“You are right, of course, soldier. I almost allowed my passion for propriety to get ahead of my reason.”
With a forced genteel air, Taylor turned to her, shaking his head. “It saddens me that you would turn your back on an upstanding gentleman such as myself for the attentions of a man who clearly means to dishonor you.”
Her own hands now clenching into fists, Ashlinn took a step toward him. “You are out of your mind to think I would ever welcome advances from you. Two of my brothers died by your hand!”
Brows pulling up toward his receding hairline, Taylor shook his head and looked down. “No, Miss O’Brian. It was the war that killed your brothers, not I.”
Out of her mind with rage, she slapped both hands against Taylor’s chest and shoved him back a step. “Bullshit! My eldest brother bled out from a botched amputation that you did, and my second brother died of infection from your filthy instruments and hands!”
Taylor’s face took on an expression of tolerance, as if he were dealing with a petulant child, but mirth danced in his eyes. “Such a temper. Careful, that detestable brogue is slipping back into your voice.”
The words threatened to catapult her over the edge. She reached for his neck, only to find a tall, broad soldier with a bandage wrapped around his arm standing in her way.
“Easy now, Miss O’Brian,” he said.
The man gently took hold of her hands and lowered them. Hooking an arm through hers, he led her out into the hazy light. Fresh air flowed into her lungs, clearing her head and melting away some of her fury. He looked familiar. Then it fell into place. It was Fergusson, the harmonica player from the mini-concert Sean had put on for her the other day. A day that seemed a world away now. The soldier patted her arm, careful to do so only where her dress covered her skin.
“Don’t let him get to you. He’s a filthy blaggard not fit to breathe the same air as you. And he knows nothin’ of the good sergeant’s intentions toward you,” he said.
“Thank you. Private Fergusson, is it?” she asked in a voice that only slightly shook with residual anger.
He nodded.
“You are from Sean’s regiment, are you not?”
Again he nodded, but showed no other response.
“Is he all right? I searched for him…” Her throat closed up, not allowing her to finish the sentence.
Brow rising, Fergusson shrugged. “I am sorry, Mrs. O’Brian, but I was knocked out by shrapnel and only just awoke recently. Last I saw him he was alive and fightin’.”
Some of the concern keeping her muscles rigid drained away, leaving her feeling as though she may collapse. But she couldn’t, she wouldn’t dare. She was no swooning lass; she was a nurse who was a damn score better than most doctors she had met. Straightening, she smoothed her skirt and gave Fergusson a humorless smile.
“Thank you, good sir. I appreciate you stepping in between the doctor and I.”
“You’re most welcome,” he said from the hospital entrance as she began to walk away toward her tent.
Almost as an afterthought, she called back to him in a soft voice. “And thank you for your kind words about the sergeant’s intentions as well.”
She turned away so quickly it was hard to tell, but she thought she saw the beginning of a smile pulling up the man’s mustache. Glad for the way the fading light of dusk hid her expression, she strode out onto the muddy path and walked briskly to her tent. The doctor’s words had brought back the staggering loss of her older brothers like twin blows from a cannon. It was all she could do to make it to her tent, throw the flap back, and step inside before the tears started to flow.
Through the watery haze covering her vision she saw something impossible. Sean sat upon her cot, button-up shirt undone down to his pectoral muscles and coat discarded beside him. Damp brown hair curled back from copper eyes that drank her in as if she were the finest wine. He rose as she flew at him, catching her in his strong arms, holding her when her legs no longer would. For a few precious moments, she allowed herself to cling to him so tightly that there was no way he’d be able to draw breath until she let go. The sob climbing up her throat never made it out, but a few errant tears slid down her cheeks.
Only when she could speak, did she finally let loose of him and pull back. To her delight—and torment—he didn’t let go of her. “I could not find you” was all she dared say lest her voice crack.
