Honor Before Heart

by Heather McCorkle

  Silence fell as she set to the task of checking his bandages. After a long moment, her eyes lifted to meet his. The demure way they hid slightly beneath her long lashes made his heart beat so hard it almost hurt.

  “What is Ireland like?” she asked.

  The wistful tone of her voice tugged at him, bringing to memory the misty fields and rocky coastlines. That’s what he wanted to tell her of, but he couldn’t deceive her, he wouldn’t. He lifted his chin in the direction of the tent opening.

  “Not much different than this I am afraid. Death and dyin’ all around.”

  She swallowed hard. “I am so sorry. It must be terrible to have moved from one battle-torn country to another.”

  One of his shoulders lifted in a half shrug. “’Tis different here. At least half the country is not yet a battlefield, and there is hope.”

  “Some days it doesn’t feel like it,” she murmured. Shaking her head and disrupting the waves of hair that cascaded across her shoulders, she drew her hands into her lap. “Why do you fight?”

  “’Cause no one deserves to live in chains.”

  Her delicate eyebrows rose. “Truly, that is why?”

  He made himself meet her gaze. There was more to why, but he couldn’t tell her, not just yet. “This surprises you?”

  Shaking her head, she took one of his hands in hers. Warmth poured into him. Being enveloped in her skin made him a bit dizzy, but in a wonderful way. In proper society a woman wouldn’t even touch him without gloves on. He was beginning to enjoy being out of society more and more.

  “No, not at all. You seem like a good man. I only meant that many soldiers fight to preserve the Union rather than to end slavery,” she was quick to say.

  “’Tis a grand reason as well, to be sure, but I believe a country built upon the backs of others cannot stand for long,” he admitted.

  This made her smile, but oddly, it was one filled with sadness instead of mirth. “What of one birthed out of the blood of the Irish? The 69th, 63rd, and 88th brigades are almost all entirely Irishmen. And I have seen far too many of them die.”

  The sad tone of her voice told him what her blank expression would not.

  “Then it shall be one born of the finest, strongest blood of all.”

  Eyes brimming with tears met his, and he saw something else shining in their depths—respect. “Two of my brothers have already died and another, my younger brother Michael, has gone missing,” she offered up.

  His hands gripped hers tighter, thumbs caressing the backs of her fingers. “This country will be better for their sacrifice, but I’m sorry they were taken from you.”

  Tears glistened on her lashes as she looked away. “Thank you.” The words were barely a whisper.

  “That is what you were doin’ on the battlefield after the doctors and ambulance wagons had already retreated. You were lookin’ for Michael.”

  She nodded. “He needs me.”

  Cliste’s head suddenly lifted from his leg, her ears perking up. Tension pulled her shoulders up, readied her body for movement. Her eyes darted from Ashlinn, to him, and back again. At the same time he moved to grab his stolen musket and pack, Ashlinn put on her satchel, coat, and grabbed the doctor’s bag. Part of him admired the fact that he didn’t have to prompt her into action; another part of him became saddened that she would know such hardship.

  Eyes scanning the rainy forest, catching on each shadow that twilight had lengthened, he moved from the tent in a crouch. Full dark was yet a half hour away, but enough cover existed that they should be able to sneak away unnoticed. That is, if someone else didn’t have the same idea. As he scanned their surroundings, Ashlinn reached for the tent. Grabbing her hand, he shook his head and tapped below one ear. She nodded and moved her hand away from the treated fabric.

  Nose lifting into the air, Cliste followed them out. The hair along her back rose as her head snapped to the south. Thankfully, she didn’t make a sound. She didn’t have to. Her mannerisms made it painfully clear. Someone was out there.

  Chapter 6

  Chills raced through Ashlinn regardless of the warm, damp July night. She knew Cliste’s signs all too well. Someone was coming. The rain began to let up, the misty gray created by it slowly dissipating. For once, she actually wanted the constant drizzle of the last few days to come back. Thankfully, their dark blue uniforms would help hide them in the coming night. But it would still be a while yet before full dark fell.

