Cherishing the Captain (Men at Arms Book 2)

by Elise Marion

  When he finally raised his head, he found her staring up at him with wonder, the remnants of tears clinging to her eyelashes.

  “Why do you weep, my love?” he whispered, kissing the tip of her nose.

  “Because … I never thought we’d be together that way again, but I wanted it so badly, and—”

  He cut her off with a swift kiss, then stroked his thumb over her cheek to catch one final tear. “I wanted it, too. Now, I cannot fathom how I was ever so afraid of it. I’ve spent so long trapped in a hell created by my mind. I thought I’d spend the rest of my life in it, but I’m free with you, Sylvia. You are my hiding place. My peace. I love you so much.”

  She smiled, stroking a lock of hair back from his forehead. “I love ye, too. Will ye … can ye lie wi’ me for a bit?”

  With a grin, he shifted his bulk to keep from crushing her and rested his head in the crook of her neck. “I can do better than that. I can lie with you all night. I never want to sleep alone again if we can help it. Is that all right?”

  He felt the smile on her lips as she pressed them to his forehead. “Aye, mo chroi. It’s more than all right.”

  Chapter 13

  “Gideon, will ye take this blasted thing off my face now?”

  Gideon grinned as he guided Sylvia up the paved walkway. It was a good thing he had blindfolded his wife, otherwise she might see how he practically bounced on the balls of his feet with excitement.

  “Not just yet, my love … we’re nearly there. Trust me, you will find this surprise to be worth all the suspense.”

  She made a guttural sound from the back of her throat that he’d come to think of as simply a ‘Scottish noise’, but docilely followed his lead. Sylvia had been after him for three weeks to disclose what he’d been up to, and several times, he nearly caved in and told her. However, it had all been leading up to this moment, and Gideon was glad he’d managed to keep her in the dark.

  The morning after the night he had joined her in his bed, Gideon awakened with a renewed sense of purpose. He found her resting in his arms, head cradled on his chest. Despite his horrid dream, he had passed the rest of the night in peaceful rest beside her. There had been no fear plaguing him, and upon opening her eyes, she had smiled and informed him that he hadn’t so much as turned over in his sleep. It had been the best night’s rest he’d had since his return from the Crimea, and realizing that had spurred him to take the final steps toward cementing his future with Sylvia.

  They had shared a bed every night since then, spending hours exploring and learning one another with a newfound freedom before collapsing in an exhausted tangle of limbs and panting breaths. Some nights proved easier than others. It was rare for him to sleep the entire night without his mind plaguing him with memories he couldn’t seem to completely outrun. Now, however, there was one essential difference. When he was jolted awake, panicked and fighting for breath, Sylvia was there. She seemed to have a keen sense of him, even in her sleep, for she was almost always roused just in time to pull him into her arms and soothe him back to sleep. In the event that he was unable to find his rest, she simply lay awake with Gideon, distracting him with stories of her childhood or her most memorable patients.

  After his morning swims and sessions with Dr. Scudder, Gideon spent his afternoons making the necessary arrangements. Most days, he would arrive back to Davies House before Sylvia finished her duties, leaving her none the wiser to what he’d been up to. Other days, he didn’t return until after dinner, leading her to question him about where he had been. With the help of Josephine and Maxwell, he’d managed to keep his secrets until he was ready to divulge them.

  The weather was perfect, the first clear and sunny day after an entire week of near-constant rain. Excitement made Gideon’s hands shake as he drew her to a halt and stood behind her. His surprise loomed before them, perfectly framed by Cornish elms and oak trees, illuminated by the light of the sun. Bending his head to kiss behind her ear, he began untying the cravat he’d used to blind her during the short drive from Davies House. He had wanted to take her completely by surprise.

  “This is what I’ve always wanted for us,” he murmured as the fabric fell away. “I hope you will be pleased with it.”

