A soldier cursed as his rifle slipped from his sweat-slickened hands. The man quickly picked the weapon back up with one hand while wiping the other across his dripping brow.
“Sorry, Sarge,” the man said as he continued the drill.
Sean walked along the front line, correcting positions of some, complimenting others. When he reached the man who had dropped his weapon, he stopped. “’Tis all right, Corporal Ferguson.” He stepped back to look at the line of twenty-five kneeling men and the subsequent three lines standing behind them.
“Good job, men. Let’s call it a day and take a dip in the river before chow. Dismissed!” he announced.
Whoops and hollers filled the sultry air as men rose to their feet and started toward the river. Each one took care with his weapon, taking it with him and storing it along the bank. Pride swelled within Sean at the sight. They were learning. Clothes began to fly off but some men splashed right into the water, uniform and all. He longed to join them but didn’t dare do so with Ashlinn waiting and watching. That would certainly cross the lines of propriety. He wasn’t sure of her family’s standing, but from the pristine way she talked and her careful manners, she was a lady of high society for certain. And high society would never tolerate such lewdness as skinny-dipping. Worse than all that, though, he would miss the chance to talk to her.
Hoping he didn’t stink half as bad as some of his men did, Sean walked to the shade of the willow tree where Ashlinn sat. The smile she gave him made his heart thud harder as it pumped blood to some wonderfully inappropriate places. His breath caught as he watched a bead of sweat trickle down her neck and into her cleavage. She reached down and caught the drop just before it could slide to the point where her breasts met and suddenly Sean’s knees went weak.
Air swirled around him as Ashlinn rose to her feet and stepped to his side. She placed a gloved hand upon his arm, the touch sending sparks dancing down deep into him.
“Are you all right, Sergeant? You did not overdo it now, did you?” she asked in a chastising voice that had just enough of a teasing tone to it that Sean suspected she knew exactly what was wrong with him. Perhaps skinny-dipping wouldn’t bother her after all. This woman would be the death of him.
With a deep breath, he regained his composure and offered her his arm. “Quite all right, thank you. I fear the heat may be gettin’ to me a bit is all.”
“Hmm, well, we should get you out of it then.” With that, she led him along the edge of the river, beneath the shade of the elm trees that grew in abundance there.
Cliste leapt to her feet and trotted alongside, ears pricked up, eyes watching them closely as if it were her solemn duty to chaperone them. Grinning, Sean scratched between the big hound’s ears.
This was the long, secluded way back to his section of camp, around the back of the manor house through the landscaped garden. His heart pounded harder at the thought of being alone with her—or as near to it as one could get here. He knew he should stop, ask one of the soldiers to chaperone them. But they were all occupied and he didn’t want to pull them away from their much-deserved relaxation. No, he would simply have to keep his distance and his control. She was his nurse, after all, just measuring his improvement.
Every time he had seen Ashlinn over the past two weeks, their encounters had been short and very sweet, with more than a little flirting. Any time he asked anything personal, though, she remained aloof. Nor had she been bold with him again, no skin-to-skin contact, and certainly no kissing. The secret smiles she sometimes hid made him wonder if she was doing it on purpose. It was starting to drive him mad with desire, making him seriously regret not asking for the right to court her then and there. But he couldn’t, he wouldn’t. They were in the midst of a war and he had his company to focus on; honor demanded it. A daring part of him wished to allow nature to take its course. To do so would be to compromise his honor, and worse, hers. That was something he would never do.
Her gloved fingers brushed slowly along his arm. His eyes closed and he had to remember how to breathe. “How is the arm doing?” she asked.
If she insisted on torturing and testing him, he could at least return the favor. “Much better. I shall show you once we reach my tent.”
Her right eyebrow rose and she cocked her head. Was that a glimmer of hope in her eyes? It left too quickly for him to tell, but it was long enough to send blood burning in a rush to his groin. Had her pace sped up or was he imagining it? Just the possibility made his head swim.
“How are the wounded?” he asked.
