JК
Sharpes Eagle :: Корнуэлл Бернард
Страница: 32 из 203She was still dressed like a man, in the black trousers and boots, with the same wide-brimmed hat that shadowed her beauty. She was walking, or rather limping like her horse, and at the sight of Sharpe she stopped and looked at him angrily, as if she was annoyed at being seen unexpectedly. The servant, a slight, dark man leading the heavily loaded mule, stopped ten paces behind and stared mutely at the tall, scarred Rifleman. The mare also looked at Sharpe, swished its tail at the flies, and stood patiendy with one hind leg lifted off the ground. The shoe was hanging loose, held by a single nail, and the animal must have suffered agonies on the heat of the stony road. Sharpe nodded at the hind foot. “Why didn’t you take the shoe off?”
Her voice was surprisingly soft. “Can you do it?” She smiled at him, the anger going from her face, and for a second Sharpe said nothing. He guessed she was in her early twenties, but she carried her looks with the assurance of someone who knew that beauty could be a better inheritance than money or land. She seemed amused at his hesitation, as though she was accustomed to her effect on men, and she raised a mocking eyebrow. “Can you?”
Sharpe nodded and moved to the horse’s rear. He pulled the hoof towards him, holding the pastern firmly, and the mare trembled but stayed still. The shoe would have fallen off within a few paces and he pulled it clear with the slightest tug and let the leg go. He held the shoe out to the girl. “You’re lucky.”
Her eyes were huge and dark. “Why?”
“It can probably be put back on, I don’t know.” He felt clumsy and awkward in her presence, aware of her beauty, suddenly tongue-tied because he wanted her very much. She made no move to take the shoe, so he pushed it under the strap of a bulging saddle bag. “Someone will know how to shoe a horse up there.” He nodded up the road. “There’s a Battalion camped up there.”
“The South Essex?” Her English was good, tinged with a Portuguese accent.
“Yes.”
She nodded. “Good. I was following them when the shoe came off.” She looked at her servant and smiled. “Poor Agostino. He’s frightened of horses.”
“And you, ma’am?” Sharpe wanted to keep her talking. It was not unusual for women to follow the army; already Sir Arthur Wellesley’s troops had collected English, Irish, Spanish and Portuguese wives, mistresses, and whores, but it was unusual to see a beautiful girl, well horsed, attended by a servant, and Sharpe’s curiosity was aroused. More than his curiosity. He wanted this girl.
Her voice was surprisingly soft. “Can you do it?” She smiled at him, the anger going from her face, and for a second Sharpe said nothing. He guessed she was in her early twenties, but she carried her looks with the assurance of someone who knew that beauty could be a better inheritance than money or land. She seemed amused at his hesitation, as though she was accustomed to her effect on men, and she raised a mocking eyebrow. “Can you?”
Sharpe nodded and moved to the horse’s rear. He pulled the hoof towards him, holding the pastern firmly, and the mare trembled but stayed still. The shoe would have fallen off within a few paces and he pulled it clear with the slightest tug and let the leg go. He held the shoe out to the girl. “You’re lucky.”
Her eyes were huge and dark. “Why?”
“It can probably be put back on, I don’t know.” He felt clumsy and awkward in her presence, aware of her beauty, suddenly tongue-tied because he wanted her very much. She made no move to take the shoe, so he pushed it under the strap of a bulging saddle bag. “Someone will know how to shoe a horse up there.” He nodded up the road. “There’s a Battalion camped up there.”
“The South Essex?” Her English was good, tinged with a Portuguese accent.
“Yes.”
She nodded. “Good. I was following them when the shoe came off.” She looked at her servant and smiled. “Poor Agostino. He’s frightened of horses.”
“And you, ma’am?” Sharpe wanted to keep her talking. It was not unusual for women to follow the army; already Sir Arthur Wellesley’s troops had collected English, Irish, Spanish and Portuguese wives, mistresses, and whores, but it was unusual to see a beautiful girl, well horsed, attended by a servant, and Sharpe’s curiosity was aroused. More than his curiosity. He wanted this girl.