“Why not?” he frowned.
“Well...you're the future Earl of Denham. You have responsibilities. People who need you.”
“I have brothers,” he said hopefully.
She laughed. “I can't do that to you, William.”
“No?” he frowned, shifting so he could look down into her face. She sat up, so she was sitting opposite him. Their fire burned low, flickering flames on her hair. He sighed and simply stared at her. She smiled.
“No, I can't,” she said. “You're an earl. Or will be. I can't take that from you.”
“I would give that up tomorrow,” he said sincerely. “You know I would. I love you.”
She smiled and reached for his hand. The room was silent, but for the fire, and the sound of insects outside, singing to the dark. Her fingers curled round his. She held his hand. Looked into his eyes.
“I know you do, dearest.”
He sighed. Reached out and stroked her head, loving the feel of her hair under his palm. So soft, so warm. Scented with the musk-smoke scent of her body.
“And you?” he asked. It had been a question that had burned in him for days, ever since the start of their journey. He had told her he loved her, twice. Did she care anything for him? He knew it was stupid—he had been the reason she risked her life, to rescue him—she must feel something for him. But he had to hear it. It was important.
“Me?” she asked, smiling at him sleepily.
“What do you think of me?” he asked softly. The words were hard to get out, but he had to know.
“William,” she smiled. “You know,”
He smiled at her, about to contradict her. That was the moment that the night broke, shattered by the sound of a gun.
He cried out as the bullet ripped forward, as she screamed and scarlet bloomed at her shoulder.
Then the night was quiet again. Utterly silent.
Chapter 13: A message
“No. No.”
William said it throughout that night. Over and over. He said it as he looked down at her, lying unconscious, blood pumping freely from the shattered wound in her shoulder. He said it as he ran to their packs, grabbing for cloth, for cotton, for wadding, for anything that could help to stop the bleeding.
He said it as he tore the fabric of the pack to strips and used it to bind the wound. He pulled it tight, and she stirred, groaning, and he hated himself, but knew he had to tie it tight. The bleeding would not stop elsewise.
She moaned, and he murmured to her.
“I know,” he said. “I know.”
Then, bending down, he lifted her in his arms and ran from the barn.
As he emerged again, the night flowered into gunshots. He ducked and ran, weaving, doing his best to avoid being hit and to shield her with his body. He ran. His lungs burned. He stumbled. His bones ached. He ran.
The light on the hillside was the English camp. He knew that. If he could reach it, she would be safe. If he could reach it, he could deliver the message, the one that was strapped to his belt, the thing that had brought them here and was now taking her life in slow, red drops.
He could leave it there and get her treated and see an end to the madness.
She groaned, and he drew in a breath. He almost stumbled as he ran, the ground sloping. He couldn't hear the French anymore. He stumbled again, almost dropping her.
“No.”
The word was a litany, going round his mind, keeping him upright.
Don't die. Don't let the bleeding continue. Don't let the French catch us. No.
No. No.
“No!”
When the word came from outside him, he stopped, horrified. He had been running, ceaselessly, her body held firm in his arms. Running thoughtlessly and blind. On and on. He had reached the top of the hill, he realized. He stumbled forward, falling to his knees.
“No, you can't go in,” the English voice said, urgently. “I'll shoot you if you try.”
William felt his cheeks lift in a grin. The voice was that of a young recruit, and it trembled with fear. He could imagine why. He was dressed in rags, tall and sunburned, he hadn't shaved for days. He was carrying a heavy load, contents undisclosed, and his hair was a mess. He would be scared of him, too.
“Sergeant,” he said in a grating voice. “Hold your fire. I am here to speak to Colonel Priceley. He expects me. I have a message.”
“You're the messenger?” the boy sounded horrified.
“I was,” he said. “And so was she. Now, for pity's sake, help me.”
The last was a desperate cry. The boy stepped forward.
“She?”
“Yes.”
William let his arms unfold from round her, dreading the moment that he must put her down. If he held her, she was alive. He didn't need to look down and see she had stopped breathing.
“Sir!” the guardsman said, instantly alert. “She needs help. She's bleeding.”
“Yes,” William whispered. “I know.”
He almost fainted as the youth shouted orders and, suddenly, the hilltop was alive with men. Four men raced to lift Catharine, and the young sergeant bent down to help William to his feet. He waved him away, hauling himself tiredly up.
“Get her to care,” he said. Then he collapsed.
He came back to his conscious mind a moment or two later. He was in the encampment, leaning on a post. He shook himself and walked forward. “I need to give this message to Colonel Pricely,” he said.
“Come with me, sir,” the young man said. He led William on into the dark.
After delivering his message, fighting to stay upright, William cleared his throat.
“Sir? I need to go...see her. She's...hurt.” He was so tired he could barely form words coherently. The man nodded.
“Your companion? She's at the surgeon's tent. You seemed very urgent in your regard for her welfare.”
William grinned. He vaguely remembered walking there with the sergeant, heckling the field-surgeon as he got out of his tent and went to operate.
“I am,” he said. “And now, I need to see her, please.”
He felt himself start to blank out.
