TEN
"Oh, there you are, sir," Harper said, ducking into the tent and stopping short. "Jesus, Mary and Joseph sir, but what happened to you?" he gasped.
Sharpe was in his white pyjamas and a clean shirt, new bandages round his ribs showing up very nicely underneath. He had a square of cotton bandaged to his head above his right eye, making his very clean-looking hair spike out the top not unlike the leaves on a pineapple. He looked freshly-shaved and quite pale without the usual smudges of powder smoke on his face. He was sat on the bed, one leg dangling over the side, playing cards with a small, blond girl. She was giggling and wagging a finger at him.
The two of them looked up and over at the Irishman.
"Oh, er, Pat," he said, clearing his throat and straightening a little. "We were just… er… playing," he said feebly. Harper took his shako off and walked over, looking at the little girl.
"Oh, so I see, sir," he said, sitting on the stool next to the bed and watching the girl grab all the cards toward her.
"I win Richard!" she crowed, giggling. Sharpe looked at Harper, the Major's face a study in how not to turn red with embarrassment.
"So this is what you were doing while we were off getting shot at, sir," Harper tutted. "What happened to your head, sir?" he asked curiously. Sharpe opened his mouth, then shook his head.
"I got into a fight," he said simply. Harper's mouth twitched into an amused 'o' shape. Emily leapt up and giggled, throwing herself at him and landing in his lap. She squirmed and turned round, leaning back on him. She pulled his arms round her and shifted her feet to a more comfortable position. She leaned her head back and looked up at him.
"Tell him, Richard!" she squealed in delight. "Tell him about the man on the horse, and Mister Mackenzie smacking the bugger's head in with a muss-cake bottom, and you getting shot in the head, and –"
"Emily," Sharpe said warningly, ignoring Harper's look of malicious fun admirably. "Do us a favour, lass, get us some tea, eh?" he asked warmly. She bounced up and slid off the cot slowly.
"Alright, but you owe me three biscuits," she said, wagging a finger at him and then walking out of the tent slowly. Harper turned and just looked at Sharpe.
"So, ah… had an eventful few days, so you did," Harper said innocently.
"Well, you know me, Pat. Hate to waste me time in bed," he said, sliding off the bed and walking to the table, putting the cards on it safely. He put a hand to his ribs and then walked back to the bed, sitting back down. "Gave them Frogs a good beating, did you?"
"Oh, that we did, sir," he said. "Colonel Bane's not a bad man, really. Little too eager to get us all into the killing field, so he is, but he's not afraid to be there himself," he added. "Nice daughters too, so I hear," he said lightly. Sharpe looked at him. "Ramona, sir. She says the wee one's planning to marry you when she's old enough," he grinned. Sharpe rolled his eyes.
"She int a bad lass, I'll give her that. Do me a favour, Pat," he said, "find some nice six year old lad fer her to fall in love with." He paused. "How old's your one?"
"Don't even think about it," Harper began.
"But she's a rich family, Pat, got a lot of –"
"Marry an English girl? Into an English family? God save Ireland! If you –"
"Here we are," said a cheerful voice, and Emily reappeared with three cups of steaming tea on a tray. She carried it over carefully, stopping in front of the two men. "Well? Take one, Richard," she said, and he put his hand out for one. The tray slipped a little and some tea spilled. "Oh, bugger!" she hissed. Harper looked at Sharpe, surprised. Sharpe just shrugged helplessly, his face a crash-course in how to appear sheepish. He took a cup carefully, and she pushed the tray toward Harper. "Pat?" she prompted. He grinned and took one gratefully.
"Well, thank you ever so much, miss," he said humbly, and she smiled at him. The tent flaps swished suddenly and Mackenzie ducked into the tent. Emily turned to see who it was and frowned. "Oh, Mac," she said, looking surprised. "I didn't get you a cup of tea. I'll be in more trouble now," she said, and they watched her hand the third cup to him and hurry out of the tent, presumably to get more tea.
" 'More' trouble?" Sharper prompted. Mackenzie walked over, nodding to Harper with a cheery smile.
"Well ye see sir, her father doesnae approve of her… new words," he said with a grin.
"What, 'muss-cakes'?" Sharpe quipped.
"No, sir. I overhead him ask the wee miss where she'd picked up her more colourful descriptions of people," he grinned.
"And what did she say?" Sharpe asked with trepidation.
"Ah," said the Scotsman, raising his cup of tea. The three men waved the tea at each other before sipping it. "She said: those are Sharpe's words."
THE END...
Richard and Pat will march again -- in "Sharpe's Knee"!