Kings and Emperors Read Online Free Page A

held, and I doubt if the French and Spanish together can change that. We’re safe. You’re safe,” he assured her as he took an offered glass, marvelling again at how fortunate he was to have discovered her. She’d been “under the protection” of an army officer, a Brevet-Major Hughes, when he met them, and a dull and joyless relationship that had been for her, for Hughes was a fool. General Dalrymple had put Hughes in command of the land forces for the raids, and, fortunately for Lewrie, the idiot dashed off in the pre-dawn dark and confusion and was captured by the Spanish, and still languished in their custody, on his parole ’til a Spaniard of equal rank could be exchanged for him. Hughes never knew what he’d had.
    Maddalena Covilh ā had come down from a mountain town of the same name, Covilh ā , to Oporto to make her fortune, struck up with a wine merchant who’d brought her to Gibraltar in 1804 and then died of Gibraltar Fever the same year, leaving her penniless and alone.
    Beyond her slim and supple body, beyond her bold good looks, Maddalena Covilh ā was also a very intelligent young lady of great sense, who had taught herself English, then Spanish, and was literate and fluent in all three languages.
    Such was the fate of all un-attached young women, and young widows, on Gibraltar, unless they’d inherited a family business or a bequest, and could support themselves; they had to be dependent upon a man who would take them “under his protection” and pay for their up-keep. Maddalena might have expected her new keeper to be the same sort of un-feeling brute as Hughes, but both she and Lewrie found their arrangement to be a mutually pleasing, amusing, and affectionate relationship, even knowing that it might not be permanent. He’d been a widower since 1802, and a sailor who could be ordered away any time.
    She was wearing a new gown in a russet colour, trimmed with just a bit of white lace, which he thought complemented her dark brown hair and eyes and slightly olive complexion quite nicely. He noted that a white lace shawl and a perky little straw bonnet trimmed with russet ribbons awaited their going-out atop a tall chest, out of reach of her cat, Precious. Maddalena had gone to the set of double doors that led to the harbour-front balcony of her set of rooms, to stare out at the sunset and sip her wine. He went to join her.
    â€œYe know, minha doce, that we’ll kick the French out of Portugal, and you’ll see Lisbon,” he cooed, and she leaned back into him. “Hell, I vow you’ll end up a fine lady in Lisbon, in a free country.”
    â€œ Sim  … yes, I would like that, someday,” she whispered back, still looking outwards. She then turned to look at him and put her arms round his waist, with a dreamy look on her face. “You will do that for me, I know. You’re a good man, Alan. Now, will you feed me? And where do we dine?”
    â€œPescadore’s!” they said in chorus, and laughed aloud, for that seafood establishment, run by a retired British Sergeant-Major and his Spanish wife and children, was one of the few really good places on the Rock to dine.
    *   *   *
    As merry as Lewrie tried to be with her, though, and as merry as she pretended to be, Maddalena’s mood, her sadness and worry, could not rise to the occasion, and she merely picked at her succulent seafood supper.
    Worst of all, for Lewrie at least, was later when they returned to her lodgings. When they sat on the settee and began to kiss and fondle, she laid a reticent hand on his chest.
    â€œAlan, I am … how you say, ‘under the moon’?” she whispered.
    â€œUnder … ah!” he realised, then deflated. “Damn. Well…?”
    It was Maddalena’s time of the month, and those cundums in his coat pocket would go un-used. He’d never much cared for tupping any maiden when