by Multi-Author
“I can get off the damn wagon by myself,” Connie grumbled as he slapped away Hamish’s outstretched hand. “Help some of the more seriously wounded, you ninny.”
Hamish looked around at the chaos surrounding them. Casualties from the Light Brigade were pouring in from Balaclava. Their brave but disastrous charge against the Russian guns in the valley had decimated the troops. He turned toward an officious looking woman in a black dress and starched white apron with a paper she was making tallies on as she directed orderlies and wounded about. He headed toward her and pulled off his cap. “Good afternoon, madam,” he said. “Might I be of assistance?” He held out the elbow of his broken arm. “Just a wee break. I’m hale and hearty otherwise.”
“Good,” she said without sympathy. “Start helping to unload the stretchers. You there!” she called to Connie. “The two of you can manage to help carry them with one good arm apiece. When the grievously injured have been administered to, I’m sure Dr. Hadley or Dr. Harper will see to you.”
Hamish grabbed her arm, his head reeling. “Dr. Phineus Harper?” he asked, hope like a vise around his chest, unable to believe the twist of fate that had delivered Finn to him like this.
“Yes, of course,” the nurse said impatiently. “Dr. Phineus Harper. Is there a problem?”
“I’ll be damned,” Connie said in amazement next to him. “Begging your pardon, ma’am,” he said humbly, apologizing for his outburst. “Finn is here, Ham. Did you know?”
Hamish shook his head, his mind a jumble. “I didn’t,” he said.
“It’ll be good to see the old sod,” Connie said jovially. “Like old times, eh?”
Hamish looked up at the decrepit old building they were using as a makeshift hospital. “Sure it will,” he lied to Connie, hoping it wasn’t like old times. He wanted more from Finn than he’d gotten back in the day. He’d never thought he’d have the chance. It was now or never. Hamish chose now. That is, if Finn wanted the same thing.
Chapter 2
PHINEUS HARPER, HE thought to himself, if you don’t get some sleep you’re going to fall face first into some festering stomach wound.
He was always surprised when his internal voice sounded like his grandmother. “I’m done,” he said. He threw the bloody saw down next to the leg he’d removed. He wrapped the stump tightly. “Have the nurse keep an eye on him tonight. Make sure we have a fresh bandage for him in the morning.”
“Yes, sir,” the orderly said. He was young and a little pale, although whether it was from helping with his first amputation or from lack of sleep, Finn wasn’t sure. He wasn’t sure of much right now, actually. He needed a drink, but he was going to settle for a smoke. Then, hopefully, sleep.
As he left the ward he looked around, supposedly checking on the patients, but he was really looking for Mrs. Lambeth. When the pretty little blonde nurse had arrived about a month ago he’d given her two weeks in the hellhole of Scutari. He’d underestimated her. She was a damned fine nurse, one of the best here, and a strong, determined woman. The men adored her, but she brushed off their adoration and flirtation. Rumor was she was recently widowed—a soldier, of course. He was surprised she’d managed to get Miss Nightingale’s approval. The Lady-in-Chief usually picked younger girls, unattached and from the lower classes. Mrs. Lambeth was neither. Well, he supposed she was unattached now, but hopefully not for long. They’d been dancing around their attraction to one another for over a month.
With a sigh he pushed open the door, reaching for his cheroots. The smell outside wasn’t much better than in. The damned hospital—and he used the term loosely—was situated too close to a cesspool. You’d think no one on the administrative end had read the more recent studies connecting unsanitary conditions to disease. It wasn’t mysterious vapors causing cholera and typhus. It was shit, plain and simple.
At least Miss Nightingale and her nurses had cleaned the place up considerably since their arrival. Before that, the men had been lying in their own filth on tattered blankets covering the cold, hard floor. They’d been discouraged, depressed, dying. Now the wards were lined with rows of simple cots, the men clean, the floors spotless. Clean bandages were in abundance, and despair no longer ruled those brought here. If only Miss Nightingale and her ladies had the cure for cholera and typhus, now that would make his job easier.
