“Can't you stay with me?” Mary begged, and Jacob squeezed her hand.
“I'll only be a moment, my love, and then I promise we will never abandon each other again. I swear it.”
“Dear God, Jacob, propose to her now or I'll strike you with the tomahawk,” Enola hissed in his ear. Jacob turned to Enola.
“But...”
“Do it,” she said and he stumbled forward, taking Mary's hand and getting down on one knee.
“Mary...” he said, seeming unsure about why he was there. “Will you do me the honor of being my wife?”
He had asked before. It was always assumed that one day, they would marry. However, there had been a reason, and then another and another. Seeing him on his knee, face to face after so long, she knew what she had to say.
“Yes,” she whispered. “Yes.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
SURRENDER
SURRENDER
Sir, I offer you my sword as a measure of my surrender,” the commander of the American forces kneeled before Jacob, offering him a bloodstained sword. Jacob tried not to think about how it was stained with the blood of his comrades.
The balcony coming down had taken so many American lives that the commander’s troops now looked like a small skirmish rather than a full blown attack. Enola stood beside her father as Jacob accepted the sword, and then handed it to the chief, bowing his head. This was a surrender for all of them.
“You'll be escorted to the prisons,” Jacob said. “And from there your fate will be decided by my commander.”
“Sir,” the American commander said, accepting his fate. There was no other choice in that moment. It was that or death, and having survived such an attack, everyone was feeling like they had a fresh lease on life. Even if, for the Americans, it meant a prison world.
“Take them away,” Jacob nodded as the privates began to clap them in irons. He looked to Harold, who nodded. Jacob was the commander on land currently, but Harold outranked him. Even Holde outranked him, Enola thought, and yet somehow, he had everyone's attention. He had a bright future, she thought, if his betrayal could be overlooked.
Somehow, as the prisoners were led away and all eyes turned to Jacob, she had a feeling that it wouldn't.
“You did quiet a heroic thing,” Harold said, approaching Jacob and lowering his voice. “But the truth is, this has to be reported to the military court. And although you came back to save us, many men died today because of what you did.”
Jacob held his chin high, but Enola could see the emotion in his eyes. “I know, sir,” he said. “I am prepared to hand in my rank.”
“Perhaps not,” Aaron said. “We've had quite a few experiences with military court.”
A look was exchanged between the men, and Enola had a feeling that they had entered something much deeper than they had walked in before. Their thoughts were broken by the fact that the medical team was coming in to help with the survivors.
“Wesley,” Enola suddenly remembered. “I should help, where is he?”
“I haven't seen them,” Harold said as he turned to Aaron.
“I have,” Aaron said, his face pale. “It doesn't look good. They are still where we left them. Lola hasn't left his side.”
“We need to get him into a proper surgery,” Enola said. “There are herbs, there are medications, but if his brain is swelling, we need to relieve it.”
“This way,” Aaron said, leading her through the crowds.
It was as Enola had feared. Wesley hadn't woken, and there were so many that needed her help. She was already exhausted, but her energy was renewed as she moved about the casualties, doing what she cold. It was the part of the battle no one talked about when they celebrated their victories.
By the time she stopped moving, it was past dark. Those who could be saved were laying on cots, with doctors and nurses hovering over them. Harold had been reunited with Annabelle, and Patrick was at her side, trying to get her to eat. Lola hovered over her husband still, as if her very presence was going to bring him back to consciousness. Jacob and Mary seemed attached at the hand. The campfire was populated by British and Natives, laughing and talking; drinking and eating. Enola felt like she was exactly where she belonged as she tried to return to the campfire. Her father, however, put a hand out to stop her.
“Daughter,” he said. She went to greet him in Michif, but he stopped her, speaking in his halting English. “You are happy here.”
“Yes,” she said. That was an easy thought to speak. She was happy, but she wished she could be in both places. “But Father, I...”
She had left on such harsh terms, and she felt like a different person.
“And you will be safe?” he asked.
“I think so,” Enola replied. “I am strong though.”
“Yes, Daughter, you are strong,” he said. “And one day, when I have been reclaimed by Nature, you will be the one they rally to. It is unusual, yes, but it is truth. And your British husband will have to choose...”
“He won't choose,” Enola said. “There is no choice. I believe that he will come with me. We will be married until death do us part.”
They hadn't intended it to be this way, but she knew she was speaking both their feelings.
“Then so be it,” he said.
She wanted to hug him, but it just wasn't done. Instead, she dipped her head, and her father did the same. “Shall you join us?” she pointed to the fire, where her friends were gathering. “It would be nice.”
“No,” he said. “Although I’m sure it would be. This is your place, Enola, but it is not mine. As soon as the men are well rested, then we will be off.”
“You helped us win,” Enola cried. “And you are just leaving?”
“Yes,” he said. “You are family, and we are all one now. We will always come. But I hope that we will all be able to distance ourselves from this war.”
“I hope so too,” Enola replied. “I hope this is the beginning of the end.”