  Legs bent to keep low, she crept along beside Sean, one hand buried in Cliste’s fur. She had learned that by having direct contact with the hound, it not only calmed them both, but she could feel when Cliste tensed at something. Though he had to be in immense pain, Sean moved with the ease of a seasoned soldier, head scanning, hands ready on his rifle. The gun should have put her at ease, but instead it made her blood pump so fast she became light-headed. If he fired it and there was more than one enemy soldier out there, they’d all know exactly where they were.

  The desire to reach for Sean made her muscles ache. Not only did she want to warn him, she wanted the comfort of touching him. But she knew she had to trust him, and that distracting him was a bad idea. Instead she stayed as close to his side as she dared, just out of the reach of the rifle barrel. They moved carefully through the underbrush, sticking to it and using it to hide them. Darkness spread with each moment, helping to cloak them even more.

  “I’m telling you I heard something,” came a gruff voice from far too close.

  Ashlinn exchanged a wide-eyed look with Sean. He grabbed ahold of her, pulled her behind a tree, and pressed her against it. Wrapped in his arms, his warm body against hers, a false sense of safety drifted over her. She’d never been so close to a man she wasn’t related to before, and certainly never like this. Sean was all hard planes of muscle against her soft curves. A wonderful rush made her head swim from the contact. His breath warmed her forehead, sending a completely different kind of heat coursing through her.

  So distracted was she that she barely noticed the sound of footsteps approaching and passing by the tree they hid behind. Several moments after they had gone, Sean took her hand and started through the forest at a brisk walk. Soon he led them out of the bushes where they could move faster and still remain relatively quiet. They all but jogged through the trees. Even in the fading light, Ashlinn could see the pinched look on Sean’s face and knew he had to be in terrible pain.

  Again she heard voices, but this time they were too far away to make out any words. Sean kept up their hurried pace until her breath came in gasps that burned her throat. Finally, she reached out and touched his arm. Her other hand hovered over her heaving chest. Sean took one look at her and slowed to a walk. Though full dark had fallen, her eyes had adjusted well enough that she could see the pain etched on his face. Despite what it cost him, he hadn’t once made any sound that would indicate the agony he was in. He had slowed for her, not himself.

  Almost of its own accord, Ashlinn’s hand took hold of his. Inappropriate as it was, she didn’t care. Her mother could seethe down at her from heaven all she wanted. Their lives were on the line and if they were going to die, she was bloody well going to do it helping a handsome man stay on his feet. Hard as she listened, she didn’t hear another voice. Either they had lost them, or the Reb scouts had decided to pursue them quietly. Still, she wasn’t about to let go of his hand, not with the way his fingers tightened possessively around hers. How much she liked it should have bothered her more than it did, but she’d worry about that if they survived the night.

  Near her other hand Cliste trotted along, tail wagging. The hound’s relaxed demeanor soothed Ashlinn’s nerves until finally she was able to stop shaking. Each ragged breath Sean took made her concern for him grow. She moved in close to him so her mouth was next to his ear.

  “We should stop and rest,” she whispered.

  “Do you need to?”

  “No, but your wound.”

 
He lifted his chin, pace never slowing. “I will be fine. If we are caught, they will kill me and do worse to you. I will not let that happen.”

  Though his words were quiet, the emotion behind them made them so powerful chills raced up her arms. From the conviction in his tone, she could tell that arguing would be a waste of time. Besides, how could she when he sounded so gallant? Then there was the scathing memory of the Reb soldier knocking her to the ground, unbuckling his belt…

  “All right, but promise to tell me if it gets too much. No need to be overly manly,” she whispered.

  “I promise.” His feather-light breath upon her cheek was just enough to make her wish it were a caress.

  Silently chiding herself, she marched on beside him through the dark forest. Every now and then, they came close enough to see the beaten down road the Union army had left in its wake while returning to Harrison’s Landing. The hours ticked by and Sean never slowed his brisk walk. Ashlinn’s calves and back soon burned from stepping over fallen branches and ducking beneath low-hanging ones. Her breeches and coat had snagged on bushes more times than she could count. That road was so tempting the sight of it made her ache.