This spot behind the hospital was usually deserted. Too far out of the way for most, who were more inclined to grab a quick breath of fresher air out front. There was no view out here either. No more than a little alcove in the building, surrounded on three sides by brick walls, it was the perfect place to forget about the day he’d just had and the lads he’d lost on the surgical table. The Pidgeon boy had been only eighteen. He lit a cheroot with a shaking hand, puffing at it until it burned brightly and acrid, fragrant smoke surrounded his head. There now, that almost got rid of the stench. He leaned back against the brick wall and waited for Mrs. Lambeth’s arrival. She’d been “accidentally” interrupting his evening smoke for weeks.
The approaching winter should help with the stench outside, if not in. The weather was growing colder with each passing day. Wistfully Finn thought of his family in Scotland and the preparations that were most likely already underway for the coming Christmas season. He’d miss the Yule log and the wassailing and kissing pretty girls under the mistletoe. Did they have mistletoe in Scutari? He could find some and hang it over Mrs. Lambeth’s head. That ought to finally get things started. As if he’d conjured her, the door opened and her pretty face appeared around it.
“Oh, I’m sorry.” She sounded flustered. “I didn’t mean to disturb you. But Miss Nightingale sent me to fetch you. There are a few patients with broken arms and the like that she was hoping you’d be able to see before you left.”
Finn pushed away from the wall. “Did she?” he asked with a suggestive grin.
“I do apologize for interrupting your smoke, Dr. Harper,” Mrs. Lambeth said primly, then she turned and opened the door to go back inside.
“No, wait,” he called out. “Don’t leave. Don’t be like that.”
She slowly turned to face him, holding the door open just a crack. She chewed her lip anxiously as she turned back and peeked in the door, then turned to him again. She was the picture of indecision.
“I wouldn’t mind the company,” he said with a weary smile, leaning back against the wall. She looked as tired and worn out as he felt. “Come.” He waved her over. “I was just thinking of Christmas back home.”
She took a deep breath and stood a little taller, firmly closing the door. “Of course,” she said. “I’d love to join you. I need some fresh air.”
“Well, then, you’re out of luck,” he said wryly. “You won’t find it out here.”
She laughed and he wasn’t surprised at the bolt of pure unadulterated lust that shot straight from his ears to his prick at the sound of it. It was rough, husky, seductive. He’d heard it a thousand times in the last month and it still stirred him. “True enough,” she agreed. “Then perhaps I should say what I mean, which is I need some privacy and some quiet.”
“And I’m giving you neither,” he said ruefully. “It’s my turn to apologize. And I shall compound my sin by not offering to go inside and leave you alone here.” He held up his cheroot. “At least not until I’m done with this.”
“Good.” She leaned on the wall a few feet away from him. “The smoke covers up the other smells nicely.”
He watched her as he took a long pull on the cheroot. She watched him back. Was she flirting? He held out the cheroot with a sly grin. “Be my guest.”
She grinned back and after taking another surreptitious peek around, reached over and took it from him. She took a dainty pull, as she always did. He’d been shocked the first time she accepted his offer. She blew out the smoke with a satisfied sigh and gave him a dreamy smile that made his loins tighten uncomfortably. “Thank you.” She passed it back and their fingers briefly touched. It was like lightning to a brus
h fire.
“You’re welcome.” His voice was low and rough. She looked surprised for a moment and then looked away.
“The colder weather does bring the holidays to mind, doesn’t it?” she mused, sounding rather melancholy.
“Indeed,” Finn said, having no desire to discuss the weather or Christmas. “Rumor has it you’re a widow.” He changed the topic, his tone mild. “An officer?” He’d steered clear of personal questions so far, their late night chats focused on the hospital and the patients. He deliberately looked away from her and up to the nearly dark skies. Dusk on another hellish day.
“An enlisted man.” Her answer shocked him. “My parents did not approve of my nursing or my husband. I have not seen them since before my marriage. Upon his death, I petitioned Mrs. Herbert to be allowed to join the nurses here. She passed along my request to Miss Nightingale with her personal recommendation.”