It was a few moments before she rejoined the rest, sitting around the campfire.
“Do you have news from the hospital?” Aaron asked. Enola tried to smile.
“Everything is as well as can be.”
“But he's not awake?” Aaron asked. His sister put a hand on his shoulder.
“He will awaken,” she said. “And we will return to Britain, as if we never left.”
“Did anyone tell him what we proposed?” Harold asked.
“Lola did,” Aaron said. “But obviously, they didn't make a choice before…everything happened.”
“Is that what you will do?” Jacob questioned. “Return to Britain for a...quieter life?”
“I think so,” Harold said. Enola exchanged a look with Jacob before speaking up for him.
“Could you help him?” she asked. “He'll lose everything if he goes to military court.”
“I couldn't do that,” Mary said. “I couldn't...he was just trying to save me. My father will disown me if he finds out and we marry.”
Aaron and Harold exchanged a look. “You work in the office,” Aaron said. “You could manage it.”
Harold sighed. “Yes,” he agreed finally. “I could manage it. The courts will hear of it, but I can testify on your behalf to the panel. Since I was here, it is likely you will walk away. My testimony will clear you.”
“You'd be willing to do that?” Jacob asked. “For me?”
“I---” Harold said. “So long as you repay it, one day. Forward, to someone whose life depends on it. You understand?”
“I do,” Jacob responded. “Thank you.”
He squeezed Mary's hand, and Enola turned to Patrick. “What about us?” she asked, a question she had been thinking about.
“What about us?” he asked, trying to pick up her train of thought. “Do you mean where will we live?”
“You are British, yes?” she said. “So I thought...”
“No, my love,” he said. “There is nothing left for me back there,” he said, and looke
d at the fire for a long moment.
“So, we stay here?” she asked, cautiously.
“Of course we do,” he replied. “You are a princess, are you not? If the situation was reversed, I would expect you to come to my kingdom.”
“My father was just asking,” she smiled. “He has given us his blessing.”
“I knew he would come around,” Patrick teased. “It's my charming smile.”
“I don't think that's what it was,” Enola smiled. “But we can pretend, if you like.”
“Lola,” Aaron suddenly turned around, as if sensing his best friend. She had come into the camp silently, and Enola feared the worst. Lola was never silent. “Is he---”
“He's awake,” Lola said and everyone breathed a sigh of relief. “He's...not quite the same though.”
“He won't be,” Enola said. “For quite some time. He's been through trauma. However, a good recovery in the hospital, and a convalescence of a few months...and I am quite sure that he will pull through.”
“I hope so,” Lola sank onto the log beside Aaron. “Looks like we'll be staying here for a while, at least.”
“Until he's recovered,” Aaron said. “The ship won't sail without him.”
“That's kind of you,” Lola answered. “And I'm sure I'll get a more concise answer out of him in the next few days...but perhaps it should wait?”
“What?” the pirate lord turned to her.
“Not forever,” she said. “We were just talking about taking some time off, both of us. Relaxing somewhere on a beach.”
“Can't do that six months out of the year here,” Holde quipped and she chuckled.
“We'd probably go abroad to Spain, maybe.”
“Enola speaks Spanish,” Jacob said. “Maybe she can translate for you.”
“Didn't we just say we're staying here?” Enola asked, but Holde smiled.
“Maybe a holiday would be nice. I'm due for some time off.”
“I'm sure we all have great adventures ahead of us,” Lola said. “But I'm also sure that none of us will forget this place.”
“Or those who have left their lives here,” Jacob said, and they fell silent.
There was no question when they got up to head for their tents as to where Enola was going. Her hand was locked in Patrick's, and she was sure she'd take her own tent down after today. They were one now, and she never intended to be apart from him.
“What other languages do you speak?” he asked.
“Why?” she replied, as they ducked inside.
“I was just thinking about other places we could go on holiday,” he answered with a cheeky grin. She gave him a light swat as she sat down at his makeshift desk.
“French. Michif, Irish Gaelic.”
“We could visit the lot in Ireland, then,” he said. “I'd like to see them again.”
“I would too,” she replied. “Such unlikely friends we make in the war.”
“Aye,” he said, and reached for her hand.
“And when the war is over?” she asked him, getting up. “What do you want to do?”
“I couldn't think of a life after the war,” he said. “Without it, I would be a beggar in the gutter, probably. Someone like me could never get a job. War may seem horrible, Enola, but it has provided me a few great things. An occupation, a purpose...and you. I would fight a million wars for you.”
“Mm,” she murmured as she leaned in to kiss him. “I hope though, that this will be the war to end all wars.”
“Mankind will always find something to fight about,” he answered. “But it's a beautiful dream. Don't ever give up on it.”
“Can we dream together?” she purred, and he kissed her again.
“We can,” he said. “Every night until our final breaths.”
