With Horses, 25 May

She flinched as his hands and his sabre came near to touching her. In spite of his instruction not to move, she put up her hands to cover herself lest he decide to suddenly grope at her through the thorns. By now she did not even notice the bleeding scratches as she watched his every move.

Willoughby did his best not to look at her, and to keep his hands from her body to reassure her of his intentions. He did not want to scare her and felt that her screams might have been coming with just a reason of a man coming onto her. He sighed and broke of another thick array of twisted twigs and stick. He carefully tugged it aside. While he did so he watched that she would not have something suddenly scrape or pull on her dress or her exposed skin.

"Shhh." he murmured softly, and when he spoke, it was still in hushed French. "I'll try to free your other arm now.. ok? " He spoke as he stepped back. He avoided bending over her even if that would have been easier and he would have needed to cut less of the thorn bush than if he was to come around to do it. He knelt beside her knee. "Just a little more, oui?" He said again and cut into the plant. How could she have managed to entangle herself so? Poor girl.

She persisted in making it worse by trying to free herself, but at last the branches were all cut and pulled away. Yet still she did not want to emerge to face the group of curious and impatient hussars who had gathered to watch. She looked at them doubtfully. The one who had cut her free seemed sincere, but now there was the danger of his companions, looming over her with perceived menace, anger, vengeance and lust. Just like the Portuguese.

At last she spoke coherently, grabbing Willoughby's arm and whispering in French. "Please, please, don't let them hurt me, please. I'll stay with you, I'll do anything you want, just you, if you'll keep me safe from them."

"She's a Froggy. Makes sense." Forbes muttered, as he had come closer. The large man had been rather annoyed, and he was careless of showing it. That youngster with the spotted horse shouldn't have bothered so much, in his opinion.

Timothy kept his eyes on her at that time, but respectfully and did not have them stray lower, but if anywhere they had looked past her to her left, as he spoke. "Madame, you need not to worry, they will not hurt you." He glanced briefly, so quickly as he dared, across her dress to see how damaged it was and how wet, and then looked at her again. "I will keep you safe, but.. I do not need anything in return." He answered, in clear, though whispered, French. A learnt sort. "...You are cold." He then said as he helped her up and from the dangerous thorn. "And you need to be seen by the surgeon." He indicated her injuries.

He hesitated. The men could have disapproved, but the girl's comfort seemed more important than that. "Done this over you, miss." He spoke as he reached to the knot that kept his pelisse in place over his shoulder and undid it. "It will keep you warmer." Again, he was slow, and spoke softer, as if afraid that she might misunderstand his intentions yet again.

In fact her teeth were chattering and her dress was torn, immodestly so, and she had slept in the open without blankets or shelter, but she trembled more from fear than cold. She flinched and stared wildly at the pelisse as he fastened it about her shoulders, but she did not make a movement to accept or reject it.

Then she noticed for the first time the group of Portuguese who had been collected nearby. With a cry she turned to run, but one of the hussars caught her, Dudley. "Come on, missy. You'll come along of us!" In truth she would be safer with the hussars. If other Portuguese irregulars found her, they would surely tear her apart.

"She's a pretty lass, that one. Be sure not to let her escape." It was one of the new troopers, and he gave the girl a very unpleasant, but meaningful look.

Willoughby walked to Dudley, paused and then spoke: "..I can take care to ride with me. We will walk behind the Portuguese.." He hesitated, not quite sure why he had offered. "..She's a..woman." As if that would explain anything.

"I can see she's a woman," Dudley said stupidly, but he pushed her back toward Willoughby. She was his prize, after all, and it was only fair that he should feel possessive. "Just make her shut up again."

Willoughby caught the poor girl, but was quick to release all but her wrist. He didn't want to run after the girl either, even if the grip might frighten her. "Quiet now." He murmured to her in french. "We aren't alarming no French Dudley. Don't see why you're so worried 'bout a little squeak of a woman." He said.

Forbes was leaning back a bit, seated on his horse. "..Why are we taking the Portuguese with us? Ain't they suppose to be on our side?" He asked, though remained there to block any attempt of them leaving. None even bothered to think whether any could speak Portuguese. They knew they couldn't anyway.

"I just hate screamin' women," Dudley grumbled. It was perfectly reasonable.