“A personal recommendation from the wife of the Secretary at War? I’m impressed. Now I know why someone like you is here.”
She regarded him quizzically. “Someone like me?”
“A well bred widow,” he explained. “You must admit, you don’t fit the profile of most of the nurses here.”
“True,” she agreed. “I am neither young, nor a nun.”
“Amen,” he muttered under his breath.
“Why are you here?” she asked.
“Because I have family and friends here,” he said. He stared at the burning end of his cheroot, thinking of the cousin he’d lost at Alma. Somewhere out there were the Fletcher brothers, his childhood friends. He knew the 93rd had been at Balaclava—the wards were buzzing with news of their brave stand that drove the Russians back—but so far he’d seen no casualties from the regiment. News of the Fletchers would have been welcome today. “I wasn’t going to leave them to the incompetent ministrations of the British doctors, was I?” Too late he realized he’d probably offended her.
She surprised him again. “No, I don’t suppose you were.” She was turned toward him, her shoulder leaning against the wall. She’d moved closer. He hid a smile. She laughed. “You are clearly aware that you are the best doctor here.”
He shook his head. “No. I shouldn’t have said that. Although now that Dr. Forrest has gone, we’re left with too many junior surgeons. And we’ve lost a handful to cholera, as well.” He took another pull on the cheroot. Without asking he held out to her. He deliberately held it just out of reach, so she’d have to come closer. She took the bait, scooting over and taking the cheroot from him for another seductive pull. She leaned her head back and let the smoke slowly escape from her mouth. It was the most erotic thing he’d ever seen. He wanted to share a smoke with her lying naked in bed. In some dark corner of his soul he knew having lustful thoughts about a good widow ought to be shameful on his part, but he’d lost the ability to care. A man had to have his fantasies.
She handed the cheroot back to him and then rubbed her arms. She must be cold. “I have to go back. I have to check on the patients. And you have more patients to see.”
“What’s your Christian name?” he asked, trying to draw out their private time together. “I grow tired of Mrs. Lambeth all the time.” When she didn’t answer right away he volunteered, “I’m Phineus, but most back home call me Finn.”
“Do they?” Mrs. Lambeth refused his offer of her own cheroot. “Well, I shall stick with Dr. Harper, and you shall stick with Mrs. Lambeth. Far safer all around. Particularly if you’re so tired of Mrs. Lambeth.” She tried to take the sting out of her words with her little joke and a pretty smile, but he wasn’t in the mood to be put off with her empty flirtations tonight. He needed more.
“Safer? What do you fear from revealing your name? That I shall steal your soul?”
She laughed and he felt the muscles in his shoulders relax. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the uneven brick wall.
“Hardly. I fear you calling out my Christian name in disgust when I don’t appear quickly enough at your irritated summons.” She sounded more amused than anything.
“You always come right away,” he said without opening his eyes. “So you’ve no worries. Tell me.”
“Dr. Harper, I hardly think—”
“Finn. Say it.” He desperately needed to hear someone say it. He didn’t want to be Dr. Harper for five bloody minutes. He pinned her with a demanding glare. “Say it.”
“Finn. There.” She sounded so unhappy about it, he laughed.
“Why did you come out here?” he asked suddenly. He very carefully pinched off the ember of his cheroot. He tucked the remainder in his coat pocket. It had seen far better days, just like him. The dark brown wool already bore one burn mark from his shameful habit.
“Miss Nightingale sent me. And I knew you were upset about losing that young man today,” she said sympathetically. “You must know it wasn’t your fault. The wound was left untreated too long as they transported him here.” She thumped a fist on her thigh as she stared up at the sky, blinking rapidly. “We should be closer to the front. We can do nothing here. Nothing!”
He took a good look at her then. Her image haunted his every waking moment, and most of his dreams. He didn’t need to look at her to see her. But he saw now what he’d missed earlier. She was as upset as he was. She looked bedraggled. No other word for it, though he would never tell her that. Her blonde hair was escaping the white scarf she’d tied over it, probably hours before. Her black dress hid some of the filth that came their way here, but not all. And it hung on her slim frame. She’d lost weight.
