He took her hands in his, wishing the gloves weren’t keeping their skin from touching—and chastising himself inwardly for wishing it. The words got caught in his throat and she spoke before he could.
“Please do not allow anything that hateful man said get to you. He only wishes to cause me misery because he believes women have no place in the field of medicine. That, and I think deep down he fears I know more about it than he does.”
Sean lifted her chin with one hand until she met his gaze. The way the starlight lay softly upon her skin threatened to take his breath away, but he sucked it back in. He had to get this out.
“But he is right about one thing.”
Loose locks of her hair bobbed as she shook her head. “No.”
“Aye, I am afraid so. The honorable thing to do is to wait for this war to end, then court you properly when we return to New York, if you are interested. And I must do the honorable thing by you. You deserve no less.”
Her breath hitched. Starlight glistened off moisture in her eyes. “You have not acted at all dishonorably today. It was I that enticed you. Please do not feel as though you are to blame.”
Lips pulling up into a smile, he shook his head. “I am a grown man and I shoulder my fair share of the blame. I will act the proper gentleman from now on, I promise.”
“But you could die tomorrow.” The pain in her voice threatened to crumble his resolve but he held fast to it.
His finger traced up the line of her jaw. “Not possible. I have a guardian angel.”
She leaned into his hand, her skin wonderfully soft against his callused palm. The patter of a heavy four-legged creature trotting closer told Sean they were no longer alone. He glanced down at Cliste. “Two, in fact.”
A short laugh thick with unshed tears came from her. “Until then, we will be friends at least, I hope.”
Lifting her hand, he hovered over it for a long moment drawing in the scent of lavender soap and underlying iodine. He kissed her hand slow enough that the warmth of her skin radiated through the satin and lace to heat his lips. Even as he wondered how in the world he would be able to keep his distance from her, he released her hand and stepped back.
“The very best of friends,” he promised.
Hand crossing over his abdomen, he bowed deeply to her as he took another step back in the direction of his tent. “I bid you a good evenin’.”
She swallowed hard and gave him a joyless smile. “You as well.” The words were but a choked whisper.
False smile firmly in place, she turned and ducked inside her tent. It killed a part of him to know she was in so much pain, and that he had caused it. If only he had been a gentleman all evening as he had intended, none of this would have happened.
A huge, wet tongue rubbed along the side of his hand. Cliste looked up at him with forlorn eyes before dashing in. Sean watched until the light of a candle from within revealed the silhouette of Ashlinn sitting upon her cot with her head in her hands. It took every ounce of willpower he had left not to go in there and comfort her. But he didn’t dare, not when he knew where such a thing might lead. If she pushed the issue, he would be helpless to resist. How he was going to remain only friends with a woman that had such power over him, he had no idea.
Chapter 10
Over and over Ashlinn flipped the end of her braid through her fingers as she walked from the hospital to Sean’s tent. The repetitive motion helped her relax, focus. For almost an entire week, she had been able to avoid the man. With him now attending drills, it hadn't been hard. He was not participating in them—he had assured her the first day he attended—just going to reconnect with the men he would soon be fighting alongside. The words had sealed her resolution that day to keep her distance.
Hate it though she may, she had no choice but to see him now. His stitches had to come out.
Each night that he walked by her tent on his way to his own Cliste perked her head up and whined. That he chose to take the route leading alongside her tent had her worried perhaps she was in his thoughts as much as he was in hers. If so, the fact that they were keeping their distance was for the best. Harmless flirting was one thing, but attachments were something neither of them could afford right now. If that was the case, she had misread him terribly and was more than a bit embarrassed to admit it even to herself. Embarrassed and secretly thrilled. But considering how the men in her life died or disappeared, distance was the best answer.
Besides, she needed to remain focused on finding Michael. He was out there somewhere; she could feel it in her gut. If he were dead, she or Cliste would have found their family’s other hound, the one that had attached itself to Michael. Since neither he nor his corpse had shown up, she held onto hope that he was out there somewhere with her brother.
Today Cliste pranced alongside Ashlinn, happy as could be, as if she knew where they were going. She wished she could share the hound’s enthusiasm. Stopping at Sean’s tent, she cleared her throat. The flap opened before she could get any words out.
For the briefest moment joy flashed in Sean’s eyes, brightening the lighter brown in them. But the emotion was gone as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by a guarded expression. His hair hung down nearly into his eyes, making her want to brush it back, plunge her hands into it, and pull him to her. So much for her control. Yet wanting a thing and acting on it were two very different things. She could do this.
“Miss O’Brian, what brings you to me tent?”
Had she been standing there long without saying a word? She didn’t know. Time seemed to have stopped. She cleared her throat.
“Ashlinn?” he said more softly, the word almost a caress.
Determined not to act like a lovestruck lass with no sense, she linked her hands before her to look more official while keeping them occupied at the same time.
“It is time for your stitches to come out,” she said, proud that her voice didn’t sound even a little breathless.