  Sylvia went as still as a statue as he unveiled the two-story Jacobean house that now had his name on the deed. He remained silent, hands braced lightly on her shoulders as he allowed her to soak in the details. He had visited the place often, simply staring at it and imagining her here, becoming mistress of this house and making it her own. He had been determined to ensure the house was befitting her status as the wife of a gentleman, while making certain it wasn’t too ostentatious. His wife was a simple, Scottish country girl, after all, and would not appreciate anything too grand.

  This place was perfect, with its bays of mullioned windows facing the front lawn, Tudor arches, and wooden gables perfectly complementing the terra-cotta brickwork.

  Her breath came out on a soft sigh of wonder, and some of the excited tension left Gideon’s body as he realized she liked it.

  “Oh … Gideon, it’s beautiful.”

  “It’s ours,” he whispered, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her back against him. “I’ve spent the past several weeks having it prepared for us to take up residence. It has a solarium attached to a small library, two drawing rooms, a gallery, a small dining room for us and a larger one for entertaining, eight bedrooms, and … and a fully-furnished nursery.”

  Her eyes gleamed like polished silver under the sheen of tears as she turned in his arms, her chin trembling. “You bought us a house?”

  He smiled, taking pleasure in both her shock and the joy he saw radiating from her gaze. “Yes, my love. I told you, I never want to be away from you, and I meant that. Purchasing a home near Davies House so you can continue your work seemed like the best solution. I have no desire to return to Dorset or London, and have already set my solicitor about letting my townhouse. I find I like the beauty and peace of Cornwall, and it seemed like an ideal place for us to begin anew. As you likely realized, we are a short carriage ride away from Davies House, as well as Maxwell and Josephine. Dr. Scudder will be near if I ever need him, and … please tell me if you don’t truly like it. I’ll buy you a house wherever you like. I’d build you a new one with my bare hands if you wished it.”

  She released a sound akin to both a laugh and a sob as she threw herself against him, coming up on tiptoe to wrap her arms around his neck. “Are ye mad, ye daft man? It’s perfect! It’s the most beautiful house I’ve ever seen.”

  Cupping her face, he lifted her chin for a kiss. “Would you like to tour the inside? I’ve more surprises in store.”

  “Yes, please.”

  He took her hand and led her down the drive, pointing out the carved pilasters framing the front door, and the pathway branching off toward a side entrance to their small garden. Once they ascended the front steps, he made her pause on the threshold. There was one other thing he had to accomplish before they could enter this house, and it couldn’t wait.

  “You must have your next surprise before I take you inside,” he informed her, sweeping his hand to indicate the welcoming interior of the entrance hall through the open door.

  Furrowing her brow, she gazed up at him expectantly. “I dinnae know if I can take another surprise just yet. Ye’ve nearly knocked me off my feet as it is.”

  He chuckled while reaching into the breast pocket of his coat, coming out with the small cedar box that had burned like a hot coal against his chest all day. Under her curious eye, he sank down onto one knee and stared up at her.

  “We did this once already, though it was rather rushed. I had no notion I would walk into the Sheep’s Heid that night and meet the woman of my dreams, otherwise I would have been prepared then. By all the laws of the land and our renewed commitment, we are already man and wife, but I thought that a new beginning should be observed. We should take pause to give it all the care and celebration it deserv
es. So, I hope you will indulge me for a moment.”

  Her hands came up to her face when he opened the box and held it up for her inspection. Her lips parted on a soft gasp as he unveiled the ring he’d selected for her after hours of agonizing thought and inspection. He had shunned a dozen jewels before finding the one he thought to be worthy of her. An oval-shaped stone of green moss agate stared up at her in a setting of gold, its facets adorned with hypnotic swirls of dark jade. The setting was simple compared to the others he had considered, which made it perfect for her. Small clusters of tiny diamonds flanked it on either side, catching the light of the sun with rainbow prisms.

  “Gideon,” she whispered with a disbelieving shake of her head.

