With Horses, 25 May

Now she understood. In the relief and anxiety over her baby, she had completely forgotten her own comparatively minor scrapes and bruises, as well as her indecorous appearance. She was still wearing the hussar's pelisse, which she now removed and handed to him, being careful to hold her torn dress closed with one hand. The baby was asleep again - its waking had been brief, though loud - and she herself was beginning to regain her calm. "Merci, monsieur," she said to Willoughby, giving him a watery smile before turning to the cloth and bucket.

(got a problem, do we have a Hussar officer playing at the moment?)

Willoughby nodded to both the woman and Broderick, seeing that they could communicate easily enough. He could see to finding an officer and to report this incident to him. Their superiors may then decide what they could do with the woman. They could certainly not let her go back to the 'wild' since there were still Portuguese prowling about and might not wish to miss an opportunity to exact their revenge. Those that they had in custody would also have to be reported. They would probably be let go, for the sake of good relations or other. He did not expect them to remain under guard for long.

The woman would probably remain with them unless an exchange was to be arranged. He was a mere trooper though, he was far from knowing all the politics and ways of the officers. "I will leave you with him for the moment." He spoke to the woman. "I need make a report." All in French obviously. "But I shall return later, should you need it." He looked at Broderick. "He is a fair man and will keep you and your child safe." He looked at his pelisse that she returned to him and wondered if he could find a spare article of clothing with the camp followers that she could borrow, to have herself appear and feel more presentable.

Matthew didn't understand a word of the exchange, but simply stood back slightly, holding the baby.

The mother looked down at her unkempt dress and smiled apologetically at the two men, needing to ask one more favor. "Do you have a needle and thread?" she asked Willoughby, mimicking a sewing action with her free hand.

Matthew had not noticed the state of her dress until she pulled off the pelisse. He blinked, and looked away; he didn't catch her gesture as a result, but he had already thought of it on his own. Shortly afterwards, he reappeared, holding a needle and a length of catgut suturing material in his hand. That would work to repair the dress, surely? Matthew had never tried to do any mending of clothing himself, but what was good enough to repair skin, had to be good enough for fabric!

She stared at him, frowning. "No no no no. Cotton thread, like this," she said in French, pinching the fabric of her dress. Who ever heard of using that stuff to mend a dress?

She didn't seem to want the suture. Matthew looked down at it. What was wrong with it? It wouldn't do a very nice job of mending the dress, true - even he could see that - but it would be serviceable at least! Yet she did, evidently, want something. And if the suture wouldn't do, he'd best find something else that would. He didn't have anything on hand - unless she wanted to try silk or metal sutures, but he'd rather not use those for a dress.

"Oi! You there!" he called out, to the hussar loitering not far away. "Yes, you - the bugler!" Deuced fellow with his Reveille. "Go find a needle and thread somewhere, or a dress - or something. Snap to it!"

were almost standing in his own mindset he had just sat down finally getting off with that damn hat as he heard the yelling at the 'bugler' he knew that it was him being yelled for as he stood up and listened to what being yelled, a needle and a thread he wondered well sounded simple enough to him so he answered "yes, sir" and moved in the direction of the camp followers thinking they might have something somewhere.

Willoughby needed to fetch an officer, which could in turn decide both on the fate of the Portuguese as that of the woman and her child. With a curt nod towards Broderick the lad said a simple. "If you would excuse me." And then turned about on his heel. He glanced briefly at the woman, added in French a simple: "Adieu." And went on his way in quick long strides till he reached Herrero, still waiting patiently and quietly for his rider. He pulled himself easily into the saddle again, took hold of the reins, turned him about and made it quick to cross the battered path, that could help him find one of their officers.

He had asked about the whereabouts of that man, when he reached some of the troopers, who had not taken part in the little incident. They in turn had pointed their fingers in the direction where the officer was, Gaines, if he remembered the name correctly. Sometimes officers were of great use, after all.

He had, at last, gotten settled. With a tin mug of wine and a cigar in either hand, Captain Gaines was comfortably situated on a makeshift chair. It was nice to be alone and unbothered at last.

Or not, perhaps. There was a horse approaching. One of his troopers. Gaines sighed.

He spotted the man who he had been looking for and slowed Herrero into a walk. It took only a few more steps before Willoughby tugged at the reins and his ride stood still.

Jumping of his back he made a sharp saluted and waited that he would be permitted to approach and make the report, the reason of which had had him ride and search for the officer at all.

