Not for lack of trying, he'd told Sparrow. It hadn't been so true, had it? He'd backed off, the moment he'd learned. Not in disgust or revulsion but in confusion. And he couldn't even be certain whether the lass realized that...

Sharpe licked his bottom lip in a rare show of nerves. Where was that bloody drink?

"We, err, taught soldiers. Drilled'em. Urged them into shape."

Through thick jacket and thin linen, he would swear he could feel his shoulder burn. Right where she brushed him.