  “I cannot promise that our life will be perfect, or that I will always be an easy man to live with. But, if you let me, I’ll spend the rest of my life loving you as you deserve to be loved. I will never leave your side, for to separate myself from you would be like tearing my own heart out of my chest. If you give me another chance, I will be the husband you deserve … even if it takes the rest of my life to make up for my past neglect. You are my peace, Sylvia. You are as essential to me as the air I breathe, and now that I have you again, I can hardly fathom how I lived so long without you. Nearly three years ago, I made you my bride for a night. Today, I am asking you to be my wife for a lifetime. Will you give me that, Sylvia? Will you trust me with every part of yourself as I have entrusted you with all of me?”

  Smiling through the tears wetting her cheeks, Sylvia offered him her hands. On the third finger of the left one, he spied the ring he’d given her that night in Duddingston. It was a plain silver affair comprised of Celtic knots—offered to them by the blacksmith who performed their hasty elopement. She had claimed to love the ring the night he’d slipped it onto her finger, but a fresh start required doing away with the old and embracing that which was new.

  “Yes,” she murmured, her voice low and strained as if she fought not to weep. “Yes, Gideon. I want to be your wife. I want it more than anything.”

  Without wasting another moment, he deftly slipped the old ring from her finger and replaced it with the new one. It was a perfect fit, and looked as beautiful on her hand as he had imagined. After replacing the old one in the empty cedar box, he came to his feet. Taking her right hand in his, he held her gaze and recited the vow he had made to her the night they had been wed.

  “You are blood of my blood, and bone of my bone. I give you my body, that we two might be one. I give you my spirit, ’til our life shall be done.”

  Tightening her hold on his hand, she sniffled and added her own solemn promise. “From this day it shall be only yer name I cry into the night, and into yer eyes that I smile each morning. Above and beyond this, I will cherish and honor ye through this life and into the next.”

  An overwhelming surge of finality washed over Gideon as he tugged her into his arms and kissed her soundly. He poured all his love and gratitude into the intimacy, hoping she could feel every ounce of it with each pass of his lips over hers. Then, before she could pull away from his arms, he stooped and swept her off her feet. Amid her startled laughter, he carried his wife over the threshold of their home, taking pleasure in being able to show her every nook and cranny in privacy.

  He set her back on her feet and allowed her to take it all in—from the freshly polished floorboards, to the brass sconces and wood-paneled walls. She held tight to his hand as he guided her from room to room, pleased at her awed reaction to each one. They took their time, exploring it to her heart’s content—even inspecting the kitchen and the cellar that would be fully stocked come morning, just in time for them to move him. They lingered in the nursery, where Gideon showed her the newly made cradle and furnishings he’d had commissioned in anticipation of their first child. She had yet to inform him that she might be with child, but he had outfitted the room on faith and a deep hope that they would soon begin filling the eight rooms of their new house.

  They ended in their bedroom, which he’d left plainly adorned, thinking she would prefer to decorate herself.

  “The servants will arrive tomorrow,” he informed her as she inspected the new featherbed and the curtains tied back to wooden posts. “It is a small staff, enough to keep us comfortable and allow you to perform your nursing duties free of worry.”

  She glanced about her in disbelief, hands braced on her hips. “I’ve never had servants before. Ye’ll spoil me, Gideon.”

  “You’ll have them now, and you deserve it,” he insisted, taking her hand and steering her toward the open door leading into a dressing room. “And speaking of being spoiled … I have one last gift for you.”

  “Dear God. There’s no need for all of this. I said I’d be yer wife and I meant it.”

  With a laugh, he guided her into the room ahead of him. “Something tells me you will like this surprise. It will be the last one, for now. I promise.”

  She pulled away from him as she noticed that one half of the dressing room was filled with garments fit for the finest lady—from day dresses, riding habits, and evening gowns, to efficient skirts and blouses. Rows of shoes and boots in various colors lined the floor, while drawers overflowed with undergarments and nightgowns made in the softest muslins and the finest silks.

  “Holy Christ,” she remarked as she walked the length of the room, one hand extended to whisper over skirts of satin, wool, and block-printed cotton. “Is all of this for me?”

