Page 50 of The Moonstone Hero
Caden nodded. “I understand your concern and want you to know that I care for Ella very much. But I have much to get through before I dare consider marriage.”
“I know very little about the Ashanti battle that decimated your regiment. This is what you and I will talk about after supper. In the meanwhile, what do you think of Westgate Hall?”
Cormac seemed exceedingly proud of it and the happy life he had made here with his wife and children, so Caden had no wish to give him less than a grand compliment. “It is quite beautiful. I can see why Ella and Imogen love it here so much.”
“If you look over in the distance,” Cormac said, quite pleased by the response, “you can just make out the village of Moonstone Landing and its harbor.”
“Yes, I see.” Caden leaned over the balustrade as they stood on the terrace, easily making out the faint outline of the hospital and fort, and the boats moored in the harbor. In truth, the views from the house were spectacular, especially on a clear day like today.
Supper was a relaxed affair, the five of them seated around a small table in the family’s private dining room. The formal dining room, which could hold up to thirty or forty guests comfortably, was reserved for grander affairs. Caden preferred this informal intimacy, especially since it kept him closer to Ella, who was seated directly opposite him. This afforded him anunobstructed view of her beautiful face and those lovely lips he had not kissed nearly often enough.
The food provided for their supper was as good as any he had ever tasted, easily rivaling the repasts served at parties hosted by London’s elite. Not that the courses brought out were extravagant. Quite the opposite—the fare was simple, consisting of a traditional seafood stew offered for lighter palates and a rack of lamb for those who desired a heartier main course.
The conversation flowed smoothly, and so did the wine.
Ella and Imogen did most of the talking, relating the events of the day to their aunt and uncle, who listened attentively.
After supper, Caden and the marquess retired to the marquess’s study. “Care for a brandy, Caden?”
“No,” he said with a laughing groan, settling in one of the large leather chairs beside the unlit hearth. “I shall fall asleep if I drink any more.”
Cormac chuckled as he set aside the bottle and did not bother to pour a drink for himself. “I do not need it, either. Better to keep my wits while I listen to your story, especially since my wife is going to pry me for information as soon as you are gone. However, I give you my word of honor—whatever you wish to remain in confidence shall remain so. Not even my wife, whom I cherish more than my own life, will get it out of me. Now, care to talk about what you went through in that last battle?”
“No, it is the last thing I ever want to talk about or think about. The anguish of it haunts my dreams nightly. However, I am going to have to tell someone soon, because a bloodbath like this cannot be allowed to occur ever again. I need to confide in someone, and I believe there is no one better than you.”
“I am honored,” Cormac said sincerely, taking the chair beside Caden’s.
“And I am grateful you are willing to listen. My grandfather will never understand the horror of what happened or care thatthis massacre could have been avoided. In fact, I am certain this will be another source of disagreement between us. I am not sure any of the generals will understand, either. How many of them have had real battle experience? How many of them fought against Napoleon and his armies? I mean really engaged the enemy forces in pitched assaults, hand-to-hand battles?”
Cormac nodded. “Many of them were already older when the Peninsular War began. Those generals are dead or quite infirm by now.”
“Indeed, the experienced ones are mostly gone. Many of those in charge at present are just playing at being commanders. They have never set foot on a real battlefield or put their studies of the great ancient battles or tactics used by legendary conquerors to actual use. Nor do they understand the terrain or the local customs and conflicts in the countries where we have expanded our influence. Who are our friends? Who are our enemies? Why are we there in the first place?”
“It is all very different now,” Cormac agreed. “Back at the height of Napoleon’s power, many noblemen joined the fray. We fought in Spain. We fought in France and throughout Europe. Our enemies were familiar. We were soldiers fighting for a cause we believed in, fighting to protect our country from invasion. Our generals were not merely chess players moving men around the board as though they were mere pawns to be sacrificed. But now, everything is different.”
“This is why our system must change. It is important that our very best soldiers can climb through the ranks and succeed on merit rather than on family titles or connections. Promotions ought to be based on battle experience, on military cleverness, and a nimbleness in managing our newest challenges.”
“The old-timers won’t like change.”
Caden nodded. “But it is coming whether they like it or not. We need good men like you and the Duke of Malvern to takean active role in our military readiness. I don’t mean returning to a frontline battlefield, but your understanding of strategy is invaluable at the top political and military levels. No one can object to this, for you are among the best examples of merit, despite holding family titles. My goal is not to unseat the old guard, for I would never win that argument. I just want to see new blood injected into those top ranks. Men who can adapt to our changing role in the world. As you said, with Napoleon vanquished, we are no longer fighting to save England from invasion. In many instances, we are now viewed as the invader.”
Cormac listened as Caden spoke, his expression unreadable. Perhaps he now saw him as an upstart who had to be stopped, but Caden did not think so. The man was too smart and had seen enough battles to know something had to be done.
“We are sent to these faraway lands for profit and conquest,” Caden continued. “There is often no formal declaration of war because they were never going to sail to England and attack us in the first place. They are not Vikings or Norman conquerors. In truth, in many of these places, the people have never even heard of England.”
“But we send our soldiers anyway in order to claim dominion over their lands,” Cormac remarked.
“Perhaps it is just in the nature of man never to be complacent. We have looted and pillaged each other for centuries. But the men put in charge now are different.” Caden raked a hand through his hair, now agitated at the thought of men like Fulke in positions of power. “Perhaps I am wrong and they are no different than they have always been. Brutal. Intolerant. Greedy. More interested in lining their pockets than looking out for Crown interests.”
Cormac shifted in his chair and leaned forward to regard Caden solemnly. “Tell me what happened to you, son. I can see you are in turmoil over it.”
“It isn’t about what happened to me.” Caden took a deep breath and tried to keep his hands from shaking, as they often did whenever he relived that incident. “It is about all the men who rode into that Ashanti village with me and never returned. Not one of them survived.”
His anguish was still raw and the memories still too vivid.
Cormac said nothing, but Caden knew he understood the devastation of those heavy losses. Before him was a man who had endured brutal winters, harsh rains, disease, lack of decent food. He had seen blood spilled. He had killed and seen men killed all around him. He had lost his arm defending his country.
Even so, Caden did not know if Cormac had ever been through a massacre. “We did not need to ride into Ashanti territory at all. The Ashanti were not denying mineral contracts to the Crown, nor were they refusing to export their cocoa. Quite the opposite—they were eager to do business with the British.”
