Love Held Captive

by Shelley Shepard Gray

  They turned and continued their slow pace. Blood from Devin’s wound soaked Ethan’s hand and dripped on the carpet. Each drop made him worry all the more. His friend was losing a great amount of blood. This was also too close to some of the worst battles he’d been involved in. He began to feel a little dizzy and lightheaded as the metallic, coppery scent of blood invaded his space and brought him suddenly too near memories he always tried very hard to forget.

  “Not much farther, Major,” Dallas said.

  Ethan nodded. Hating the sudden weakness he felt, he forced himself to focus on the present and gazed down at Devin. His eyes were still closed, his mouth slack. His face deathly pale.

  What was he going to do if they lost him?

  “Here’s the room,” Dallas announced. “Lizbeth, is everything ready?”

  “I believe so. I found Callie in the corridor. She’s bringing hot water and clean linens to treat the wound.”

  “Good. That’s good,” Dallas said easily as he guided them toward the bed.

  Just as they were about to set Devin’s body down, Ethan noticed Lizbeth had placed an extra blanket over the coverlet.

  Though it was awkward, the three men managed to lay Devin on the mattress with a minimum of jostling. Only when he was lying still but looking no worse did Ethan feel as though he could take a cleansing breath at last.

  “Thank you,” he told the gambler. “I’m sorry. I don’t recall your name …”

  “Harold Neidig,” he said. “Formerly a sergeant out of Virginia.”

  The description, said with a small amount of pride, spurred a smile from Ethan. “I’m indebted to you, Mr. Neidig.”

  “Is that Captain Monroe, by any chance?”

  “It is.”

  Mr. Neidig studied him closely. “I heard stories about him, but I never thought we’d meet.”

  “God willing, you will soon.”

  “I’ll pray for his recovery,” Mr. Neidig said, executing a small bow before exiting.

  Right then a small maid carrying a wooden bucket of steaming water and a pile of linen against her chest entered the room. Lizbeth rushed to her side. Together, they emptied the water into a basin.

  After the maid left, Dallas walked to the door. “I’ll go see where the doctor is,” he said. He closed the door again, giving them privacy.

  Ethan found he was incapable of moving. “I’m afraid he’s about to die,” he said at last.

  “I know you are, but we mustn’t give up hope,” Lizbeth said as she walked to the foot of the bed. “Let’s take off his boots and make him comfortable.”

  Glad for something to do, he worked with Lizbeth to move Devin’s leg enough to allow them to pull off the snug-fitting boots.

  Devin groaned under his breath.

  Amazingly, Lizbeth smiled. “See? We haven’t lost him yet.”

  Her irreverent comment brought back his hope. Lizbeth was right. They hadn’t lost him, and what’s more, Ethan was going to do everything he could to make sure they didn’t.

  Determined to do something, anything, instead of allowing his fears and the memories of war to overtake him again, he pulled out a knife and carefully cut along the seam of Devin’s tan duster, then his jacket.

  When only a linen shirt covered Devin’s skin, Ethan felt dizzy again. The fabric was soaked with blood. Some of it even looked like it was stuck to his flesh. He stared at the linen, unsure whether it was better to leave the fabric in place or clean the wound as quickly as possible. “We need that doctor,” he said to Lizbeth. “Could you see what his status is?”

  “Of course.” But just as she was about to leave, Aileen peeked inside.

  “Major Kelly, Dr. Palermo is on his way. He should be here very soon.”

  “Palermo, you say?”

  Still hovering at the door, Aileen nodded. “Yes. He’s Italian. Very knowledgeable.”

  “Thank you for coming to tell me yourself.”

  After Aileen exchanged a look with Lizbeth, she closed the door again.

  Lizbeth walked to his side. “Major Kelly, all we can do is pray and wait.”

  Her words made sense, but he needed to do more than that. Devin’s face was deathly pale. After feeling for his pulse again, he made the decision. He was going to pull off the last of the fabric and care for Devin until more help arrived. It’s what he had done on the battlefield, and it was what he needed to do now.