  “Of course. I don’t think you noticed that one of your gowns went missing for a few days. I had the seamstress use it as a pattern for your measurements. These should all fit well, and anything that doesn’t can be altered. I know you will spend most your days in your nurse’s uniform, but when you aren’t working, I thought …”

  He trailed off when she turned to face him, her face slack with shock.

  “Ye didnae have to do this, Gideon. I have clothes.”

  Taking hold of her waist, he pulled her against him and kissed her brow. “My wife will have more than three gowns to her name. In case you have forgotten, I promised that you would want for nothing. I thought it best to begin proving that as soon as possible. No, you may not need so many gowns, but I want you to have them. Think of them as the wedding gift you’ve been owed for the past two years.”

  She gave a shocked bark of laughter and shook her head. “Along with a house and a ring that would make me sink straight to the bottom should I fall into the ocean. And just how do ye suppose I feel having nothing so grand to give ye in return?”

  “Don’t be foolish. You’ve already given me the only thing I need. You. If you could manage to bear a babe or two over the next few years, we can call it even.”

  Mischief and desire flared in her eyes as she laid her hands on his chest, her lip disappearing between her teeth. “Well, ye know … ye’ve carried me over the threshold like a proper bride, but there’s one thing ye havenae done, mo chroi.”

  Following her pointed gaze to neatly-made bed looming in the chamber beyond, he raised his eyebrows. “I see. I suppose now would be as good a time as any for me to assert my rights as a husband.”

  “Ha!” she teased as he began leading her back into the bedroom, his hands already working to free her of her gown. “Perhaps it is me who is eager to have her wifely rights. I demand ye do yer utmost to give me those bairns ye want so badly.”

  Her dress fell at her feet in a whisper of cotton, followed by his coat and cravat. He snatched his eye-patch off over his head, wanting no barriers between them.

  Then, she was in his hold again, arms tight around his neck as he carried her to the waiting bed.

  “Anything for you, my love.”

  Epilogue

  Three years later …

  Gideon buried his head in his hands and issued a rough sigh. Fatigue sapped the strength from his limbs, but despite having stayed awake through the entire night, he couldn’t find his way into bed. Even if he wanted to sleep—which he couldn’t wh
ile he was so on edge—his wife was occupying the bed and their bedchamber was overrun by a doctor, a nurse, Sylvia’s maid, and Josephine. He had been told that with the exception of the physician, the birthing room was no place for a man. Seeing as how he’d nearly torn the door off the hinges at the sound of her wailing in agony, Gideon could hardly argue with that logic. He’d been told that stronger men than him had been reduced to fainting or hyperventilating after bearing witness to the miracle of birth.

  “Relax, my friend,” murmured Maxwell from where he sat on the other side of the drawing room. “Women have been birthing brats since the dawn of time. She will survive.”

  He balanced a plate of finger sandwiches on his knee, which he managed to eat with one hand while bouncing the bundle of his newborn son in the crook of his opposite arm. Miles Valentine Davies had been born five months ago, and took after his mother with golden skin, curly brown hair, and large, dark eyes. The boy slept soundly as his father demolished sandwich after sandwich as if he hadn’t a care in the world. Of course, his wife wasn’t the one who had been in labor all night and through most of the morning. The sun had set and risen, he’d changed clothes and had breakfast … and still, his son or daughter had yet to enter the world.

  “It’s been too long,” he muttered, slipping a finger beneath his eye-patch to scratch at his tired eye. “Something could be wrong.”

  Maxwell swallowed and opened his mouth to reply, but a light weight crashed into Gideon’s back from behind the couch, while a pair of small hands grasped at one of his ankles. His heartbeat raced, and the back of his neck prickled in initial reaction to the childish attack, but the sweet scent of biscuits and jam suffused him with calm. There was another aroma there that he loved, one he couldn’t quite put his finger on. He simply thought of it as the smell of a child.