A/N: I find it quite curious how invested you all are in the bulging breeches. Hope your imagination then carries you through this chapter where they are not directly mentioned. This chapter just stirs things up a little more. (And it's only the beginning of the day :o)). Many, many thanks to ShadowSamurai83 - and a hug! To CatS81 too *biiig hugs*

Enjoy!

June 14th, 1815

On the small scale of things, it was a day like many other days before. Soldiers gathered in preparation for the big battle, would go through exercises while hoping for a quick end. They would be eager for a quiet afternoon and night with enough food in their stomachs and enough brandy to fill up. They would hope for a sunny day and a dry night, so they could have a comfortable night's sleep.

Some would care for a chance to escape the tedium by finding a tavern with a rousing game of cards where there was money to win, or - even better - a willing wench to forget the world with for a while and scratch the itch.

There was no difference between the crews and the officers, though the latter were probably hoping for a hot bath and a change into the more fancy of their clothes. It was only Wednesday, but with the battle looming. Who knew when they would find another chance?

Brussels was alive as usual, with teas, parlour conversations and parties. The Duke's staff officers were seen at each and every one of them, which was not unusual, since the Duke wished for his officers to socialize as much as possible.

One would think that they had not a care in the world, a ruse, of course, as their superior officer was heavy with worries.

What he did not know yet, and what lay the heaviest on his mind, was the fact that he still could not pinpoint where Bonaparte would attack. Neither did he know when. The surprise on the side of the French could have fatal consequences as the German headquarters was far away, too far to react quickly should Napoleon attack the Prussian allies first.

Wellington was not happy with the situation, and had he known just how close the battle was upon him, his temper might have been a lot less sweet than it seemed to the ladies in the parlours that day.

The morning was different than the previous, though he could not say why. Maybe it was the dampness of the land after the nightly rain and thunderstorms which had howled viciously over them. Slowly rising to consciousness he could still feel the shaking of the ground under the pure force of the thunder.

The hay had provided warmth, the roof of the shed at least some shelter from the rain, but it had still been a cowing experience, reminding man of the power of greater beings.

It had also been the first time he had seen a sign of uncertainty in her. She was a fearless woman, yet the thunder had rushed shivers through her which were not caused by the touch of his hands and lips. Seeing her vulnerable like this had brought on a quick, but fierce wave of protectiveness. He had held her protectively, whispering nonsensical assurances until the storm had run its course and she had relaxed into him. In the aftermath, she had taken his hands and lead him on a journey of discovery that he had not thought possible with a woman.

All this tumbled through his mind, warming his body and his heart from inside, but all hazy thoughts turned into sharp realization that once again he woke up alone. It twisted sharply in his gut, this hot and cold, the unanswered questions. Again, she was gone like a thief in the night.

Not sure what had woken him in the first place, Boyd rose up to his knees to look around the meadow and was suddenly galvanised into action.

There was a short blink of bright colours amidst the green of the foliage. Under the overcast sky, it could hardly have been a trick of light. As quickly as possible, he followed the sight, hopeful to bring some of the secret into the open.

She moved fast and almost noiselessly, he had to give her that. Yet his long strides had him at an advantage and before long he could see her silhouette amongst the branches and leaves. She did not seem to feel followed, her movements confident and serene, surprising if she had indeed espionage on her agenda.

They went on for a while, she in front, Boyd a few steps behind, careful not to disturb her serenity. It gave him the chance to watch her as well, gave him a chance to realize just how much at home she seemed to be in the fields and woods. Here and now she did not give the impression of a woman used to parlours and ballrooms. Her ability to pick purses and charm men for a gain also showed her to be a woman of mercenary...of the streets? Yet he could not believe that about her, did not want to. Not only would he declare himself a failing fool, but he could not allow anybody, not even himself, to slander her this way.

It was this thought startled him more than he cared to admit.

Suddenly, she stopped, just next to the tree line, but still in the shadows of the crowns. Several feet behind her, Boyd stopped as well, crouching down to use the cover.

Within moments there were more voices, quickly discernible as two other women.

Their conversation was rushed as much as it could be in French. Boyd realized that the women spoke the language well, their words chosen well, only unease and excitement making their speech rough.

"Avez vous trouvé quelque chose cette nuit?", one woman asked.

"Non, rien de conséquence." It was her and though he could not be certain, he believed to hear hesitation in her reply.

"Nous n'avons plus de..." Inwardly, Boyd groaned as just at this moment, a gust of wind rustled the leaves and drowned out the words.

The women lowered their voices even more it seemed, the third woman joining in and obviously agreeing to what the other had said. "Oui, Madame..."

She was interrupted by her again, a quick, "Grace, s'il vous plaît," being uttered just a bit impatiently.

The apparently local woman smiled, but even in his hiding place, Boyd could hear the embarrassment in her voice. "Very well. Grace." She paused for a moment, before continuing in surprisingly polished but halting English. "My younger brother, Emile, is paid by a soldier. To give information. It is getting too dangerous...if you are found out..."

The sound of hooves nearby interrupted the hushed conversation, before either of the three women could say anything more. From his place, he could not see who it was, but the women quickly slipped between the trees disappearing into the grey morning, a strategy Boyd could, in all sensibility, only follow.

As he carefully made his way back through the trees, firmly in the direction of the encampment, his mind was in turmoil.

What had he heard there?

What did it all mean?

Grace.

Her name was Grace.

