On a Midnight Clear

by Sandra Sookoo

  “Is that a bad thing?” Had the years been horrible for her?

  “No.” She lowered her voice and kept her gaze on the boy, who was some feet ahead of them. “Many a night I passed sleepless for worrying over your safety.” She paused, moistening her lips. “You made quite the impression on me that night. Had we had more time together, or had you not been a solider, had I not had to bury my husband just months before...”

  Wisely, he didn’t push his luck. Instead, he walked beside her as they trailed slowly after their son. Our son. How nice that sounded, and he would always connect them. We created life together. Wonder poured over him, threated to choke him up with gratitude. “Thank you for this time with him. It has brought me new hope.”

  “I could never deny you, Cecil.” The whispered admission had him leaning closer to her.

  With an eye on Simon to make certain the boy was well-occupied, Cecil halted his forward momentum and hers. “If Simon has brought hope to me, you’ve always meant faith.” Daring much, he cupped her cheek with his free hand. “I found your letters, Sarah.”

  “Oh.” Her gaze faltered to his cravat, but he tilted her face upward until their gazes connected once more.

  “How strong you were through everything,” he said in a soft voice. “How determined despite the circumstances. Those traits have only grown.” His respect for her overflowed. Knowing she’d fought as hard here as he had on the field humbled him. “I admire the hell out of you. You surprise me at every turn. Where I broke down last night, you never have.”

  “That you know of.” Her laughter was a breathy affair.

  He grinned. “At times, we are stronger when we break.” Before he could change his mind, Cecil pressed his lips to hers. Then he pulled away to look into her eyes, searching for acceptance, for permission. Longing lit those rich brown depths, along with a quick flare of desire.

  “Is that all you wish to say, Major?” The throaty sound of her voice had awareness shivering down his spine.

  “Not in the least.” Since she was captive with her arms full of greenery, he kissed her again, and he took his time in exploring, seeking, hoping. This embrace was much different than yesterday’s, but that was as it should be. Many feelings drove many kisses; it was communicating without words. And he very much wished her to know the direction of his thoughts just now.

  The spell of romance broke all too soon when Simon called out for assistance. Cecil stepped back from her, staring at her as his world shifted once more. This pause in life, this shelter from reality kept pulling at him, taunting him with things that had yet to materialize.

  Would it all go away after the holidays? He would do what he could and let fate control the rest. In the meantime, he meant to enjoy every last bit of this boon.

  Chapter Fourteen

  December 22, 1814

  Since telling Cecil of her part, small as it was, in the spy games, Sarah had never felt more relaxed. She marveled over it while doing familiar tasks and chores about the cottage, found herself smiling over the fact more often than not. Such a simple thing, really, but it changed her outlook and her thinking in a big way.

  I should have taken my own advice long ago.

  But then, hindsight wasn’t foresight for a reason, and perhaps this was another opportunity to grow as a person.

  Sharing such a thing with him had felt right, and there was a certain level of comfort knowing he’d protect her as well as Simon. It removed some of the terror from the fact that Owen had escaped not only Newgate but also hanging, and he was essentially hunting her. Never in her life had anyone been willing to help her or offer protection. It sent trembles through her heart and butterflies into her belly.

  The Major was a true gentleman in every sense of the word, and, if she’d admit it to herself, she enjoyed having him underfoot, for with his arrival, he’d brought life into the cottage—of a much different strain than they’d known before.

  She glanced to the mantle above the fireplace where an abundance of evergreen boughs rested. The crisp, clean scent of the pine permeated the common room and reminded her of the sweet, tender kiss he’d given her yesterday. A tremor danced down her spine. What was the man about? Did he mean to court her, and not having the words to say exactly that, he’d set out to show her of his intentions? The butterflies in her belly set up a veritable ballet, and she pressed a hand to her middle as her gaze strayed again to the tin bells and glass balls nestled within the greenery.