“Come here,” he said gruffly.
“What?” she asked stupidly. As if she had no idea how much he wanted her. How could she not know?
He just held out his hand and curled his fingers in a come here gesture. With a quizzical look she took his hand and let him pull her closer. “What is it?” she asked. “Are you all right?”
He shook his head and yanked her close, wrapping an arm around her waist as he pushed her back up against the building, pinning her there with his body pressed to hers. “I won’t let you go to the front lines.”
“Dr. Harper!” she exclaimed breathlessly, pushing ineffectually at his chest. “This is not why I followed you out here.”
“Isn’t it?” he asked, his voice too rough by far. But he didn’t have the patience or the temperament to seduce her with words. “It’s why I’d hoped you’d follow me.”
He buried his face in her neck and breathed deeply. She stank of sick and death and blood. But underneath it all there was still the elusive smell of woman. The smell of home and hearth and sweaty nights of ecstasy on cool, clean sheets. Or was that a smell reserved exclusively for her? “Tell me your name,” he whispered desperately. He had to know before he kissed her.
She’d gone still in his arms, her heart beating rapidly against his chest, like a little bird trapped in a cage. He was about to let her go when she answered.
“Edith,” she whispered. “My name is Edith. And everyone calls me Edith.”
He chuckled into her neck, and she relaxed.
“Edith,” he whispered as he lifted his head to meet her wary gaze. It was far from a romantic name. It suited her, suited the efficient nurse who went about her duties with a smile and a kind word for all under her care, even him. “I’m going to kiss you. I hope that’s all right, because no matter what you say, it’s going to happen.”
Chapter 3
EDITH WAS FROZEN with shock. Did she want Dr. Harper…Finn, to kiss her? She hadn’t, not really. Not a few weeks ago, when they’d first met out here and she’d secretly shared his evening smoke. Even in the dark she could see the surprisingly bright blue of his eyes as he waited for her answer. His whiskers were heavy on his cheeks and chin, his mustache small and better kept than his thick, unruly hair. His shoulders were so broad they blocked the light of the night sky. He wasn’t what she’d wanted at all. But there was so much more to him than his gruff, ill manners. He was so passionate
in his work, so dedicated to the men he cared for. He took every death to heart. It had become important to her, to come out here at night and take his mind off his troubles for only a few minutes. It was here she’d met the real Phineus Harper, a kind man with a mischievous streak, who liked to break the rules and make her laugh. That man she wanted to kiss.
“Yes,” she whispered. It was dangerous, and wrong, and if they were found out she’d be sent home in disgrace. But she couldn’t care when she looked into his weary eyes. “Yes.”
“Thank God,” he whispered fervently right before he pressed his mouth to hers. It was a shock, the feel of a man’s lips on hers again. She’d thought after Charlie’s death that she’d never have another lover. What a silly, lovesick fool she’d been. She wrapped her arms around Finn’s neck, suddenly as desperate for this as he. He tasted like his cheroots, and she savored him. How she’d missed the scratch of whiskers against her cheeks as a man kissed her like this. He was bent awkwardly to reach her and she gasped into his mouth as he picked her up and pushed in between her legs, holding her between his body and the wall, her feet dangling. Instinctively her legs came up and wrapped around his waist and she felt him smile against her mouth. He leaned in and she felt his erection pressed intimately against her. She moaned and he took the opportunity to push his tongue into her mouth.
Her mind spun as her body came alive. He kissed expertly, playing her mouth like an instrument, stroking between her legs with small pumps of his hips that she could feel against the insides of her thighs. She clawed his back, clutching fistfuls of his jacket as she arched her back and pressed against that hard cock, rubbing on him shamelessly. He made an impatient sound and she felt him yank her skirt up on the side. The cold air should have cooled her ardor, but it only drove her need higher. He broke the kiss and she chased his mouth, making him laugh softly. The little puff of air against her cheek from his laughter made her whole body shake.