One arm wrapped firmly around her waist while the other brushed her hair back from her brow. “I’m sorry. I wanted to come to you straightaway, but my company did the final sweep of the hill to ensure the Rebs were good and gone.”
She wanted so badly to lean into the fingers that brushed her brow, but she refused to allow herself to. The very fact that he was here, in her tent, touching her so tenderly, stirred far more than just desire in her, and that scared her. In the copper striations of his eyes, the depths of his intentions lay bare. The power of emotions therein made her close her eyes against the honesty of it. Emotions, not just desire. It came as no consolation to know she wasn’t the only one who had lost control of her emotions.
He drew in a shuddering breath. “About what I said—”
“No, Sean.” She shook her head, dropping it down so he wouldn’t be able to see the emotion in her own eyes.
“About waiting…” he continued.
She leaned her head against her chest, still shaking it. “Today I walked the field looking for not one body, but two. Dreading not only finding my baby brother whom I failed to protect, but you as well.” She wanted to say more, had to say more, but her voice caught.
Ignoring the entire first half of what she had said, he asked, “How old is your little brother?”
“Twenty.”
Sean’s hand rubbed her back in what felt like an automatic need to comfort. “He’s been a man for a few years now. ’Tis not up to you to protect him anymore.”
She lifted her head and met his gaze. “But ’tis. You don’t understand. My brother lacks common sense and often makes the wrong choices. I promised his wife, and our other brothers, that I’d look after him. He can be a bit…sketchy.” While the words were meant to be joking, the truth in them made them ring a bit harsher.
She bit her bottom lip as she realized the weight of that confession had allowed her accent to slip through all those careful language lessons. While the hint of a smile tugging at Sean’s lips showed he liked it, the slip served to remind her of how much her mum had invested in those lessons. She had wanted to give Ashlinn every advantage in a world that hated her simply because she was Irish. Letting the accent slip felt like a betrayal to her.
Again Sean stroked her hair, threatening to shatter her defenses. “War has a way of sharpenin’ a man’s common sense, of makin’ him a survivor,” he said.
“You think he is alive?” she asked so softly he may not have heard had he not been inches away.
Taking her hand, he sat down on her cot and pulled her down beside him. “Aye, ’tis quite possible. Someone could have found him just like you found me.”
By the tightness around his eyes, she could tell there was more he wasn’t saying. Like how the Rebels could have found him and he could be in a prison right now. A powerful shudder coursed through her. That possibility had haunted her, tormenting her in her dreams, since the day her brother had disappeared.
“If the right people found him he would be back here, among his regiment,” she whispered.
Turning sideways on the cot, Sean drew a knee under himself so he could scoot closer to her. His hands enfolded one of hers. The wonderful warmth that encompassed her hand also made her heart ache. All she could think about was that warmth leaving and that she might never feel it again. To deny herself now seemed like a mercy that would save her heart later. She tried to pull her hand free but he held fast.
“Not necessarily. He could be with another regiment. You have to think positive, for both his sake and yours,” Sean said.
She nodded slowly. “I know, and most days I do. But today…”
Her eyes closed tight against the sting of tears. Crying was not an option. If she dropped her guard, she would collapse into Sean’s arms and she could not let herself do that. Already she had lost too much. Opening up her heart had been a mistake she had not intended to make, and now intended to remedy.
“Was it just my late return, or did somethin’ else happen today?” Sean asked, suspicion putting a protective edge on his tone.
Protecting her heart was one thing, but she couldn’t allow him to feel as though her distance was all his fault. “I confronted Taylor today about killing my brothers.”
Sean sat up straighter, his body going rigid with tension. “He killed them?”
Though she met his gaze, she saw right through him, to the sight of her brothers lying on a bloody table. “Aye, he did not pull the trigger, but he may as well have. He amputated my oldest brother’s leg and he bled out from the botched job. My other brother died of infection caused from Taylor’s treatment with filthy instruments.”