A slow smile stole over his features.

Grace.

The name suited her.

The encampment was only just waking on a general scale as he returned to the tents. Boyd did not bother with the men who began their day as he made his way for the small group of tents, amongst which his own was.

Jordan sat before his, expectant of his superior officer.

"How's Wharton?" the Captain asked by way of a greeting.

"Nothing a bandage and a good brandy cannot heal. The Lieutenant is resting, sir."

Boyd nodded. "Good. And our new addition?"

The Cornet shrugged, his previously open expression closing off. "In my tent, waiting to talk to you, he says."

Sitting down on the field chair, Boyd eyed his soldier. "You do not trust him. You think it is a mistake that we took him on." Neither was a question.

"Cannot trust many people these days, sir. Strangers who suddenly want to help are... Trust needs to be earned, sir."

Once again, Boyd nodded. Leaning forward, he pulled a mug from the ground, then filled it up with hot water over some tea they had stashed. They would not have many opportunities to sit down and have some tea before the battle commenced and Boyd was eager to enjoy the small luxury.

"But?" he finally asked.

Jordan hesitated, sipping his own brew for a few moments. "He knows how to fight, shielded Wharton from worse last night."

"There you have it."

"True," the Cornet admitted. "But we have seen spies move in with much less finesse. It might be part of his plan to deceive us. We cannot know who to trust..."

The intensity of Jordan's last words surprised Boyd. Turning slightly, he eyed the other man intensively. "What do you mean?"

Once again, Jordan hesitated. "It seems as if everybody has an agenda these days. Boney, The Duke, Jean le Pilleur, Chris...even we have one. It is of little consequence that we were given ours by His Majesty. Everybody keeps secrets and follows them. Even those women we saw yesterday."

Next to him, Boyd stiffened, which the Cornet noticed, but he carried on regardless. "Those women do not belong in the outskirts of an encampment, they were too refined for it. Yet, they blended in naturally." He paused, looking thoughtfully into his own mug. "Wharton and I were talking about it last night after you were gone. Again."

The mug in the Captain's hand stopped on its way to his mouth. It took a moment, but then he had full control over himself again. The glare he sent the lower ranked man would have made others cower, but Jordan feared little that came from his superior officer. Still, he found it wise not to pursue the idea any further.

There was a pause before Boyd asked, his voice edgy with annoyance, "What were you saying?"

Jordan shrugged. "We know very little about Jean le Pilleur as a person. All we have is gossip and vague hints. No confirmed home country or language, no history; we do not even know if it is really a man."

The Captain snorted. "A woman?"

"We do not know whether it is actually Jean who hits the victims before they are shot. It could be one of the gang... And Jean could easily be Jeanne."

"You do not honestly believe that, Cornet Jordan, do you?" Having found his equilibrium, Boyd snorted with laughter.

The Cornet, however, did not laugh along. "We know little and many things seem possible. Only because you feel the gentleman way, sir, does not mean that we are wrong."

It was a credit to Captain Boyd's gentlemanly ways and upbringing that he did not strike his Cornet on the spot.

His voice, however, held enough warning for Jordan to instantly follow the hissed order.

"Dismissed!"

The young man looked up from his mug, his face an example of curiosity. The open curiosity turned into a guarded expression quickly, though, upon seeing Boyd's face. Sitting up straighter and placing his mug on the ground, he visibly prepared for attack.

Boyd noticed the transformation in the young man on a subconscious level, but as anger was still surging too hotly through his body he did not play heed to the signals of his companion.

"Sir," the young man acknowledged calmly.

"You will stand and salute for a superior officer," Boyd barked as he stood with shoulders squared at parade rest.

Chris followed the order; however, his movements were deliberate enough to show that he only did this on his own terms. Taking up position, he saluted quickly, sharply, but with a tone of irony. "Sir!"

"Sit!"

The young man once again followed the order, now almost amused.

"Will it be worth to re-visit the barn?"

On his chair, Chris deliberately picked up his mug up first, before shrugging. "If we go right away they will not have had the time to empty it completely. But since we left them all alive, I believe Jean will have been informed and taken his own measures."

"It was an operational failure then," Boyd attested and leaned against the tent post. Weariness overcame him for a moment. The long hours of the day, always under the cloud of the coming battle, the subversive attempts of gathering information drained his body. Meeting...Grace...every night was beginning to drain his soul, just as she was invigorating him.

He knew he needed some proper rest before the battle commenced. An overtired soldier was sluggish, a dangerous condition in the middle of a battle. Yet, he could not fathom not seeing her tonight. It would be too long, too lonely, too...

"I would not be so dismissive, sir," Chris broke into the silence after a while. "Putting pressure on them gives us an advantage."

"I would prefer to have a clear description of the man."

The younger man shrugged, a smile flitting around his mouth at Boyd's petulant tone.

They were silent once again as Boyd contemplated his companion.

"What do you gain from helping us, Chris?"

"Satisfaction," the younger man answered calmly, as if he had rehearsed the words in his head. "Settling a few accounts. Justice."

They were silent for a moment, before the young man shrugged with an ironic smile. "Take your pick, Captain."

Translations

"Avez vous trouvé quelque chose cette nuit?" - "Have you found out anything tonight?"

"Non, rien de conséquence." - "No, nothing of importance."

"Nous n'avons plus de..." - "We are running out of..."

Thank you for reading. Comments would be greatly appreciated.