His brows rose and he nodded as he stepped aside, sweeping a hand out to invite her in. She hesitated at the threshold. Could she trust herself if she went in there? To get to the stitches she’d have to have him remove his shirt. Heat scorched her cheeks and she looked down. Damn, why had she worn her hair back? A canine head bumped into her back hard enough to push her forward a step. If she didn’t know better, she would think her own hound was working against her. Sean let the tent flap close behind her.
Candlelight illuminated the small area well enough that she’d be able to see all she needed—and all she didn’t need to see. Then again, it helped reaffirm her hope that all she felt for him was desire. As his fingers worked at the buttons on his shirt she struggled to keep her focus on why she had come here.
“Have the wounds been causing you any pain or discomfort?” She kept her voice professional, detached, everything she didn’t feel right now.
When he opened his shirt and began to peel it off, she cast her gaze to the ground. Hard planes of muscle flashed in her peripheral vision. Despite the cool, rainy day, the temperature inside the tent became stifling. She would have to look at him eventually; she just couldn’t bring herself to do it yet. This was ridiculous. She had seen him half-naked when she had stitched him up for goodness’ sake. Then he had just been another soldier, one of the masses of men she treated and sent back into the fray to die in some other horrendous manner.
“Less and less every day,” he said.
The sound of his voice made her look up. Her eyes raked across solid pectorals, down hard abdominals, to a dark line of hair that led from his belly button and into the low waist of his breeches. Had she asked him a question? She couldn’t remember. Oh how she wanted to touch all that bare skin…the strength of the pull helped her label the feeling for what it was; desire, not something deeper. A sigh of relief slid between her lips. Realizing that helped, a little. Telling herself he would just die on her like every other man in her life helped a lot more. Her eyes caught on the
red scar dotted with black knots of thread on his left side.
“Have the stitches loosened?”
He touched one of the black knots, moving it slightly. “A bit.”
The nurse in her began to awaken, carrying her across the small space that divided them. She pulled a small pair of scissors from her pocket. “Hold as still as you can.”
His soap, oil, and gunpowder scent wrapped around her as she closed the distance between them. In many ways it was similar to any other soldier’s scent, but there was an underlying pleasant musk that was all him. That singular smell poured down her throat, wrapped around her self-control, and began to dissolve it.
Focus. She had to focus.
She snipped each of the stitches and put the scissors away lest she stab him due to her shaking hands. The thread resisted, forcing her to place a hand upon his skin to manipulate it into letting go of the stitch. Heat from his body seeped into her. An eternity later, she had all the stitches from his side wound out. He didn’t flinch once.
“Let me know if I hurt you,” she said.
He made a noncommittal grunt that she suspected held a double meaning. But then, maybe that was just her imagination. To hurt him in any other manner, he would have to have feelings for her, which he could not. Not thinking, she ran her finger over the clean, pink scar. Sean shivered and made a sound low in his throat that sent heat rushing through her. The desire to run her fingers over more of his bare skin was so strong that she had to pull away, reminding herself that desire and feelings were not the same thing.
“It has healed quite well,” she said in an attempt to distract him from her own reaction.
“I had an excellent surgeon.” There was no teasing or sarcasm in his voice, just honesty.
Unable to resist any longer, she lifted her eyes to his. A maelstrom of emotions swirled within the coppery depths: pain, longing, desire. All were reflections of her own inner turmoil, the first two ones which she wanted to deny more than anything. She had expected cold detachment, or raw desire alone—not this.
“Thank you.” The two words were so thick with emotion that they laid her soul bare, but it was too late to take them back. Besides, appreciating the fact that someone recognized her medical ability was not the same as having feelings for them. She hated how much that the thought made it feel as though she were trying to convince herself.
His shaking hand reached out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear. Seeing him shake almost undid her. Surely, desire alone couldn’t cause such a reaction.
“You are welcome. ’Tis true. Had anyone else found me out there I would have likely died of infection.”
“Aye, you would have.”
Warm fingers traced down from her sensitive ear to her jaw. Pride swelled in her that she didn’t shiver, but her eyes did flutter closed. She forced them back open and looked at the arm so close to her, at the scar marring it. Scissors rising, she set to the task with an air of detachment that she hoped did not appear as false as it felt. The swell of his bicep distracted her in the most delicious way, causing muscles low in her abdomen to tighten. Ignoring her raging heart, she finished removing the stitches from his arm.
“This is not what I meant, you know.” Sean’s voice startled her.
“What is not what you meant?”
Her gaze remained fixed on his arm. She couldn’t meet his eyes again or she would crack and beg him to tell her how he truly felt. For both her heart’s sake and her pride, that was the last thing she wanted to do—the last thing, and the only thing.
“Avoidin’ each other is not bein’ friends. ’Tis the opposite. We are adults, we can control ourselves enough to be friends, surely,” he said, desperation hidden beneath his careful tone.
That, she feared, was precisely the problem. If they controlled their passion, their friendship would grow. And if that grew, the sensation warming the frozen edges of her heart may grow as well. Better to allow desire to take them over.
The daring brush of his fingers against her cheek encouraged her. Keeping as much emotion from her eyes as she could, she met his gaze again.