His thumbs caressed the backs of her hands while his eyes tried to swallow her whole. It would be so easy to lose herself in them. She wanted to…but she couldn’t, because if she did, she may never make it back if something happened to him.
“I am so sorry,” he whispered.
Drawing in a breath to steel herself, she drew her hands from his and rose. “Thank you, Sean. Your friendship means everything to me, but right now that is all it can be. I am not sure I could survive losing you if I allow myself to get any closer.” As she spoke, she took a step back, putting a bit more distance between them.
Nodding, Sean stood. Though the small space forced him to pass by only inches from her, he did not touch her as he made his way to the door. Before leaving, he turned back. So much lay in the depths of his copper eyes that she wasn’t sure what to make of it.
“I understand. Only yesterday I myself was committed to keepin’ our distance for that very same reason.”
“What changed your mind?” she had to ask.
The hint of a smile dug a dimple into his right cheek. “You, and the skirmish. Life ’tis too short not to seize what happiness we can, when we can. But I respect you and your decision. I only hope you will still welcome me courtin’ after this is all over.”
The joy such words caused brought a smile to her face that felt like a ray of sunshine coming from within. “O’ course. I would love nothing more.”
His smile spread as he opened the tent flap.
“I would like it if you visited me, though. To ensure me that you are all right, as friends would do,” she called after him.
Those copper eyes stared back at her out of the dark outside her tent. “O’ course.”
The words wrapped around her like his arms, strong, warm, and full of promise. Was it a mistake to invite him to visit her? Perhaps. The alternative was an unendurable torture, for if she didn’t know he was all right, she would find little peace. She tried to tell herself that concern over a friend would be easier to handle than concern over a potential lover. But, as she collapsed onto her cot and snuggled into the warmth his body had left behind, she feared her heart may already have begun to hold him as more.
Chapter 13
The orders to march came with dawn, and not just for Sean’s company, but the entire 69th brigade. All through the organized chaos of breaking camp, he didn’t catch sight of Ashlinn once. Nor did he during the grueling march to Charles City then on to the Chikahominy River and across. The heat of the day mingled with the malignantly pregnant rainclouds to leave him a sweaty, stinking mess by the time they stopped for camp. Thankfully, they ended up close enough to a creek that he was able to take a dip, clothes and all.
After spreading all but the essential articles of clothing necessary to remain decent out in his tent to dry, he took up his violin and went walking. The dark made it difficult, but he managed to find each of his men and ensure they were fed and resting. Many had collapsed beneath their hastily raised tents. These he shook awake and reminded to eat, drink, and check their weapons before he moved on. He gave them words of encouragement, joked, and laughed with them.
His aching feet begged for him to join them in their respite, but he couldn’t, not just yet. One tent remained that he had to visit before he could succumb to the exhaustion that tugged at him. It had taken him too much time to see to his men. The thickening darkness worked against him now, making each tent look the same. A powerful desire to sink down somewhere—anywhere—and sleep began to make his vision fuzzy. Still he walked on, refusing to give in.
The panting of a dog sounded off to his left. He turned toward the sound, not daring to hope just yet. Eyes at about the level of his stomach shown in the dark.
“Ha! Cliste! How are you, girl?” he called.
The hound trotted to him, thrusting her head into his hand. He scratched beneath her ears while telling her what a good dog she was. As if in agreement, she woofed and began walking. Hoping she wouldn’t just lead him out on a merry chase, he followed along as closely as his long legs would allow. They wound through a maze of tents. On and on they walked until Sean began to wonder where it was the hound usually wandered off to at night, fearing she may be taking him there. Just when he was about to give up, she stepped into an open tent.
Inside, a candle sitting upon the ground burned low. The dim light revealed a figure lying on a cot clad in breeches and a tunic, unbound blond hair pooled around her. Soft, rhythmic breathing told Sean she was sound asleep. The curve of a hip led his eyes along a most appealing silhouette. Relief eased the tension from his body, taking the last of his energy with it. While there had been no skirmishing in the center of the march where she had likely been, he had still worried.