“Perry? Take this man to the tent. I will speak with him again, later. And get him seen to—he's not well.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I'm perfectly well,” William said hoarsely. But the sergeant didn't hear or heed him. He followed him into the dark.
Later, he came to full consciousness. He was sitting on a camp chair. Someone had put a blanket round him. His feet were warm. He could smell rubbing-alcohol and creosote and the sickly scent of blood.
“Cat,” he whispered.
“Yes, the lady is here,” a thin voice said from somewhere above his head. “She is asleep. And likely to be for some time. She's lost a lot of blood.”
The voice sounded reproachful. William nodded. “I know,” he said. “And if she dies of that, I'll find you and I’ll—”
“Do stop threatening me,” the surgeon said tiredly. “You're in no fit state to make good on your promise. Your companion is sleeping. I've staunched the wound and sewn it shut. The bullet missed the bone and came out again, which means she's less likely to suffer lead poisoning. She has every chance of recovering. More so if you let her rest.”
William sighed and nodded. “I'm staying here.”
“Oh, for—”
“I'm staying here.”
He was too tired to do anything more than raise his voice, but the surgeon seemed to take the hint. Muttering under his breath, he left.
William looked at Cat.
She was pale. She always had been, but this was something new. She was white as ash. The wound in her shoulder was bandaged, a lumpy ugliness marring the one side of her body. He could smell blood, still, and see rust-dark stains on it. He reached for her hand. It was cold.
“Cat,” he murmured. His voice wept. “Please. Don't leave.”
He felt a tear track down his cheek.
She lay so still, he
wasn't sure if she breathed. The tent was almost dark, a light coming from a bracket that held a torch outside the door. The torch shone on her white-pale skin, making it glow with a wan warmth.
“Cat,” he whispered, sniffing back tears. “I know I fought with you a lot. I know I called you lots of things you didn't merit. Well, most of them, anyway.” he laughed, sobbing unabashedly. “I love you. I love you with every beat of my heart, with every bit of me. No one has ever touched me, ever felt so right, like you do. I cannot lose you.” He smiled, feeling a sudden knowledge fill him. “I cannot lose you, because you are my heart. Inside me, making my life beat through me. Giving it meaning. Giving it light. You always will be. Now, and always, whatever happens.”
He leaned back, still holding her hand. If she died, he wouldn't lose her. She would always be with him, inside him. His light.
He must have slept, because the next time he opened his eyes, it was to gray light. It was the next day. His first thought was of Cat.
She lay there, unchanged. Her face was drawn, and she looked small and frail there in the bed, almost as if half of her had gone, with the blood, during the night. He stood and yelled through the door.
“Surgeon!”
The man came running, but after feeling her pulse, looked at him reproachfully. “She's alive,” he said wearily. “And you have a visitor.”
William turned, tiredly. “Who in—”
It was Colonel Pricely. He appeared in the doorway in full regalia. His face was drawn.
“Lieutenant-colonel North,” he said. “I came to thank you. But for your bravery, we would not have that message. It proved vital in our efforts against the enemy.”
William closed his eyes, tired. “My bravery?” he asked, laughing. “It was her. She did it. But for her, we wouldn't be here. Unfair, isn't it?” he added, bitterly.
Beside him, the colonel nodded. “I am grieved by what happened to your colleague,” he said. “Be assured we will see everything is done for her.”
“Good,” William said stonily.
Shortly after, the colonel left. William stayed where he was. The sergeant from yesterday appeared, with breakfast. William took the tray and ate because he had to. The meal tasted of ash.
“She'll be well soon,” the young man said, resting a hand on his shoulder.
“I hope so,” William said listlessly.
He set aside the tray and watched her, willing her to breathe. To wake.
Later, the sergeant—Sergeant Knox—came to talk again. William let himself get persuaded into helping move the tents. He didn't want to leave, but he felt he had to get fresh air.
It was as he was rolling the last of the canvas that the surgeon appeared.
“Lieutenant-colonel?” he called.
William stared at him. The man looked worried. Instantly, he feared the worst.
“Yes?”
“You need to come here.”
William stood and ran.
In the tent, he heard someone groan. He ran to the bedside. It was Cat.
He stared. She wasn't really awake, not fully. But she'd rolled over, and her face was flushed. She made another noise and shifted in the bed. His heart soared.
“Thought you'd like to be here,” the surgeon said gruffly. He left.
William thanked him, but the man had already gone. He sat by her bedside and watched her, his eyes unable to move from her.
She opened her eyes.
He smiled.
“Hello?” he whispered.
She closed her eyes again, then opened them, struggling to focus. He saw the moment when she saw him. He smiled.
She looked at him, dark eyes a little confused.
“Cat!” he said. “You're alive.”
She smiled. “Yes,” she whispered, her voice a merest thread. “I am. And the answer to your question, by the way, is yes. I love you, William North. I think I always have.”
As William stared at her, jaw gaping, eyes wide, she closed her eyes and went back to sleep.
Chapter 14: Return home
It took two weeks for her two heal. Fever set in, and William feared for her again. He helped the surgeon, Mr. Brewer, wash and tend her, and the two developed an uneasy friendship.