“Aye, of course we can,” she said.
A deep sigh eased from Sean and a smile crept onto his lips. “Good.”
Eyes sweeping low, head tilting as she stepped to the side, she purposefully turned herself so that he would have an excellent view down into her cleavage. The opportunity to tease him a bit in retaliation for being shirtless was just too good to pass up. She did not want to leave, not with him standing there looking like a work of art. Her eyes strayed to the cot, along with her thoughts. What she really wanted to do was…
Something different on his carefully folded uniform that sat on the edge of the cot caught her eye, grinding her lascivious thoughts to a halt. Three stripes adorned his shoulder, not two. Feet moving of their own accord, she crossed the narrow space and picked the uniform up. Her fingers traced the sergeant stripes. Her spirit soared on a wave of hope. Sergeants came across her table far less often than soldiers of lower rank.
“You have been promoted.”
He walked to her side, hovering close enough that she felt the heat of his body. “Aye, sergeant of a fine company of men. I start runnin’ drills with them tomorrow.”
She turned to him, forcing her eyes to meet his, to stay away from the planes of his chest, the swell of his biceps, for now. “I do hope you will be careful for at least another two weeks. You are still healing.”
One side of his mouth quirked up into a partial grin. “Doctor’s orders?”
Brows pulling together, she gave him as stern a look as she could. “Indeed.” The look melted away and she could feel hope creeping into her eyes. “Does this mean you will be in less danger?”
Sean looked away. “Not exactly. But as I said, these are good men. They will watch my back.”
The words worked like a bucket of cold water on her hope, washing it away with an unpleasant shock. Small though it had been, that hope had managed to melt a bit more of heart.
“As my doctor, you would o’ course be welcome to watch the drills, to ensure that I am not overdoin’ it.”
A different kind of hope thrilled through her. Watching him work out could be quite enjoyable, and could keep her focused on her desire. “That would be prudent.”
Her thoughts took a turn that threatened to lead her down a path she could not go if she wished to maintain her dignity. Should he spurn her advances now in the name of honor, she may lose the chance at using desire as a shield. Best to keep him wanting. She started for the tent opening, hands again clasped before her to ensure she kept them to herself.
“Our first drill is at sunrise tomorrow at the northeast side of the property, if you would like to observe it,” he called after her.
Hand on the tent flap, she allowed herself a glance back. All that bare flesh and hard muscle burned into her memory. “I will be there.”
Before she could lose her resolve, she ducked quickly out of the tent and let the flap close behind her. Cliste sat waiting, tail sending up small clouds of dust as it wagged back and forth across the ground. Mouth open in a huge grin, tongue lolling out one side, the hound looked quite pleased with herself.
“Do not look at me that way,” she whispered.
Rising to her feet, Cliste led the way back toward the hospital. She got no more than half a dozen yards before a man stepped out from behind a tent directly into her path. Dark brow furrowed so deep it nearly swallowed his beady eyes, the doctor shook a finger at her. Against all physician-like instincts, she wanted desperately to break that damn finger.
“Watch it, woman, or you will end up ruined, and no man will want you for a wife.”
Ashlinn waved the scissors at him. “Not that it is any of your business, but I was removing his stitches.” Scissors tightly in hand, she shoved past him.
“Humph. Well it would have been prudent to do so in the hospital instead of the man’s own
tent.”
Teeth grinding, Ashlinn turned halfway back toward him. “And did it ever occur to you that I may want to be more than just someone’s wife?”
The man’s face turned such a bright shade of red that she suspected he might be holding his breath. Good, let the fool pass out. She had rounds to do. Growling in frustration, she stormed off toward the hospital tent. The last of her tolerance with men telling her what she should want to be and how she should act had been exhausted. It was time she started taking matters into her own hands. And when that came to Sean, she intended to make it quite literal. If she kept their relationship physical, it may help her keep him out of her heart.
Chapter 11
A second line of men moved forward to seamlessly cover the first line that went through the motions of reloading their weapons. Not a single shot was actually fired, but they went through each step as if it had been. After two weeks of running drills with his men, they had become a finely tuned company that moved and thought as one. He couldn’t be more proud of this fine group of one hundred Irishmen from New York. And he would do everything in his power to do right by them.
More than once, he had stolen a glimpse into the shade of the willow tree near the riverbank. In a simple dark blue dress that hugged her curves and transformed her into something stunning, Ashlinn lounged upon a bench there. Her golden hair spilled about her shoulders like sunlight. Locks blew about in the breeze created by the small fan she waved before her.
Longing so powerful it made his chest ache forced him to look away. She came to watch at least once a week, to monitor his improvement and make sure he didn’t overdo it, supposedly. Why she really came was clear by the longing in her eyes and the ease of her smile. Every day he awoke with the hope that it would be the day she came to watch. The times he got to see her were fewer and farther between now that his tent had been relocated amidst his company. Sometimes entire days would go by without so much as a glimpse of her. Those were the hardest. Remaining honorable and proper had never been so difficult.
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