Читать книгу Honor Before Heart - Heather McCorkle - Страница 11

The soft patter of rain on leaves woke Sean. A bitter aftertaste from the tea lingered upon his tongue, making him work it against the roof of his mouth. Pale sunlight caressed the golden locks of Ashlinn’s hair that lay strewn across his chest. She felt so wonderful and warm curled up against his side that he didn’t want to move. Wicked of him, he knew, but he would allow himself this one little indiscretion, just this once. He had danced intimately with death, after all. Surely it wasn’t so wrong to allow himself this one moment of happiness.

Besides, he didn’t want to let her go after what she’d been through. Seeing that man attacking her had struck a chord deep inside him, awakening a protectiveness that still resonated throughout him. It was utterly unexpected and a bit frightening. Surrounded by so much death all the time, he tried to keep his emotions locked away. But this woman had found a key, however small.

Outside, the haze of rain made it difficult to see more than ten feet or so. Thankfully, his little nurse had done an excellent job of putting up their tent and very little moisture save for that which seeped up from the ground found its way in. Despite the rain, the day was so warm it crested over from pleasant to slightly uncomfortable. Soft panting and the rhythmic thump of a tail told Cliste, who lay near his head, found the summer day anything but comfortable.

Careful so as not to disturb Ashlinn, he started to prop himself up on the elbow of his good arm. Dull pain throbbed in his side, not enough to take his breath away, just enough to make him move slower. Regardless of his care, Ashlinn stirred.

“What’s the matter?” she whispered.

Shaking his head, he smiled down at her. With her blond hair spread out around her shoulders, teasing her delicate collarbones, she truly did resemble an angel. One that looked beautiful and quite alluring in a man’s shirt and breeches.

“Nothin’. Just wantin’ to see how high the sun is. How long have I been out?”

The back of her hand rose to stifle a yawn. “Not long. Six or seven hours maybe.”

She sat up, crossed her legs before her, and reached for his forehead. All the willpower in the world couldn’t keep the blood from flowing to his cheeks. He had never seen a woman strike such a casual, unladylike pose, let alone touch a man so readily with her bare hands. A very wicked part of him liked it, a lot. He had to forcibly remind himself that she was being a nurse and he was not being dishonorable by allowing her to do her job.

Oblivious to his embarrassment, she nodded. “Good, your fever broke. How do you feel?”

The crotch of her breeches drew his gaze like a moth to a flame. He had never seen a woman in men’s breeches and he decided in that moment that he rather liked it. Then again, it was a very distracting sight.

“Um…uh…”

What had she said?

Cliste leapt to his rescue, literally. She sat up on her haunches and licked his left cheek, leaving it slimy and damp. Laughing, he scratched behind one of the hound’s ears, continuing to stroke her head as she laid it upon his leg. Something strange on her collar drew his attention. It felt like a small cylinder, the kind meant to hold medicine or such. For a nurse’s dog it made sense he supposed.

“I feel much better.”

His gaze shifted to the hazy world outside their small tent. He opened his mouth to speak but she beat him to it, oddly voicing the very words he was thinking.

“We should wait until nightfall to travel.”

“Aye, we should.”

Half propped up, he relaxed against the pack, mostly to get a better look at her. The cozy tent didn’t give them much room, which was both nice and unfortunate, since he wished to be as gentlemanly as possible. Back in proper society he wouldn’t even be allowed to be in a room unchaperoned with a lady, let alone in a situation like this. Such things seemed silly after all he had seen and been through, vestiges of normalcy that were forever altered and long gone. Yet they were important to him, vital even.

“How is it you seem to know so much about sneakin’ around?” he asked, voice low.

Pink stained her cheeks and her spine straightened. “I am not a spy, if that is what you are getting at.”

Palms out in surrender, he shook his head. “No, no, I wasn’t suggestin’ that. I only meant that you are unlike any other nurse I have ever met, or doctor for that matter.”

Her blush deepened to crimson but a smile tugged at her lips. Ice-blue eyes that were ironically warm regarded him with guarded admiration.

“You would liken me to a doctor?”

“O’ course. You sewed me up, saved my arm and my life. You are a better doctor than most I’ve known.”

Moisture shown in her eyes before she turned her attention to Cliste. “I became a nurse in this war not only to help save lives, but to try and keep my brothers alive,” she said in a soft voice.

“Your brothers are soldiers.”

Dry eyes returned to him. The strength and pride in that look gave him chills that felt oh so good. “Aye, they wanted to fight to preserve the Union, said what the Rebels were trying to do was too much like what is going on in our homeland.”

“’Tis true,” he agreed.

Head cocking to the side, she looked so deep into his eyes that he had to fight the urge to squirm. “Is that why you left Ireland?” she asked.

It took a moment to find the right words to answer her. “No. I am—was—a violinist. When the high society of Ireland had no more room for me, I came to find my way in America.” His conscience burned at telling her only a half-truth, but he didn’t know this woman well enough to tell her any more. Besides, he had never told anyone any more than that.

Her hands found his, turned them over, fingers caressing his palms. The sensation made his eyes flutter closed and he had to repress a sigh of pleasure. It had been a very long time since a woman had touched him, and never one so enthralling or bold.

“That is what you meant,” she murmured.

“What I meant?”

The smile that graced her lips made blood work its way to his groin.

“When I asked you if you wanted me to save your arm and you mentioned your fiddle. I was not sure if you meant that literally.”

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.