  Just when she feared she couldn’t take the temptation any longer, Sean guided them out onto the road. Moonlight bathed the swath cut through the countryside, making it look like a ghostly river. A glance up revealed clouds retreating. She tugged gently against his hand.

  “Do you really think ’tis safe?” She didn’t want to doubt him, but she feared the pain might be getting the better of him since he had been denying it for the last few hours.

  “Aye, ’tis just around the next bend. Besides, they have seen us, and we do not want to give them any reason to shoot.” He indicated the path before them with a life of his chin.

  Her feet were already upon the road by the time the second sentence left his mouth. She halted in midstride, alarm coursing through her. Sean straightened and pulled her close to his side. Next to them, Cliste began to growl low and quiet, not a menacing sound so much as a warning.

  “That ’tis far enough. Yer name and rank, soldier,” boomed a voice from the trees on the other side of the road.

  Sean stepped between her and the voice. “Corporal Sean MacBranain,” he announced in an equally loud voice.

  “Who’s with you?” came the man’s voice from the trees again.

  “The nurse who saved my life.” His hand tightened around hers as he said the words.

  Quiet as a ghost, a shadow stepped out of the bushes, making her tense up. Another set of boots sounded behind them. Cliste’s growl grew louder, throaty with warning. She had never even known they were there.

  Upon seeing the Union blue uniforms Ashlinn let out a breath. “’Tis all right, Cliste,” she said, one hand patting the hound’s head.

  “MacBranain! Bloody hell man, we thought you were dead for sure,” came a different voice from behind them.

  Ashlinn turned to see a tall, broad soldier approaching, musket lowered, a wide grin lifting his shortly trimmed mustache into cheeks that sported at least a week-long shadow. He paused, eyes going to Cliste. She continued to pet the hound’s head in a soothing motion. Slowly, the hair along Cliste’s lay back down. Steering wide of her, the soldier approached Sean.

  “Good lord, man. ’Tis that a bear or a dog?” the soldier asked in a deep voice, eyes on Cliste. His accent suggested he was Irish, but his height suggested something else.

  Sean laughed. “’Tis an Irish wolfhound. She also helped save me life.”

  A grunt of pain expelled from him as the man embraced him. The beginnings of a growl rumbled through Cliste again.

  “I would have been dead for sure if it were not for this one here,” he said when the man let him go.

  The tall man looked Ashlinn over, not in the leering way some soldiers did, but as if he was impressed with her. Then again, that could be due in part to her being clad in men’s clothing with her hair all done up beneath her cap. “Thank you, lass. You have saved a good man here, you have.”

  The attention shifted back to Sean as the other two men exchanged greetings with him. Pushed to the side, Ashlinn had to fight back a pang of loss. She didn’t want to part ways with Sean. For the first time since this blasted war, she hadn’t felt so alone. The thought stirred the beginnings of panic within her. She didn’t want to allow herself to get close to anyone ever again, not after what happened to her brothers. As if sensing her thoughts, Cliste pressed against her side, her wet nose finding its way into Ashlinn’s palm.

  “We best get you back to camp. The lieutenant will be thrilled to know there is another survivor,” the tall soldier said.

  The man turned him toward the direction of Harrison’s Landing, leaving Ashlinn forgotten in the background. Even the second soldier, who began to melt back into the forest, didn’t spare her a glance. Such was the treatment of medical folk, especially a woman disguised as a male nurse. Despite being used to it, it stung this time. Part of her ached at watching Sean walk away, a part she very much wanted to deny. The logical part of her knew it was for the best, so she let him walk on ahead. Attachments were more dangerous than bullets in this war.

  He stopped, turned, and reached back for her hand. “Ashlinn,” he called back to her.

  At the sound of that gentle voice, she knew with a sinking certainty. There was no denying it. Already she had become attached to this soldier in a way she’d never allowed herself to become attached before. But she would resist it with everything she had in her. She had to. This man, like so many others, would likely end up just like her brothers. Dead or missing. Yes, she would resist. Tomorrow. Accepting his hand, she realized she would fight the most onerous of doctors to remain at his side and ensure his recovery. But that was all. Once he was better she would keep her distance.

