Jacq's Warlord (17 page)

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Jacq’s Warlord

Rufus called a halt just before dark. It being a clear night, he announced his decision to forego erecting tents, except for his.

Jacq was grateful for the privacy. She was further delighted when Beast arrived and led her to a stream where she was allowed to bathe. She scrubbed herself with handfuls of sand, scouring every place Percy had touched her until her skin squeaked.

It was a strange comfort to know the Beast watched over her all the while. Now, she was more aware of her surroundings and the possible dangers lurking behind every bush or tree.

When she was done, she walked back to camp, crawled between the furs of their shared pallet and fell promptly into a dreamless sleep.

When next she woke, it was pitch dark inside the tent, and for a moment she couldn’t remember where she was. Her heart began to flutter, and then all the memories of her earlier misadventure swamped her. Panic filled her, making her heart hammer faster. She shoved back the covers intent on finding Rufus.

Dashing out of the tent, she looked around to locate the one person who made her feel safe.

When her gaze lit on his broad shoulders and dark, ruffled hair, she released the breath she’d held since finding herself alone and let out a soft, shaky laugh at her weakness. Since when had she needed anyone else to make her feel safe?

Rufus sat by the fire with Donald, his back to her. They had cleared an area in front of them and used sticks to draw in the dirt. They spoke softly, and as she drew nearer she could see their faces were hard, their expressions tense.

Careful not to disturb them, Jacq sat on the ground in front of the fire next to Rufus.

His hand fell on her shoulder and he tugged her closer to his side, but his attention never wavered from his discussion with Donald.

Jacq liked that he instinctively wanted her near. She pulled her knees up to her chin, and tucked her skirts around her, enjoying the warmth of the fire and the low murmur of Rufus’ voice beside her. Curious now, Jacq turned her head to watch the men.

“Braxton’s troops are just south of us,” Donald said. “They number approximately two hundred and are on course to intercept Duke Henry within a week.” Donald scratched in the dirt, indicating the position of enemy and friendly troops.

Rufus was quiet for a long moment. “Our numbers are so few, I cannot see how we can go head-to-head with such a force. If the odds were only two-to-one…maybe. As it is, attacking him now would be suicide.”

“Perhaps we should pull back?”

Jacq watched as Rufus ran a hand across his face. For a moment he looked weary and disheartened. “No.” He pounded his fist on his knee. “We will not run like cowards for the hills when we hit upon misfortune. We’re sworn to help Duke Henry by delaying Braxton’s troops. He needs time to gather support from the other lords who have pledged to him.”

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“But Albermarle made that promise when our strength was a force to be reckoned with. Our men lie slaughtered along with Lord Albermarle. Even Duke Henry would understand if we turned back and used what men we have left to defend our lands and people.”

“Donald, I agree that alone we are a puny force. But there is no one else who can do this service for Henry. This is a point of honor. My honor.”

“You know I will follow wherever you say,” Donald said, his tone earnest. “But consider Rathburn and Albermarle’s lands as well. He died without an heir—so might you. What will become of your people?”

“What will happen is in God’s hands. We will keep our promise to slow Braxton. If we cannot trounce him with might, then we must find another way to accomplish our mission. If we survive, we will continue southward and join our force with Henry.”

Donald put a hand on his arm. “But Rufus, it would be suicide.”

“Then, so be it!” Rufus’ voice was harsh.

“
So be it?
” Jacq had had enough. “It’s obvious, even to me,
a mere woman
, that your usual mode of combat won’t get you very far.”

The two men glowered at her.

“Woman, you have no place in this discussion. Go back to the tent.” Rufus’

expression was so fierce, Jacq’s heart stuttered.

Her body flooded immediately with hot anger. “If you two are finished throwing around your male egos, why don’t we get down to the business of coming up with some real tactics that will work?”

Rufus’ face reddened.

But Jacq wasn’t budging. Her future was at stake here, too. These two didn’t know it, but she knew a thing or two about warfare through her studies of historical battles and twentieth-century tactics with her father. She had knowledge from the future, which could benefit their present situation—and they didn’t need grenade launchers and machine guns to make it happen.