With great fervor, she delved into the description of her day, going over each man she had treated and his improvements or lack thereof. It had become a routine of theirs. He loved listening to her talk about her work. The passion that filled her voice when she did so thrilled him like nothing else ever had. While technical bits of surgeries and wound care exceeded his understanding, they also fed his growing respect for her intelligence. And her stories of recovery and tales of things the wounded soldiers told her only served to solidify his belief that she was an angel.
In no time at all they reached the edge of the field of tents. Leaving the gardens of the manor house behind, they wove through the maze of the encampment. Soldiers milling about called greetings to both of them, some casting Sean a knowing, envious look. They would never be so crass as to comment in the lady’s presence, but they had begun to tease him good-naturedly in her absence. Once they reached the area where his company’s tents lay, they found themselves alone. It would be at least a short time until his men returned from the river, leaving them with only Cliste. Temptation reared within him, but he tamed it easily enough.
They reached his tent and she asked him to wait a moment for her. Disappointment flashed in her eyes as he ducked inside, leaving her standing alone on the dusty path. His libido raged at him as his mind played out the possibilities of inviting her inside, but he ignored it like any good gentleman would. His regiment put honor and loyalty above all other virtues. Since he led a company now, they looked to him, and it was more important now than ever that he remain honorable. Scooping up his violin and bow, he dashed back out of the tent.
The light that filled Ashlinn’s widening eyes when they set upon his violin made his heart pump faster. Hoping to walk off the jitters, he led her over to an open area filled with logs and rocks that the men had gathered for seating. With a nod, he invited her to sit. Gathering her skirts, she did so, bright eyes fixed upon him. Cliste sat beside her, the huge hound nearly eye level with her.
His fingers shook a bit as he placed the violin on his shoulder and fussed with the pegs. Each night for the last two weeks, he had played for the men along with the company’s drummer and bugler. They loved it, but he suspected their exposure to such music was limited at best, and that they would have enjoyed it even if he were terrible. Being a lady of society, Ashlinn would likely know if he made a mistake. He drew the bow across the strings, filling the air with the sound of perfect notes. He grinned at Cliste as her head cocked to the side.
The feel of the instrument upon his shoulder and the bow in his hand soothed him, taking away some of the anxiety. As he began to play a sweet, slow song, his fingers stopped shaking. A few chords in and he became so caught up in the music that it carried him along, flowing through him as though it were a living, breathing thing. Pure rapture transformed Ashlinn’s lovely face into a thing of such beauty that it made Sean’s heart swell until it felt as though it barely fit within his chest. Moisture glistened in the corners of her light blue eyes.
When the song came to an end, she stood and applauded. Beside her, Cliste rose to all fours, tail wagging.
“Bravo, Sean! ’Twas amazin’!” The slip of her perfect English into an Irish brogue spoke volumes of how much the music affected her, leaving him speechless.
A grin so wide he felt his cheeks dimple spread across his face. Lowering the violin, he dropped his head. Over the years he had been playing at soc
iety functions both in Ireland and New York; many had paid him compliments. This one meant more than all of them combined.
“Thank you.”
“Do play another! Please!”
Cliste barked as if in agreement.
In a flurry of blue cotton skirts, Ashlinn sat back down and leaned forward. Elbow upon her knee, she rested her chin in her hand like an eager child. Cliste let out another bark, her gray rear end swaying from the vigorous wagging of her tail.
Sean lifted the violin back to his shoulder. “How can I deny such faces?”
Slowly, he drew the bow against the strings, pulling out a long, beautiful note that resonated all the way to his core. The music swept him along as it always did, guiding his hands and fingers as if he were no more than the tool through which it flowed. His eyes fluttered but he did not allow them to close like he usually did. How could he with the sight of Ashlinn before him, her own eyes closed, a euphoric smile upon her lips, not a crease of worry on her face? For the first time, he had found something as breathtaking as the music itself. So caught up was he in watching her that he didn’t notice soldiers from his company had started to gather until halfway through the song.