That feeling was the very one he had wanted to avoid in the beginning—the one he had hoped waiting to court her would put off. But during the skirmish on Malvern Hill he had realized it was already too late. His feelings for her had grown into a wildfire he couldn’t control. Seeing her here so peaceful and beautiful, he wanted to protect her from all the pain and bad things in the world. If keeping his distance could save her from heartache, then he would do it, he had to. Within reason, of course.
Just barely inside the tent opening, he sank onto the dry ground and opened the pack that held his violin. Setting the bow to the strings, he started to play a slow, sweet song. Eyes closing, he let the melody carry him away until he saw the rolling green hills of his homeland dotted with flowers as they had been in his youth. Among them he imagined Ashlinn walking, her long hair unbound as it was now, her hands trailing along the tops of the yellow and red poppies.
The patter of soft, padded steps pulled him from his imaginings but not his music. He opened his eyes to see Cliste approaching. Big eyes fixed on him; she lay down beside him, placing her head upon his leg. Though her eyes drifted closed, her ears perked up as if she were listening intently to his playing. Halfway through the song, movement came from within the tent. Hiding a yawn behind her hand, Ashlinn rose and walked over to them. She sank down in the opening across from him, leaning her back against a bracing pole.
The smile she gave him warmed him in ways he hadn’t even realized he was chilled. Folding her legs before her like a man might, she watched him as he played, eyes going from his face to his hands. Once the song was over, she raised her eyebrows and gave him a bit of a nod. Smiling back at her, he started into another soothing song. By the third song, her head had rolled back against the poll and her eyes slid closed. By the fourth, her steady breathing indicated sleep had stolen over her once again. Just for good measure, Sean played one more before setting his violin aside.
At the movement, Cliste rose, walked deeper into the tent, and lay down on an old blanket folded in the corner. Sean went to Ashlinn and scooped her up into his arms. A groan of protest came from her, but the effects of deep sleep slurred it. Holdin
g her closer to his chest than was necessary, he carried her to the back of the tent and laid her down upon her cot. Her eyes never opened. Seeing that she still had her boots on, he unlaced and removed them, along with her stockings. Though the smooth, bare skin of her perfect little feet begged for his touch, he resisted and instead covered her with her blanket.
Every bit of him wanted to sink down onto the cot beside her, wrap her in his arms, and sleep along with her. Watching her chest rise and fall, her long lashes brush against her cheeks as her eyes moved in the world of dreams, it was all he could do to take a step back. But he did it. Then he took another, and another. Soon he was out the doorway and back in the arms of the night.
* * * *
All through August they marched from one point in Virginia to the next, barely stopping to rest. When they finally did, Sean wished they hadn’t. Not only were they joining fourteen thousand-plus other soldiers, but they moved swiftly into action near Antietam.
On a sunken road between a hill and a cornfield, death rained all around Sean and his men that September day. Bullets seemed to fly at them from all directions, dropping man after man. The humid air became so thick with the scent of blood and perforated guts that Sean could taste the horrid, sickly sweetness on the back of his tongue. Gun smoke choked the air so thickly that he had to squint and pray as he checked the color of the man’s uniform he shot at. As they had practiced, a second line of his men covered the first as they reloaded their muskets. Even as disciplined as they were, they kept falling, one after another after another.
During a lull in the battle, Sean crouched among the bodies of his fallen men and reloaded his musket yet again. Moisture stung his bleary eyes, but whether it was from the smoke in the air or the sight of all the bodies littering the road, he couldn’t tell. A quick glance around told him that of his one hundred men, less than half still stood. The realization was enough to shake his resolve to go on. Yet he had to. He couldn’t let Ashlinn down. The thought of what finding his body would do to her kept his mind sharp, his senses alert.
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