  Did she want Cecil in such a capacity? A slow smile tugged at her lips. Would it make her a desperate woman to admit she was cautiously hopeful in that regard? If the kisses they’d exchanged recently were an indicator, the heat between them hadn’t faded, but there was much more to building a future together with a man than desire and passion. She had Simon to consider now, and Cecil was still a man broken from his time in the military. Would that become a hindrance later? How would he handle his erratic emotional breaks when they came again? The one good thing was he didn’t seem dependent on spirits or alcohol to hide behind when things went sideways.

  That spoke of his strong character more than anything else. No need to worry that he’d slip into a drunken fit. So, did she want a lifetime with him if he were to offer? There was much she didn’t know about him, but she was willing to find out.

  Then she rolled her eyes. Of course, this was merely speculation on her part, for the man had made no offers or had shown in any way that he cared for her beyond installing her as a possible bed partner if things continued down the path they were on. Heat infused her cheeks. She’d be lying if she denied she wanted to feel him against her, over her, his weight crushing her into the mattress, his hands and lips exploring again, but now she was older and wiser and perhaps more mindful of what that meant.

  If he wanted carnal relations, he’d need to come up to scratch.

  Good heavens, such fanciful musings. I ought to be ashamed of myself.

  But she wasn’t. In fact, she couldn’t hold back her grin as she climbed the spiral stairs. Cecil had taken Simon out to the old shed, and both he and the boy were acting quite mysterious due to the impending holiday, so she intended to use this time alone to snoop about the Major’s room in the hopes she could ascertain what he wanted—or perhaps needed—in the way of a gift.

  Her grin only widened as she gained the bedchamber and quietly pushed the door open. She’d already sent an order through the tanner’s wife for a pair of new leather boots fashioned by the tanner as well as the cobbler. The commission should be finished soon, but Cecil deserved so much more—for surviving, for continuing to live despite the torrent of emotions, for what he’d already done for her and Simon... for merely being himself.

  Oh, he would grump about the expense she’d gone to as well as the effort, but he would delight in those boots just the same, for well she remembered how her husband had been grateful for little creature comforts as those.

  As she snuck across the floor, she swept the painfully tidy area with her gaze. He kept his living space as utilitarian as his person. Then she spied the battered trunk at the foot of the bed he’d brought with him. Kneeling before it, she cracked open the lid. He hadn’t bothered to lock it, which stood as the ultimate testament to the trust he had in her, but was she breaking it by snooping? Surely not, for she didn’t have malice on her mind.

  When she peered inside, she frowned. For a man who’d travelled all over the world with various regiments over the years, there certainly weren’t that many belongings inside. The bulk of his clothing had been placed in the bureau or the clothes press in the small, adjoining dressing room.

  How, then, would this anemic display help her cause? With nothing for it, Sarah reached inside the trunk and withdrew a plain wooden box, square in shape, and in as pristine condition as if he’d placed it inside the trunk just yesterday. When she tugged off the lid, she sucked in a quick breath. Inside rested a jumble of medals, ribbons, and other commendation tokens. Impressed and humbled from the evide
nce of his heroism, she brushed her fingertips along the numerous pins and stars, traced the outlines of the colorful ribbons. One even featured a tiny diamond within the raised insignia. She briefly scanned the official letters sent by the Crown detailing his deeds of valor and service, and telling him of their undying gratitude, of course.

  A sense of awe rose within her as she placed everything back into the wooden box. Never once had he mentioned how decorated he was. Never had he bragged about the daring or the brave acts that had won him all of this.

  Her chest tightened. “You are a good man, Cecil, and you don’t even realize it.”

  After placing the box on the floor by her side, she lifted out a uniform coat. The scarlet wool was bloodstained heavily on the right side, no doubt from the battle that had ended his military career. The brass buttons down the front, though, still shone in the light of the afternoon sun streaming in through the window. So easily could she imagine him wearing the dashing garment, for that was one of the first things that had attracted her to him upon their first meeting. She moved a finger over the shoulder, the sleeve where holes were torn clean through. On a whim, Sarah lifted the jacket to her nose and inhaled. The pungent scent of smoke from a campfire danced in her nostrils, as did the earthier smell of dirt and the sharp aroma of sweat. The dried blood had long ago lost the metallic tinge.