Donald snorted. “What does a woman know of war?”

Jacq looked to Rufus. In the light from the fire, she saw the hard glare of his eyes, but he remained silent.

She lowered her knees and rose to kneel beside him, bringing her face level with his. “You know I studied the art of war with my father. He’s a great warrior and learned much in his travels. I can help you.”

His eyes narrowed, his gaze assessing. At least he was listening.

Donald threw up his arms. “I can’t believe you’re going to listen to this, Rufus. We haven’t the time to humor your leman.”

Jacq ignored his insult and continued to look directly at Rufus. He was the one she needed to convince. Jacq took a deep breath and struggled to organize her thoughts into a plan. “What you need is to adopt a different type of tactic.”

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Donald snorted and crossed his arms over his chest. “You’re as daft as she is.”

Rufus’ stare was unrelenting. Yet, he didn’t order her to silence.

She took that as encouragement. “I studied the history of war with my father. We walked many an ancient battlefield discussing the tactics used and why they did or didn’t work.” She didn’t bother to enlighten him with the fact that the ancient battlefields were actually in their future.

“What kind of father takes his daughter onto battlefields, much less allows her to study?” Donald asked with all the arrogance of the males of his time.

“The best!” She rounded on him, knowing she’d lost the advantage of rational argument. Her fists clenched, ready to give him a demonstration of the hand-to-hand combat skills her father had taught her.

Jacq caught Rufus’ mouth twitching and just resisted the urge to reach across and smack the smile off his face.

“Rufus, shall I call Beast to carry her to your tent and gag her?” Donald said, looking over her head as though she wasn’t even there.

“No, Donald,” Rufus said, his gaze still on Jacq. “Let her speak. It amuses me.”

Jacq’s gaze narrowed, and she pushed off her knees to stand—they could all rot!

Every last chauvinistic—

Rufus grabbed her wrist and forced her back down. “I’m curious now about what she might have to say.”

Jacq jerked away her arm.

“I suppose we could use a little levity,” Donald said. “Although, I do have to wonder whether you took a blow to the head, Rufus. I’ve never known you to consider the ideas of a woman unless they provided you pleasure.”

Jacq frowned at Donald’s crude comment, but refused to respond to the jibe. She held her breath, holding Rufus’ gaze, waiting for his response.

“Let us hear her out.” Rufus gave Donald a warning glare. “If anything she says holds merit, we will consider it. If not, she will know better the next time not to interfere where she is not needed.”

Jacq trembled with outrage—he was humoring her. Here she was trying to help, and he wouldn’t even give her the benefit of the doubt. But what could she expect?

Women’s liberation wouldn’t level the playing field for another eight hundred years.

She took a deep breath to clear her brain of anger. Now wasn’t the time for pride—

she’d make him pay for the dent in it later. “Where I come from, armies often engage in guerilla warfare rather than more conventional styles of fighting, especially when there is a disparity in numbers between forces.”

Rufus’ expression remained set, almost bored.

“What’s this guerilla warfare?” Donald asked, his arms still crossed, still skeptical.

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“It’s a style of fighting which is normally practiced by smaller forces and uses the tactics of sabotage and harassment, rather than direct confrontation. You sneak up on your enemy and surprise him when he least suspects it.”

“This isn’t telling us anything we do not already know,” Donald said. “It’s like the trap Percival set for us.”

“Something like that—only more.” Eagerly she leaned forward to explain, falling naturally into the role she was most comfortable with…that of a teacher. “In guerilla warfare, you disguise yourself in such a manner as to blend with your environment so the enemy can’t see you. In this way, you can infiltrate—piercing through their defenses to the very heart of their forces where you can do the most damage.”

“Like rubbing charred wood coal on our faces and sneaking up on them in the dark?” Donald rolled his eyes. “Tell us something we don’t already know.”

“There’s more art to camouflage and concealment than that. I’m talking about truly blending with your environment.”

