? What was her name?"

"Mary, I think. Don't really remember. I was only about four when she died, see."

"Mary, and Amos, and Margaret. Oh! And you read Margaret but you never read the other word there. See if you can figure that one out."

"Oh. Um. Don't know that letter." He pointed at the V. "But the others... E for eel. A, nuh, sss..." He frowned. "No, I think it's E for egg... is that your surname? Evans?"

"Yes it is. Very good, my Gable! That's a V there for vuh. Like Vickery and vine and very."

"Vuh. For vine and Vickery." He couldn't seem to stop grinning. "Looks like an officer A, but upside-down and without the line through it."

"It does, doesn't it? And now you can read my whole name and your own."

"I... I... You don't know what it means, bein' able to read me name, lass."

She smiled at him, touched. He kept saying it, but it was sincere, and she was pleased to see how much it meant to him. "I'm glad, Gabe. This has been - it probably shouldn't be, but this has been really nice. I wish you didn't have to be flogged for us to sit in a wagon like this, but - oh come here." And she finished with a kiss.

He kissed her back, surprised and pleased that she had initiated it.

"I wish I didn't have to be flogged either, but it's helped, a bit. And this has been nice, and I wish I could do something nice for you, like. To say thanks."

"I told you - you don't have to," she replied, patiently embarrassed. "Anyway, you got me a free lift in a wagon for a day, and that's pretty nice."

"I mightn't have to, but I want to," Cotton said. "And it is pretty nice, not havin' to walk for once."

"I wonder how hard it would be to let everyone travel in wagons. The army, I mean."

He chuckled at that. "Need a lot of horses, which'd mean a lot of forage."

He decided laying down was going to be more comfortable, and gingerly lowered himself to his belly, grateful for the padding.

"Oh. Well that's true. Hmm. There must be something better than marching though."

"There is. Lyin' here lettin' the horses do the hard work for once. Why don't you come down here where I can see you?"

"And just why should I do that?" she asked with mock suspicion in her voice, even as she was curling up on her side.

"Means I can see your face. And it makes it easier to talk, like. Don't you agree?"

"Easier to fall asleep," she replied. "Oh, so much better than marching. Maybe the wagon will get lost and carry us off to someplace with no more war and no more marching... I know, we've hardly even started yet on this march, haven't even had any battles yet, but wouldn't it be nice? To stop somewhere and be at home?"

"It'll happen one day, lass, I'm sure. But we've hardly started this march yet. I wonder if mebbe it's possible to be at home when you're with someone - or a bunch of folks - even if you keep movin' around together. Like, I think of Mister Vickery's Company as bein' me home, now."

She didn't answer at first but looked thoughtful and a little bit grave. "But what if you lose that home?" she finally asked.

"Lose...?" Cotton frowned a little, and then realised what she meant. "You ain't goin' to lose it, Maggie. You're part of the 60th - of us. If... if anythin' happened to me, which it ain't, you can stay with the Company. Or Mister Vickery will arrange for you to go back to England, or do whatever you want. You're part of us. Didn't he say you was still on the strength?"

"Yes, of course," she said, smiling with false cheer. That hadn't been what she was thinking of. She still thought of "home" as England, and Yorkshire, and Dewsbury, but in truth her home for the past three and a half years had been James Balstrode. And with his death, it was as if her home had been destroyed forever. It wasn't a place where she could return, because it no longer existed. As a British woman in Portugal, she was a stranger in a strange land, but she felt that same isolation within the 60th rifles. It was still less than a day since she had admitted that she actually loved Gabriel, but was he her home, just like that? She realized she was frowning as she stared at the leather-covered mat, and she had to shake herself to break out of the reverie.

"I... I'm sorry, if I said summat wrong," Cotton said, a little awkwardly, realising Maggie had been staring into space for a moment. "I wish... Is it about Jem?"

It had only been a matter of days since he'd comforted her in a Lisbon market, and then on the first evening's camp, when she'd wept over her lost love. He knew he couldn't replace Jem, and didn't want to. After all, Maggie had only come to Portugal in the first place because of her sweetheart.

"Tell me," he said instead, hoping that if she could share her pain it might not hurt her so much. If indeed that was what she had meant...

Her mouth twitched in a tentative smile. "No," she said, shrugging off the thoughts. "It's all right. And you're right - the rifles are my home now!" She gave his hand a little squeeze. "And don't apologize so much."