Men soon filled the makeshift seats, many of whom watched him almost as raptly as Ashlinn did. The fair-haired drummer, a man of barely twenty from Five Points, New York, soon joined in. Another soldier brought out a flute and did a fine job of playing along. Not a word was said, or needed. They all knew the old Irish song from their homeland. Once the song ended, the applause of over a dozen men filled the air, punctuated by Cliste’s occasional bark.
The drummer started in with the catchy beat of “The Battle Hymn of the Republic” and Sean and the flute player were quick to join in. To the cheers, whoops, and hollers of the men—and surprisingly Ashlinn as well—they played song after song. They took turns singing lyrics to some of the songs, even goading Ashlinn into singing a few parts. Unlike most women, she had a lower voice that hit the notes of their battle songs just right, giving them a sexy sound that made the men cheer and made Sean light-headed from the racing of his heart.
More and more gathered until his entire company seemed to be present, many sitting upon the ground when seating ran out. Feet tapped along in time to the rhythm, hands clapped with the beat, and cheering rose at the end of each tune. The bugler soon joined in, as did Fergusson on harmonica, adding a decidedly American sound to the Irish tunes. Darkness began to fall and still they played.
Toward the end of the latest song, Sean noticed a runner making his way into the camp, darting around those gathered, coming straight for him. The young man’s flushed cheeks and wide eyes drained all the mirth right out of Sean. He lowered his violin and bow. The other instruments slowly stopped. It became so quiet he could hear the runner’s ragged breathing as the man came to a stop before him.
Bent over, hands on his knees, chest heaving, the man struggled to speak.
“Easy, lad. Just breathe a moment,” Sean told him.
Left with no other choice, the man did as he was bid. Finally, he straightened and saluted Sean. “Sergeant MacBranain, your presence is requested by Lieutenant Briggs.”
Men started to rise, many voicing questions. The runner grinned, but it was a look filled with more fear than joy. “Rebs have been spotted on the hill.”
Chills coursed through Sean, stripping away the heat of the day. “The hill” had to be Malvern Hill. Images of corpses littering the countryside flashed behind his eyes. Sucking in a sharp breath, Ashlinn stood and came to him. The fear clouding her blue eyes cracked his heart. It seemed he was bound to return to hell despite the angel at his side.
Chapter 12
Each step was like a reoccurring nightmare, only worse because she was awake. Grass squished beneath her boots, ripe with moisture from the day’s rain. Most of the bodies strewn broken upon the field wore gray coats, but not all. The one mercy lay in that there were not that many, not compared to the other battlefields she had scoured. This had been more of a skirmish than a battle, ending with the Rebels scattering, so she had been told. Of Sean and his company, the others had no word.
No, she decided. This is worse than the reoccurring nightmare.
In her nightmare, she had only ever searched for her baby brother. Now she searched for two men. The pain threatening to crush her heart, the unshed tears burning her eyes, the storm of hopelessness waiting behind the windows of her soul—they were exactly the things she had been hoping to avoid. It had become glaringly clear now that keeping things flirtatious and physical had not worked. Desire alone didn’t cause this empty pit of fear and nausea in her at the very thought of him being harmed.
Since the ambulance wagons came in after the troops were already withdrawing, she had missed seeing many of the soldiers who left of their own accord. Sean and his company were not among those she had seen. For all she knew, they could still be out there fighting, chasing the Rebels down. A new and horrible fear rose in her. What if he disappeared like her baby brother had? Could she be doomed to search endlessly for them both?
A huge gray shape loped toward her from the edge of the trees. Had she not known better, it may have looked like a pony from this distance. But the loping gait of a canine with its head hung low, nose sniffing the air, was unmistakable. Cliste’s slow gait and relaxed manner allowed Ashlinn to let out the breath she had been holding. Out of habit, her hands went to the small cylinder attached to Cliste’s collar. A push of a button popped it open and released the tiny scroll inside. Her shaking fingers struggled with the slightly damp paper. As it had been every day since her brother’s disappearance, the writing upon the scroll was only her own. The old familiar disappointment stung more this time than it had the last. Perhaps because a part of her had been hoping for a message from Sean, which was ridiculous considering he didn’t even know about the hidden scroll.