  Thinking of him on that far away battlefield, alone, hurting, possibly terrified as he rescued the men he’d fought with who were closer to him than brothers had tears welling in her eyes. Would she ever know of the great sacrifice he’d made that he hadn’t told her about? And knowing the battle of Toulouse wasn’t the only one he’d fought in made her sob from the futility of it all. War was horrible at any time. It took the lives of good men from the earth while twisting the existence of others. It left the survivors in a hell not of their own making; only the strong would ever find an escape.

  She let the coat fall into her lap as she wiped at the tears on her cheeks. When her vision cleared again, she rooted through the remaining items in the trunk. A pair of soiled breeches, stained gloves, moth-eaten socks, a dagger, a couple of volumes of poetry—dog-eared at that, and a blanket featuring a few smears of soot, as well as a small bottle of expensive French brandy were the only other possessions he owned.

  The poor man. Even though she’d already darned a couple pairs of his socks, she would quickly knit him another couple of pairs, but that didn’t seem like nearly enough to do for this man who’d already given so much.

  “Rather sad that a man’s whole life fits into one lonely, battered trunk,” Cecil said in a soft voice as he came into the room.

  Sarah started. She didn’t try to wipe at the new tears rolling down her cheeks as she met his gaze. A few shadows clouded his eyes, but there was no trace of anger from days’ past. “I had no idea how much of a hero you truly are.” With care, she folded and replaced the jacket, put the wooden box into the trunk and then closed the lid.

  He waved a hand. “Any man would have done those things.”

  “Any man didn’t. You did.” Oh, how manly he looked standing there with his back ramrod straight and his shoulders impossibly broad and his cravat loosened to the point of casual elegance that gave her a peek at his neck.

  “What good is a medal or commendation if the ones I’ve saved died anyway?”

  “Some did survive; you must focus on them and live knowing you gave everyone you’ve ever met all that you were.” Her attempt at a smile was a rather wobbly affair. “Don’t discredit your actions, Cecil. I am in awe of what you’ve accomplished.” She scrubbed at the moisture on her cheeks. “You don’t deserve to hide yourself away here. You should seek out your fellow officers in London, bask in the glory of the war ending, and let other men toast your success. Perhaps the Home Office will offer you a position. They’d be properly thrilled to have Captain Fortunate in their wings.”

  “Major,” he corrected in the same quiet voice as before, but he smiled, though it was tinged with sadness. “I don’t desire attention or have the want to swap war stories. I don’t wish to relive the battles merely for the sake of sensation in a drawing room.” He paused, his gaze intense on her face. “At this point, I want the life I might have had if I’d never gone to war.”

  “Which is what?” She scrambled to her feet while she held her breath and her heart gave off a rapid tattoo. He wasn’t exactly a marriage minded man... was he?

  “I’m still pondering my options.” He caught her hand, flipped it over and brought his lips to the inside of her wrist where her pulse wildly pounded. The whisper of that barely-there kiss glided over her skin and sent awareness bubbling through her. “But I’ve a fair direction.” Questions crowded his blue eyes, questions she didn’t dare to answer just yet.

  “Oh.” Heat blazed in her cheeks. “I hope whatever decision you make will see you happy. I’ve only wished that for you.” His presence filled the room, his scent wrapping around her so that all she thought of was him and how much she admired him.

  “I’m willing to wager it will.”

  “Then I’m glad for you,” she whispered, and on impulse, she stepped into his personal space, framed his head in her hands and fit her lips to his.

