Читать книгу Honor Before Heart - Heather McCorkle - Страница 13

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 farther. 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.

“What is this? Another?” came the doctor’s voice, heavy with exhaustion and a touch of despair.

He approached them slowly, wiping his crimson hands on his already soiled apron. The wrinkles between the man’s brows knitted together so tightly they suggested he hadn’t stopped scowling in years. Pain and sadness shone in his eyes, but cold detachment hid it almost completely. Sean stopped walking. He didn’t want that man’s hands anywhere near his wounds.

“Aye, Doc. A missin’ one found his way home,” the soldier escorting them said.

Bushy brows narrowed over muddy brown eyes as the doctor perused Sean. “Missing or deserted? I have no time for deserters who are just going to be hanged.”

Back straightening, Sean glared down at the shorter man, his good hand curling into a fist. “I am no deserter. I was wounded and left on the field of battle.”

The doctor snorted. “And yet here you stand.”

A wool coat brushed lightly against his arm as Ashlinn stepped between him and the doctor. One hand went to her hip while her other pointed at the doctor’s gory chest. “I will not stand for you disrespecting this honorable soldier. He was indeed badly wounded and I tended to him in the field. We only just arrived because of the severity of his wounds and a fever that laid him low over a day.”

The doctor’s eyes narrowed to slits. His lips pulled back from his teeth in an expression that resembled a snarl far too much for Sean’s liking.

“I should have known that was you.” The last word was said like a vile curse. “Been out prowling the battlefield again in that ridiculous disguise, I see. This man is lucky if he survived your convoluted ministrations.” Though the doctor’s voice was full of contempt, the begrudging desire shining in his eyes contradicted it.

Fingers curling into fists, Sean had to remind himself to breathe before he could push words out through his clenched teeth. “Luck had nothin’ to do with it. I would have died if not for her.”

Lips pursing, the doctor beckoned to him. “Really? Let us see these wounds then,” he said in an unconvinced tone.

Ashlinn helped Sean remove his coat and began to work on his bandages. The doctor stepped closer, ducking a shoulder into Ashlinn, starting to push her out of the way. She pushed him back until she stood before Sean, blocking him from the doctor completely.

“You will not touch my patient with your filthy hands. For the love of cleanliness, man, wash first,” she warned, voice filled with cold promise.

The doctor shook his head. “You and your foolish notions. Get out of the way, woman. This is men’s work.”

He shoved her back so hard she crashed into the foot of a bed. The soldier within it let out a groan and stirred in his sleep. She saved herself from falling, but just barely. The doctor reached for Sean. Quick as a water snake, Sean’s good hand lashed out and caught the doctor’s hand, twisting and turning it at an angle. Emitting a rather unmanly squeal, the doctor rose up on his toes and turned to try and relieve the pressure on his wrist, but to no avail.

“Release me to her care, and her care alone,” Sean demanded in an even tone.

Nose scrunching up, the doctor shook his head. “Unhand me! Her crackpot treatments are likely the reason you developed a fever in the first place.”

Sean’s gaze flicked to the blood-soaked table and its latest occupant. “Says the man who just left a butchered corpse lyin’ on a table.”

The wrinkles between the doctor’s brows deepened and sadness peeked through his detachment again. Unable to feel anything but contempt for him after the way he had treated Ashlinn, Sean shoved the doctor back into the aisle, releasing his wrist.

The doctor shook his head. “Fine, you daft Irishman. You are released to her care. She alone is responsible for your health now. But, do not come haunting me when she kills you. Now get out of my hospital.”

Hiding a wince of pain, Sean tossed his coat over one arm, walked to Ashlinn, and offered her his hand. She accepted it and rose from where she leaned on the foot of a bed. Once on her feet, Sean offered his arm, which she took slowly.

The soldier who had escorted them in cleared his throat and stood taller as their attention shifted back to him. “Right then. I will let the lieutenant know you have returned, Corporal, and the lads and I will bring your things over to a tent beside the nurse’s.”

Sean gave the man a smile he hoped looked more convincing than it felt. “Thank you, Private, that would be much appreciated.”

Turning their backs to the doctor, they started for the exit. Ashlinn trembled against him and he thought he heard her sniffling. The urge to apologize burned the back of his throat but he swallowed it. He could not apologize for defending her. Hard day or not, the doctor had been uncouth and out of line. The very thought of the man touching him with those bloodstained hands sent a shiver of fear through Sean. No, he would far rather his life be in Ashlinn’s delicate hands. Looking at Ashlinn’s straight back and lifted chin as she all but marched beside him, he couldn’t help but wonder if his motives had been more selfish.