"What is it, Trooper?" Gaines asked wearily, hoping whatever it was would not require him to rouse back up to his feet.

"We've had complications, sir." He paused. "We have been recently forced to bring a portion of the Portuguese under arrest , and have acquired a French woman and child. We need your presence, sir."

Heavens, Gaines thought. He could not leave his men for more than five minutes, could he? Arresting Portuguese and acquiring a French woman... how in the devil...?

"Of course you do," he said in resigned disgust. Was it really so impossible for these damned troopers to simply rest after a long day's march?

He wondered if Gaines had imagined them as herd dogs, not able to do nought but heard, whether it was the enemy, the supposed enemy or even French women. "Yes, sir."

He waited, hoping that the officer would understand that he was needed and accompany him back soon. But he would not press, or inquire that he does, just wait as was probably best with the officers. They were not the type of folk who would enjoy being hurried into anything, even less, if their subordinates would've attempted to do the hurrying.

"Well?" Gaines asked, reluctantly coming to his feet and abandoning his mug of wine.

"Sir, .. if you could come with me." He stood by his horse's side. If Gaines did not want to bother to take his, Herrero would be given to the officer first. Willoughby would walk if he needed. The matter was urgent though, so it was best to be solved the soonest possible, especially with the Portuguese, who had committed the crime. The French woman on the other hand could wait, the question of alliance and assistance not affected by her.

He couldn't help wondering if this trooper was a little slow. "Let's get on with it," Gaines told him irritably and stuck the cigar into the corner of his mouth. With luck, he could get this mess sorted out favourably and return to his wine within an hour.

Since the officer did not seem to ask for his mount, nor to mount the horse at offer, Willoughby decided to walk as well - not that he had much of a choice -. He lead the way, not saying a word to the man. His pace was fair, not too fast, nor too slow, and brisk.

They were soon nearing the camp where the troopers held the Portuguese group captive, and also the Frenchwoman with her child. Some of the men were still standing, while most had taken a seat and would only have gotten up and standing, upon the arrival of the officer. Herrero might've been surprised not to be ridden. Still he walked at the given pace, placing one foot ahead of the other, and bobbing his head only once or twice.

"So. What is all this business about?" Gaines demanded, once he took in the scene before him. The smoke from his cigar drifted lazily skywards in wisping blue curls.

After his offer of the sutures had been spurned (a little ungraciously, he thought - he still didn't see what was wrong with the idea) Matthew had put them away again, and then sat down on the edge of his wagon, rocking the infant gently, unconscious of how it might appear. When Gaines showed up, he did not stand - the child was resting quietly again, though more naturally this time, and he did not want to rouse it. He nodded to the man, though. Matthew hadn't forgotten that he owed his place here at least in part to the Gaines family.

He had not been there, but he put in regardless, "The irregulars. As I understand, they assaulted this woman and her child. The hussars took them all into custody, and...somehow I've ended up looking after the baby; his head is injured." Matthew smiled faintly at the little creature in his arms.

Gaines tried not to sigh. More trouble than he wanted to deal with at that moment.

"Has it been to the surgeon?" Was his first question, though he suspected this had already been seen to, if Broderick was involved. "And the mother as well?"

"Yes, I took him to Howard already," Matthew answered promptly. He'd not really taken the mother - he hadn't thought of it then - but she seemed to be mostly alright, and he guessed Howard wouldn't want to be bothered. "Said he needed to be monitored, so I supposed I'd watch him for a while. The mother is well, as far as I can tell - just a little scratched and shaken up." And needing a new dress, or the means to repair this one.

Well that was good, Gaines thought. One less thing to worry about. It did not, regretfully, remove the larger problem of the woman's nationality - just what was he meant to do with a Frenchwoman, anyway?

"If she is well and fit to move, she may attend her own child," Gaines said. "But she is not to go far from this spot unescorted by an officer." As for the captured irregulars... he sighed. "Turn the Portuguese free. They are our allies, damn it all."

The woman eyed the officer warily, still holding her dress closed with one hand. She could tell that they were talking about her. In her distress she had almost forgotten that she was now in the enemy camp. But with the vétérinaire rocking her infant, she felt some sense of safety.

The officer - well, perhaps he merited a bit of appeasing. She bobbed an awkward curtsy, still holding her dress in one hand and the damp cloth in the other.