The day that Cat managed to walk to the door of the surgeon's tent, slowly, Brewer pronounced her cured.
“You can leave, the pair of you,” he said, gray eyes dancing with mirth. “You're more trouble than the rest of the infirmary. Well, he is,” he modified, grinning at Cat.
“Thank you for your help, sir,” she said sincerely. “We will always remember that.”
“Pray, forget it quickly,” he grinned. “Or you'll bring that great lummox to visit me and then where will I be? Be off with you.”
They all laughed. William shook his hand. Then, as soon as they had said farewell to Colonel Pricely, they headed off. The colonel had insisted on arranging a cart for Cat to travel in, and an escort of four guards to the coast.
William sighed. Much as he wanted time alone with Cat, the guards would be invaluable. Together, they all rode to the sea.
When they reached Calais again, Cat smiled at William.
“There's our hill,” she said.
“Aye,” he nodded. She had gained color as they traveled, and her cheeks were less sunken than they were. Her eyes sparkled.
“I will be glad to be home,” she said.
“Me, too.”
They reached the town later that day. The soldiers left, melting away to leave them to pass through alone. William nodded.
“Farewell, lads,” he said, saluting them.
“Goodbye, Lieutenant-colonel North. A pleasure meeting you.”
“You too,” he nodded.
They parted ways, and he drove the cart toward the town.
“It's good to have some time, eh?” he called back toward Cat. She reached for his shoulder, making his skin tingle all over.
“Yes,” she said. “I'm glad too.”
They reached the port an hour later. Cat did the talking. With her shoulder still bandaged, they assumed the role of a farmer and his wife, set upon by the troops. They garnered much sympathy on the way, and finally found a ship willing to give them passage. A Scots captain, the fellow was neither friend nor foe of either side.
As they clambered on board, William helping Cat as she still walked slowly and uneasily, he felt his heart soar. They were almost home
Alone on the deck, she leaned against him. He wrapped his arms around her, and they stood there, staring into the vivid colors of the sun, sinking into the sea.
“It's good to be on our own,” she murmured. “Like our trip.”
“Mm,” he nodded. He held her against him, loving the feel and scent of her in his arms. “I missed that.”
She turned and looked up at him. “You were saying,” she said softly, “how we could get to be used to that. I suggest we spend one holiday a year in the countryside. A simple cottage, some goats...it would be good.”
“You do?” he smiled. His heart was soaring. She was planning to be with him in the future? Did that mean what he thought it did?
“Yes,” she said, turning round. “Or, chickens, if you think you would prefer eggs? Myself, I think milk would be something nice and fresh. And I could learn about them, you know...” she trailed off, stopping as he stared at her. “What?” she asked, frowning.
He grinned. “My dearest,” he said softly. “You mean, you would consent to see me again in future?” he asked.
She nodded. “Yes, of course, William.” she sounded solemn. “I do intend to.”
He laughed again. That was so much her! He loved her at that moment, more intensely than he knew how to say. He could barely breathe.
“My dearest Cat,” he said softly, “I hope, then, that if I were to ask you to share my life with me, you would say yes? Reminding you, of course, that it would include being a countess, which would be somewhat tedious for you, I know...”
He tr
ailed off as she started to laugh. She was giggling, and tears soaked her cheeks. “William North,” she said, shaking her head. “Yes. Yes, I consent to spend my life with you. To be with you, in all things. Every moment of it. Including tedious ones,” she added, laughing. “And I do love you. So very, very much.”
He held her in his arms, feeling her lean against his chest. He felt as if the whole world had settled into that moment, that the whole of his life was there, resting in his arms. He kissed her hair, too moved to breathe.
“I love you too,” he managed to say, finally. “I love you, too.”
Opposite them, the sun set, painting the sky red.
Epilogue:
It didn't take long to convince the family. A meeting with his mother, pressure from his brothers—primarily Bradford, who was so charming everyone found it hard to say no—and one visit from the colonel. That was all that was needed.
“Well, son,” Lord North said, sighing. “I was wrong. I needed to know that. All that choler is bad for my health. Well done...you'll be happy, I know.”
“Yes, Father,” William nodded. “I will.”
They were married a week after their arrival at home, with the first real rains of autumn beating down, making the village chapel a close, quiet space, jeweled with the rain.
Later, when they were at home, William stirred where he lay beside her. He breathed in, smelling the musk scent of her skin, overlaid with something sweeter and floral, though still faintly tinged with smoke. He smiled.
She stirred and rolled over and looked up at him, eyes shining. It felt like it had in France, only better. Strange, too, to lie with her like this, below sheets. He smiled.
“I was wondering if you were awake,” he whispered into her hair.
“Yes,” she murmured.
He laughed. “Yes, I was wondering?”
“Yes, I'm awake,” she laughed, playfully jostling him as she turned over in his arms. He smiled as she snuggled closer. They had made love many times that night, and his body ached sleepily, sated at last. He was content now just to hold her. To feel her body beside his and let the slow, seeping wonder of it sink into his bones, becoming truth.
Her Fiery Heart: Brides for the Earl's Sonsa Page 10