She lay down beside him, closing her eyes as he stroked her hair. There would be no more nightmares; no more fitful sleeps now.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
WAKING UP
WAKING UP
Lola leaned against the wall, her eyes closed as she listened to Wesley's breathing. This was commonplace in the hospital. He slept for hours and hours, only waking long enough to eat and be examined. She was starting to feel like nothing would ever be the same.
Everyone else had already left. Aaron had set sail nearly two weeks ago, and Harold had taken his men and gone. Jacob and Mary were already finding a new home for themselves. Only Enola and Holde remained, although it wouldn't be for long.
Lola was starting to feel utterly hopeless. The only thing that she knew for certain was that she would not leave Wesley's side, no matter what.
Even if he was never the same.
She hadn't been on stage in weeks, the longest period of her adult life. All she wanted to do was hold his hand, stare into his eyes, and tell herself that everything was going to be fine.
“Lola?”
She opened her eyes, leaning forward. She instantly put on a smile. She never thought this was how her acting training would come in handy. She was exhausted, but he didn't need to know that she was anything but strength.
“Hello,” she said. “How are you feeling?”
“Did they take the balcony down?” he asked, sitting up. She was about to stop him when she noticed that his eyes were clear, and his cheeks were once again white, not flushed. “It should have taken out half the forces, at least.”
“They did,” she said, watching him cautiously. “Do you...remember much?”
“A splitting headache from backstage,” he answered. “Bits and pieces after that.”
“I did a lot of crying,” she said. “And trying to convince you to stay with me.”
“Did you?” he asked softly. “I thought I felt something pull me back.”
Lola looked away because she knew her eyes would fill with tears if she looked right at him. “You would have left me?” she asked softly.
He sighed. “Not willingly,” he said. “No matter what was happening between us.”
“I realized,” she replied. “That I didn't want you to go....I never wanted to be apart from you. I'd rather scream and argue with you for a thousand years than have you leave me. And you lay there and...”
“Lola…” He shakily reached out for her hand. “It's alright. I'm alright.”
“You could have not been!” she cried. “And I never would have forgiven you for leaving me like that.”
“Oh, my love.” All the ice melted between them as he reached out. She fell into his arms, sobbing outrageously.
They were always going to fight; she knew that. However, the idea of actually being apart from him was the most terrifying thing that she had ever encountered, and she had performed in front of thousands.
Lola had seen the grief that Patrick Holde had, and she never wanted to be a part of it. “I'm sorry,” she said. “I'm sorry we wasted so much time.”
“I think we had to,” he answered. “To understand what we truly meant to each other.”
She didn't want to put him through any more distress than he was already suffering. His body would still take a long time to heal, and she knew her road ahead would be difficult.
She rolled to her side, curling up beside him. This was the way it used to be; when they were first married. They wouldn't be able to go more than a few moments without touching each other; doting on each other. His touch used to send shivers down her spine and make her long for more.
They were used to being apart for long periods of time, but it was always with the acceptance, the understanding, that they would be together soon; longing and waiting for each other.
“Do you think we can fix this?” she asked him. He ran shaky hands through her hair.
“I don't know,” he answered truthfully. “Do you want to try?”
“Yes,” she said. “Yes, of course I want to try,” she replied.
There was silence, and she looked up in a panic.
“Do you want to try?”
He sighed, untangling a knot in her
hair. “The odds of it working, Lola...are not in our favor.”
She froze, terrified that he was going to give up. Everyone told them that they shouldn't be married, even from the start. Everyone knew they were too different.
However, Lola also knew that she had always been different. Being a lady of the stage, her whole heart and her whole passion in it meant that she couldn't fit in, even if she wanted to. The odds were never in her favor; and she had always found a way to make it through.
“We aren't a statistic, Wesley,” she said softly. “We aren't a number; an equation that you can work out based on what others have done in the past. We are always going to be different. Do you want to be the same as everyone else?”
He said nothing, but he did run his finger over her lips, her face. She locked eyes with him; trying to understand what was going on in his fractured mind.
“No,” he said, leaning back against the pillows. “I have never been the same as everyone else. And I doubt that we will ever be.”
“Ah,” she laid her head on his chest, careful not to hurt him. “I missed you.”
“The question is,” he asked. “Where do we go from here?”
“First you get well,” she said. “And then....we could take up residence in Bamber Manor?”
She wasn't sure if he remembered what she was talking about. His eyes flashed. “He still wants to do that?”
“More than ever,” she replied. “If...you do?”
“Will you give up the stage?” he asked.
“Do you want me to?”
“I don't,” he promised her. “I just...don't want to be apart from you so often.”
“Perhaps...” She traced a pattern on the sheets. “I could get a job in town. Part of the permanent company.”
“Wouldn't that be a downgrade for you?”
“We'd be together,” she said. “And that company tours here and again. But...We could make it work.”
“Yes,” he said, leaning down to kiss her. “We could make it work.”
Lola smiled, closing her eyes. They could make anything work; together.
How To Love A Fake Prince (The Regency Renegades - Beauty and Titles) (A Regency Romance Story) Page 19