  This was not the time for words, even if she could have summoned them. Instead, her heart full and her mind reeling, she kissed the corners of his mouth, gently explored the sweep and contours she found there, and then trailed her lips alongside his throat and back up to his lips once more. With a groan, Cecil wrapped his arms around her, holding her so tight against him she felt the evidence of his regard. The tiny fires that had ignited in her blood the first time she’d kissed him when rubbing the balm into his muscles flared to an inferno that matched what he’d stoked during their embrace in the woods.

  The sound of Simon’s voice floating up the stairs broke them apart. “Major, did you find the game? Shall I come up and assist you?”

  Sarah stared at Cecil, her breathing coming in fast pants, her body full of delicious aching need that would remain unfulfilled. Never had she felt more alive. “Well then...”

  Looking as if he’d just had the foundations of his life shaken and he couldn’t be more pleased over the prospect, Cecil offered her a lopsided grin, but his eyes were dark with desire. He drew his knuckles down the side of her face. “Until next time,” he whispered, and then grabbed a small wooden case from the bedside table.

  She stood in the middle of the room for a long time after his footsteps had died on the stairs.

  Later that evening, after dinner had been eaten and the dishes washed and put away, Sarah sat on the sofa, enjoying the heat from the fire, while Cecil occupied the leather chair, his feet propped upon the ottoman. Simon played with his tin soldiers at the hearth. Snow fell gently outside the windows. Already there was a covering on the ground, and if luck held as well as colder temperatures, it would remain into the morning.

  She smiled from the domestic coziness of the scene. All that was missing from their little family was a curled-up cat or a lounging dog on the rug. She fell deeper into the spell and the tranquility of the upcoming holiday as well as the rhythm they three had found for themselves. Her fingers were kept busy with knitting on the first pair of gray woolen socks she intended for Cecil. He’d never know, for he rarely paid attention to her handiwork, and the surprise she expected to see in his eyes in a few days made her fingers fly.

  “Will we have mountains of snow by the morning, Major Stapleton?” Simon wanted to know. He’d steadily been asking questions for the last hour on anything and everything apparently bouncing through his brain.

  Cecil’s deep chuckle sent heightened awareness skittering through her chest. “I rather doubt it will accumulate to mountains, but we might have enough for you to play in it after breakfast while I finish a few things in the shed.” His gaze met that of the boy’s, and they exchanged a knowing look that had Sarah’s brow furrowing.

  “Does that mean we will make use of a c
ertain something soon?” he next wanted to know.

  “Oh, I should think we will.” There was a definite grin playing about Cecil’s mouth that distracted her from her work.

  “I feel quite left out of this discussion,” Sarah said with mock-seriousness in her tone. “What secrets are you keeping?”

  “We cannot tell you, Mama. It’s a surprise.” Simon flashed her an impish grin. “A good one.”

  “Very well.” She resumed her knitting, but she couldn’t stop shooting Cecil surreptitious glances. Need tingled through her veins. That kiss from earlier hadn’t been nearly enough, but surely it was folly to want him like she did. Her future and Simon’s weren’t settled, and if the major meant to toss them from the cottage after Christmas regardless of how well they’d all gotten along recently, then she must quell her growing feelings for him.

  Yet, if they were forced to leave, how could she survive the parting this time? Already memories assailed her, which only added fuel to the already burning fire in her belly. It was an impossible conundrum. Not to mention Simon would be devastated. He adored the Major, and that she couldn’t bear.

  Time crept onward, and none of them were inclined to talk of serious things. Those moments were perfection, and Sarah hoarded each one to her breast like the most valuable of jewels. Perhaps it was time to trust in the season of miracles.

  Eventually, she stirred, with a glance to the carriage clock nestled amidst the greenery on the mantle. “Simon, go out and feed the chickens. Make sure you use the necessary while you’re out there, for it’s past your bedtime.”

  “Yes, Mama.” The boy left his soldiers on the rug. Then he jumped up and ran from the room. His footsteps echoed along the hallway, followed by the slam of the kitchen door.

  The springs in the chair protested when Cecil shifted to his feet. “If you keep on with that come-hither gaze, I will take you up on the offer and will find a way to devour you.”