“And the enemy cannot see you?” Donald’s incredulous face spoke volumes. “What kind of witchcraft do you use to accomplish that? Do you know of a secret potion to render us invisible?” Dismissing her with the wave of his hand, he turned to speak to Rufus. “Rufus, I have had enough of this farce. We haven’t time to humor her. Send her to your tent and let us get down to men’s work of fighting wars.”

Jacq turned her pleading gaze on Rufus. He had to listen. He couldn’t survive a direct attack against such a large enemy force. Suddenly, she realized it really mattered to her whether Rufus lived or died.

Rufus raised his hand, silencing Donald’s objections. “Let her continue. Her ideas intrigue me.”

“You cannot be serious.”

“I assure you I am.” Rufus pinned him with a mild glare.

Donald ducked his head and muttered, “Your pardon,
milord
.”

Turning back to Jacq, Rufus nodded. “Continue.”

She expelled the breath she’d held. “The concept behind guerilla warfare is not to attack from a position of strength to defeat your enemy, but rather to sneak in, stir things up and take out a few at a time.”

“Where is the honor in that sort of fighting? You’d have us fighting like the thieving Scots,” Donald protested.

“Where is the honor in being dead?” she snapped right back.

“To give your life in an honorable battle is a knight’s most ardent desire.” Donald pounded his hand to his chest.

Exasperated with him now, Jacq said, “Then do as you see fit.” She rose and dusted off her skirt carefully, curbing the urge to rail at the stubborn man like a fishwife.

But Jacq couldn’t resist having the last word. “Let me tell you, dead is dead. You will be of
no
use to Duke Henry if you die. Your usual way of making war is
not
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Jacq’s Warlord

to be effective. And you will
not
succeed in stopping Braxton’s army from reaching him.”

Rufus watched Jacq thoughtfully as she spoke. For one so bent on proving she was a man’s equal, she was anything but manly. Her dress hugged her in all the right places, accentuating every luscious curve. Her hair curled wildly about her shoulders, glinting in the firelight. But her eyes were what captivated him. The passion she held for what she was trying to tell them burned as brightly as the flames leaping from the campfire next to her. It was the same level of passion she brought to their lovemaking.

The mere thought of her writhing beneath him and screaming his name as he pumped his seed into her had him shifting uncomfortably in his braies. It was damned unnerving how no matter what she said or did, every action, every facial expression, reminded him of the magic she created when she lay beneath him.

She was most definitely a distraction he could ill afford now. However, what she said made sense. They hadn’t the strength to conduct the fight on the terms he preferred. If they were not strong enough in numbers, they could certainly take out as many as they could by using…what had she called it? Guerrilla warfare?

“She is right.”

Jacq and Donald turned in unison at his words.

“I am?”

“She is?”

“Do not look so surprised, Jacq. I’m a fair man. I’ve considered what you said carefully. Your father’s methods may hold the key to our success.”

She apparently didn’t like the way he emphasized “your father’s methods” because she frowned, but the phrase was certainly latched on to quickly by his next-in-command.

“All right, Lady Jacq, I would hear more about
your father’s methods
for rendering men invisible.”

“You would?”

Rufus smiled as he watched her wipe the astonished look from her face. “Sit down, Jacq.” Rufus made room for her beside him. “Tell us more so we might devise a plan to set Braxton on his rear.”

“Now you’re talking.” Hiking up her skirts, she squatted next to the drawing in the dirt, grabbing the stick from Donald.

She began by questioning them about the location of Braxton’s troops, the lay of the land, natural cover and landmarks. Rufus’ respect for her grasp of the factors that influence the outcome of a battle grew with each pointed question. He could tell by the thoughtful glances Donald gave her from time to time, that he too was impressed.

They worked well into the night, planning a course of action using the techniques of surprise, diversion and confusion. Once they were satisfied the plan might work, the 97

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three retired to get some much-needed rest. It was decided that on the morrow, Jacq would teach the men how to blend with the environment and become “invisible”.

As Rufus walked the perimeter of the encampment, he smiled envisioning the reactions his men would have to their instructor. They were sure to show the same amount of skepticism and resistance as Donald had. He was sure he’d enjoy seeing how Jacq countered it.