  After taking off his jacket, Ethan removed his gold cufflinks and rolled up his sleeves. “I need to bathe his wound. Get me some more warm water, soap, and more cloths.”

  “Of course.” She turned and walked out the door without another word.

  Glad to be alone with his thoughts, he took the cloth Lizbeth had placed by the basin and dampened it. Then he carefully removed what was left of Devin’s shirt. As he had known it would, the wound started bleeding again.

  Steeling himself, he pressed cloths to the wound, hoping his efforts would staunch the flow of blood. As he did, he also inspected the rest of Devin’s torso, looking for any further damage he had inadvertently overlooked.

  Devin’s skin was as marked as his own. A product of the Rangers, then the cavalry, Devin looked as though he had survived as many close calls as any other veteran of the war. Funny how Ethan had never taken the time to think about Devin being a survivor like the rest of them. For some reason Ethan had always regarded Devin Monroe as impervious to cuts, bruises, bullet holes.

  Stunned, he sat on the side of the bed. He’d seen Devin sleep, of course, but the captain never looked completely relaxed. His body had always had a certain tenseness about it, as though he were only moments from springing into action and taking charge of most anything.

  Now he only looked vulnerable.

  Ethan realized his hands were shaking. Not from fear for himself. No, it was from fear of failure. Fear that he wasn’t going to be able to help Devin. That Devin could die in this room.

  When the door swung open again, Lizbeth entered, along with another maid. He heard Lizbeth call the young woman Cassie. They were carrying a pitcher, a floral basin of steaming water, and several cloths. After the other maid set the basin on the dresser and left, Lizbeth spoke.

  “I know you don’t want or need my help, but could I stay in here with you?”

  He was about to refuse, but he did need help. “I’m, uh, attempting to bathe him. But I can’t seem to do that with this wound in such bad shape. I need to keep pressure on it.”

  “I can bathe him.”

  “Thank you, Lizbeth.”

  Without another word, she dampened another cloth, picked up one of Devin’s arms, and carefully began cleaning his hand. His fingers were stained with blood. It was obvious he’d been applying pressure to his wound himself.

  But instead of looking shaken by the blood and grime she was removing, Lizbeth seemed calm. He recalled that she hadn’t flinched or launched into hysterics like the other women in the lobby had when Devin appeared. She’d been surprised and upset, of course, but seemed more intent on helping him than giving in to vapors.

  “This wound doesn’t seem to faze you,” he said quietly. “Is it because you’ve seen bad wounds before?”

  “I have.”

  “From the war?”

  “Yes. But while growing up too.” She moved to her left so she could clean the last of the blood from Devin’s skin. “Growing up on a ranch, well, all sorts of accidents occur.”

  He was intrigued by the thought of Lizbeth working a ranch. Hoping to concentrate on anything other than the chance of failure, he murmured, “Any happen to you?”

  “Yes. Once I knocked into the blade of a scythe that had been recently sharpened. Before I knew it, I had a sizable cut on my calf. My grandmother stitched me up.”

  “I bet your wound was painful.”

  She smiled faintly as she smoothed a fresh rag across Devin’s brow. “Being stitched up hurt worse, I can tell you that. My grandmother wasn’t an especially gentle nurse.”
/>   “And your forehead? Did you get stitches then?”

  “No.” Her voice was tight and distrusting. He realized she was upset that he’d even brought it up.

  He probably shouldn’t have. She was helping him. The very least he owed her was to respect her privacy. But he couldn’t bring himself to apologize. He needed to know about her, and what secrets she had.

  “Do you remember how you got that scar?”

  Her hand stilled. “Of course I do.”

  He waited, hoping she would expound upon it. When she didn’t, he prodded again. “Was it, by chance, a ranch accident?”

  “It was not.”

  Her voice, usually rather tentative, was as hard as the red dirt in the middle of summer. “What happened?”

  “This scar isn’t something I speak about.”

  He should have said he understood. After all, he didn’t like talking about anything that happened in the war. Instead, he kept pushing. “Have you ever talked about it with anyone?”