  Chapter 7

  As they walked through the muddy pathways between soldier tents toward the hospital tent, Sean clung tighter to Ashlinn’s hand. Her circulation had to be suffering for it, he knew, yet he couldn’t loosen his grip. The care she had taken with him and his wounds was above and beyond what most doctors—and certainly any nurses—could or would have done. Though he was on the road to recovery, his fever last night had proven he wasn’t out of the woods yet. He didn’t want anyone else treating him. One stolen glance at her and he knew it had more to do with not wanting to be away from her than it did with not wanting someone else to treat him.

  The rational part of his mind tried to convince him that forming any type of attachment was a bad idea. People only ended up either disappointed by him, or disappointing him in the end. Those that didn’t more often ended up dying during this blasted war. This woman had saved his life as surely as any of the soldiers he trusted at his back and, like them, he felt a bond with her that was unbreakable because of it.

  Soldiers began to call out greetings to not only him now, but Ashlinn and Cliste as well, mostly Cliste. Eyes big and round, Cliste looked up at Ashlinn, tail wagging. Laughter bubbled from Ashlinn like water over rocks. The sound sent a warmth spreading through Sean that helped banish some of the pain.

  Ashlinn leaned down, almost eye level with the hound. “Go on then, you beggar. But do not beg from those who cannot afford to give.”

  Tail increasing its velocity until Sean couldn’t believe the dog didn’t topple over, Cliste bounded off amidst the tents. Eyebrows rising, he turned to Ashlinn.

  “The soldiers know her?” he asked.

  “Many of them. I almost never have to feed her she is so good at begging.” The joy in her voice made him smile.

  For a moment, he wondered how he had never seen Cliste before, or heard the soldiers speak of her. Then his gaze drew out to the row after row of tents that dotted the transformed plantation like ants in formation. His tent sat acres away, in the opposite direction from the hospital tent. Never had he cause to go near this place before. The sprawl of tents was like a makeshift city, one big enough
that two souls could live within it and never meet.

  Several muddy paths later, the horrible reek of carrion filled the air, coating the back of Sean’s tongue, making him fight the urge to vomit. They rounded a tent and the sprawling hospital tent—easily ten times the size of even an officer’s tent—loomed before them. Dread far chillier than any rainy winter in Ireland seeped into him. The stench came from the hospital tent. He suddenly wanted to be going anywhere but in there. Even the battlefield didn’t seem as daunting at the moment.

  Slowly, almost reluctantly it seemed, Ashlinn pulled her hand from his. How had he held on that long and not noticed? Shame at his improper manners burned through him. This woman made him forget himself, and that scared him more than a little. As they entered the tent she fell into step behind him, becoming so silent he had to glance back to make sure she was there.

  A lone light shone deep within the large tent, casting a sickly yellow glow upon a scene Sean didn’t want to get closer to. Cots lined both sides of the tent, easily over a hundred, and all filled with soldiers. Regardless of Sean’s reservations, their soldier escort led them inside. With a whine, Cliste sat down at the entrance to the tent and refused to go any further. Sean wished he could do the same, and for more reasons than the debilitating pain stabbing through him.

  Hovering over a table at the opposite end of the tent, wearing a blood-splattered apron, saw in hand, stood a man that appeared more butcher than doctor. On the table before him lay a still body, one leg ending in a gory mess, the other half sawed off. At first, Sean thought the wounded man lay on a dark blanket; then he realized arterial blood covered the table and slowly dripped onto the floor.

  The doctor tossed the bloody saw onto a side table strewn with medical instruments. Several of the soldiers lying in cots startled at the sound. One man to Sean’s left sat bolt upright, eyes wide and wild. As they passed the man’s bed, Ashlinn reached out and patted the soldier’s arm. She whispered to him until he lay back down and closed his eyes. Though the light was dim in the tent, Sean could tell by the outline of the man’s body beneath the thin blanket covering him that he had only one leg.