".. Don't give them a reason to.. and they shan't scream." Willoughby answered, and turned to walk back to his horse with the girl. Herrero studied her sceptically and flicked his tail at the two, as if to say that he was not going to carry a pair on his back, and no amount of hay could pay him to do so.

"..Come, madmoselle." Willoughby spoke to the girl, wishing he hadn't volunteered to take care of one. He had little luck with them. One robbed him of his purse, which showed even now. "We will ride." he indicated the speckled horse.

She shook her head, drawing back in fear and whispering a babble of nonsense. "I will stay here. My friends will be here soon. They'll come for me. I'll wait here."

"They will not. The French are running. You will be safest with us." Safer, than sitting there, and waiting for another Portuguese group to find her. Or possible the one that they were taking back in the custody of their own. "..and , you must come." His grip on her wrist was still firm, though he did not yank her closer to the horse just yet, but hoped that she might choose to go willingly. "..please?"

The noise of the Portuguese men nearby and the looks of the other troopers decided the matter. She nodded nervously and allowed Willoughby to help her onto the horse.

It was settled. With relief he guided her to the horse, and with worry he placed his hands above her hips to help her by lifting her higher to get onto his horse. He nearly expected her to start kicking, scratching, screaming and possibly costing him an eye.

Forbes smirked and shrugged and looked instead to Stubbins. " How's that Portuguese man you've injured? Can he walk?"

"He seems fit to," Stubbins answered. "We lettin' 'em go?"

"Don't think so. We'll have an officer have a talk with them. " To be honest, Forbes didn't really know what to do with the prisoners that weren't of the enemy side. They probably had to be explained that they were at the moment facing the British. They were taking the woman, but that was about it. Clearly the lass was French.

"We don't need them attacking us the next time, thinking that we are with the Frogs."

"Officer comin'," Corporal Tunney warned in an undertone. The troopers spread out a little farther and busied themselves with setting picquets, not knowing what else to do under the circumstances.

A thin-faced lieutenant reined in and peered blandly down at the little cluster of people on the ground. "What is all this?"

The young woman apparently knew an officer when she saw one, for she jumped down from the saddle and stood at the horse's side, the side away from the lieutenant. She stood cautiously peering over the animal's neck and looking as if she wished to be hidden.

Forbes stepped forward, and greeted their officer, gazing at their prisoners. "Portuguese sir. We believe so at least. They have been attacking this French woman." He had the identity of a French speaking lass confirmed as such by Willoughby, who had frowned when all his efforts to get her on the horse were suddenly nill, just as she slipped off of it again, trying to hide.

"...The woman is here sir." Forbes pointed towards the spotted horse and behind it. The former rider's feet were clearly visible, her torn dress even so.

The lieutenant lifted an eyebrow. "French, you say. Bring her here." He would speak to the Portuguese in due time.

"Probably need a sawbones for a couple of 'em, sir," Stubbins offered, with a gesture at the man he had nearly cut down.

"Yes sir." Willoughby turned the horse about a little so that the woman was made to step forward or else be nudged in the said direction by the horse's side and later rump. He took her hold of her wrist fairly gently and told her quietly: "... come, the officer wishes to see you. It'll be alright." All in French before with a slow nod he turned towards the lieutenant and so hoped that she would follow his lead.

She shook off the young man's grip on her wrist but followed him without demure. She looked up warily at the officer, a slight touch of defiance in her gaze. An officer had better behave like a gentleman.

"See to it, Trooper," the lieutenant said. Behind the man's back, Stubbins rolled his eyes. Typical bloody officers.

"Yes sir," he replied and looked at Forbes. "Look after this lot for a bit?" He didn't wait for an answer, but remounted his horse and put his heels back. Might as well fetch a sawbones and the rest of the bloody army while he was at it.

The lieutenant ignored them all, his attention on the Frenchwoman. "What's brought you here, so close to the army?"

She continued to stare distrustfully as he spoke to her in English, but then she looked around to see if the French-speaking trooper was still close by.

"Sir, she does not speak English." Willoughby hadn't moved off right away. "Or understand it." He added and looked at the girl. He didn't know whether to offer to translate or if the officer knew French already and so preferred to remain quiet.