  “No.”

  “Perhaps it would help.”

  She turned to rinse out her cloth. “Help what? The scar has healed.”

  He swallowed, half feeling as if he was talking as much to himself as he was to her. “I’ve heard that talking about painful topics makes them easier to bear.” He wasn’t lying. He had heard about that. But all the same, he felt like the worst sort of charlatan. He could barely handle the smell of blood now.

  “Talking about this won’t help.”

  He should leave it alone. Devin was bleeding, they were waiting on a doctor, her whole life had just been turned on its side, and they hardly knew each other.

  But her voice had sounded so tight, so filled with pain, Ethan knew he had to say something. If nothing else, he owed it to her. After all, he’d seen that scar when it was fresh and he’d hurt her anyway. “I am used to hearing confidences,” he said. “I wouldn’t betray your trust.”

  “Sir—”

  He talked right over her. “Holding something like that inside can be harmful to you.” He drew in a breath. Stared at her pretty green eyes. Tried to make his words softer, more meaningful. “Take it from me.”

  “Whom did you speak to about your scars and injuries, Major?” she whispered softly. “And how did it help you heal?”

  “I am surprised by your sarcasm.”

  “And I am surprised you think I am so naïve as to imagine that speaking to anyone about something that can’t be changed would change anything for me.”

  He knew she was right. But she was wrong too. “I shared my pain and worries with my comrades at Johnson’s Island. I complained about my wounds and injuries to the men I fought beside on the battlefields. I talked about my fears with the men on the cots next to me in the hospital tents.”

  “You aren’t lying, are you?”

  “I’m not lying.”

  Her voice lowered. “And when you shared your hurts with them, what happened?”

  He knew this question was important. That it meant everything. Therefore, he struggled with how best to answer. Finally, he simply spoke from his heart. “I was free. Even there, in a prison barracks, behind enemy lines. Their acceptance freed me and made me almost whole.”

  She blinked. A hint of wonder lit her eyes before she firmly pushed it away.

  But he had seen it.

  And he knew then that she believed too.

  18

  Had a morning ever been so gloomy? Julianne stared out on the horizon and searched for a glimpse of blue sky. But only dark clouds hung there. They seemed weighted by precipitation yet too stubborn to give up their precious water.

  She could understand that. Part of her felt more than a passing kinship with those clouds. From the moment Devin had left the day before, she’d felt a heavy ache in her chest, convinced he would not return as promised. Experience had taught her a good cry could ease her pain and alleviate the pressure there. But she was so tired of crying. It didn’t help, anyway. All her tears ever seemed to do was make her eyes red and her mouth parched. She was done crying over whatever she wished were different.

  Instead, she realized bitterly, she seemed happy enough to stand out in the cold and look out into the distance. Wishing a certain man with light-blue eyes and blond hair would appear, already back from his visit to San Antonio and eager to see her again.

  Folding her arms over her middle, she rested her head against one of the posts holding the porch railing. Sighed. And finally cautioned herself to stop making a spectacle of herself.

  Just as she was ready to turn around, she caught sight of a carriage. Holding a hand over her eyes, she peered into the distance. Her pulse began to race. Maybe Devin had come back early. Maybe he was bringing a carriage to take her on an outing today.

  Then she realized it was Carl and Abby Bernard. Today’s appearance was a blessing. She’d grown tired of her mournful thoughts. Their company would be a welcome change of pace. At the very least, she wouldn’t be looking out into the horizon for hours on end.

  When Carl parked their carriage, Julianne opened the front door and let her beagle, Ginger, outside. Ginger looked delighted by their visitors and scampered ahead, her soft ears flapping in the wind.

  The moment Carl alighted, Julianne raised her hand. “Good day, Carl.”

  After a second’s pause, he smiled broadly. “Indeed it is, Julianne. I trust you are well?”

  The proper response would be to say she was, indeed, very well. But she was as tired of pretending as she was of her doldrums. “I’ve been better, if you want to know the truth.”

  He looked at her closely, then seemed to be waging a war with himself as he extended a hand to help his sister down from their carriage.