Eyes going to the last withdrawing ambulance wagon, Ashlinn patted the hound. “Come on, Cliste. Time to go back,” she said through a sigh.
Nose flaring as she tested the air, head dropping low, Cliste bounded ahead. A pang of sadness for the hound’s own heart pinched at Ashlinn. She wasn’t the only one searching for someone on the battlefield. Their family had a second hound, a male that had attached itself to Michael. The male was Cliste’s mate. If they found one, they would inevitably find the other. To their combined heartache, neither turned up no matter where they looked.
Steeling herself for a long walk, Ashlinn followed the swinging gray tail before her. She did not want to be left alone in this place again after dark. Too many ghosts flitted along this hill, some of them manifested by her own horrible memories. It no longer felt like a place for the living. The last of the soldiers fell into line around her and the ambulance wagon to escort them back. Their presence was both a comfort and a disappointment. Why couldn’t it have been Sean’s company tasked with such a duty?
Gazing upon the trees that lined the worn road around them, she tried to banish such thoughts. To wish one man’s safety over another’s was wrong, she knew, but she couldn’t help it. She was tired of this damned war taking men she cared about from her. That thought stung in more ways than one. Playing with the fire of feelings had been beyond foolish. More than ever, she wished for the South to see reason and surrender.
Following an easy path with such an escort made for a much shorter trip than the last time she had walked from that hill. In no time at all it seemed Harrison’s Landing came into sight. Every fiber of her being screamed for her to go straight to Sean’s tent, but she resisted, instead following the wagon to the hospital. The wounded had to take precedence over her own pained heart. She could never hope to call herself a physician, even if only in her own mind, if she did not put others’ health first. And heavens knew if she left these men to this butcher of a doctor, it would be leaving them in mortal danger.
With only a handful of wounded she was able to see to them in no time at all. T
heir wounds were thankfully minor for the most part, and nearly all would recover so long as she kept a close eye on them over the next few days. As it was every time she entered a hospital tent, memories of her own brothers bleeding out on tables haunted her each time she closed her eyelids. Yet she soldiered on, because she had to. On her way out the door, she forced herself to take the time to stop by each cot and check on the other soldiers as well. Hours later—though it seemed days—she made it to the last cot. A figure moved into the doorway as she started for it. Her heart caught—with hope, fear, she wasn’t sure—but it was not who she hoped for.
The awful, caterpillar-looking mustache of Doctor Taylor’s rose in a sneer. “What, not out tending to your corporal?”
“He is a sergeant now, and he is not mine.” For the sake of the soldiers laying abed in the room she kept her voice low, doing her best to keep her hatred from leaking into it.
Taylor gave her a sort of sideways nod, his muddy eyes filled with contempt. “That is right; he was only playing at courting you to get what a man wants from a woman he does not intend to marry. Which I fear by your attitude he has already obtained and moved on.”
Overcome by a tidal wave of fury, Ashlinn reared back her arm and slapped Taylor so hard his head whipped sideways. An angry red welt in the shape of her hand stained his face. Raised with three brothers, she knew how to hold her own, and then some.
“How dare you!” she hissed through clenched teeth.
Hands closing into fists, he started toward her but jerked to a halt. Glancing down, Ashlinn saw that the soldier in the bed close by had a hold of the doctor’s arm.
“You are not goin’ to be wantin’ to do that, Doc,” the man said.
Glaring at him from beneath a deeply furrowed brow, Taylor tried to yank his arm free and failed. Heavy wool blankets rustled and several sets of feet slapped against the packed dirt. Soldiers began to stir in their beds all around, some even beginning to get up. The doctor’s beady eyes flicked about the room. He opened his fists and held his hands up, palms out.
Honor Before Heart Page 10