  Julianne fought back a smile as Abby accepted her brother’s gesture, but then practically jumped out of the conveyance as though she were on a newfangled pogo stick. Her brown hair was artfully arranged in a high chignon. It flattered her features. That, and her sparkling eyes, made her appear almost fairy-like. Julianne reflected once again that Abby’s pastor fiancé had no doubt been charmed from the moment he spied her.

  “Hello, Julianne! And Ginger too!”

  Ginger barked while Julianne laughed. “Hello, Abby. Would you care for some tea or coffee? It’s rather dreary out here.”

  “I would, indeed. I dressed in layers, but I still find myself chilled to the bone.” She trotted up the steps and gave Julianne a hug.

  Startled, Julianne wrapped her arms around the girl and tried not to think about how long it had been since she’d been the recipient of such a warm gesture. After Carl joined them, she led the way inside.

  The fire was still burning in the parlor. “Please, do make yourselves comfortable. Bula is away today, but I’ll return with tea—”

  “Please, allow me to help you,” Abby said, interrupting. “After all, we’re more than mere guests by now.”

  Carl scratched his chin. “Well, now, I don’t know if that is how one should behave …”

  When Abby’s cheeks flashed bright red, Julianne decided to save the conversation. “Of course you both are more than mere guests now. Abby is right. You are friends.”

  As they followed her to the kitchen, Carl said, “Is that why you were honest enough to share that something has been upsetting you?”

  “Perhaps,” she allowed. “Or I might have come to the conclusion that no good would come with me pretending otherwise.”

  “What happened?” Abby asked as they entered the small but well-appointed kitchen.

  Though it was on the tip of her tongue to make up something inconsequential, Julianne decided to err on the side of honesty. “Captain Monroe came to visit me again. Yesterday, late in the afternoon.”

  “But that is good, yes?”

  “It would have been, except it was rather, um, tumultuous.” She supposed that was one way to describe Daniel’s visit and Devin’s reaction.

  “I’m sure you’ll make things right again,” Abby said. “I
’ve had difficulties with Timothy before. But we’ve worked it out.”

  “This is a little different, I’m afraid. He, uh, was confronted with the consequences of my past. It wasn’t pretty.” She turned her back and fussed with the water pump, taking far more interest in priming it than necessary. Then there was his kiss and the way she’d responded to him.

  “I am sorry to hear that,” Carl said.

  “Thank you. I am sorry about it too.” After she filled the teakettle, she turned back to the siblings. “He did say he would return to take me out to dinner in a week, but I’ve been wondering if he really will. Thank you for listening. Speaking of it actually made me feel a bit lighter in spirit.”

  Abby nodded. “Speaking about problems does help.” She pulled out one of the kitchen chairs and sat down. “Julianne, I guess you have two choices, then.”

  “And what are they?”

  “You can wait and have faith he will return. Or you can go after him right now. Do you know where he’s gone?”

  Julianne laughed, sure Abby was making a joke. When she realized the girl wasn’t, she felt more than a little tongue-tied. “Run after him in San Antonio? Just like that? That would be one way to finally dissolve the rest of my reputation.”

  “What does that matter if it means you will be happy?”

  Abby was serious. “Well, I, um, I don’t know. But that’s beside the point.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, I don’t know if I can.”

  “Why couldn’t you?” Carl asked. “The stage can take you there.”

  Was it their youthful enthusiasm that made them act as though anything was possible? Or was it more the fact that they had never been on the receiving end of rejection? When Ginger padded in, Julianne leaned down and petted the beagle. Then she got her a fresh bowl of water.

  Anything to give herself some time.

  “I’m afraid it isn’t that easy. Besides, he told me he needed to visit a friend on personal business. Someone he knew in the war. I would never wish to interfere.”

  Both her visitors stared at her expectantly. It was obvious they wanted to hear more about what had transpired between her and Devin. But no matter how kind Carl and Abby were, Julianne wasn’t about to share everything that happened. Instead, she kind of sighed, hoping they’d let the matter drop.