Fire and Honor

by M. S. Parker

  With a set plan in my mind, I looked around for the best possible place to steal a few hours of sleep. My journey, I knew, was far from over.

  25

  I woke with a start at the touch of a hand on my shoulder, and immediately kicked out, registering a cry of pain when I connected with something. Muscle memory took over even before I'd fully woken, and I twisted away from the hand, pushing myself into a crouch, hands curled into fists. My breaths came in gasps, my heart beating like a hammer in my chest as adrenaline coursed through me.

  “Honor, stop!”

  I froze at the familiar voice, staring as Gracen held up his hands in surrender. It took my brain a few seconds to catch up and allow my body to relax. Still, I couldn't quite believe he was here. My mind whirled at the odds, the incredible improbability of this man finding me in this same place two separate times. Fate had to be at work.

  And he looked like shit. His clothes were rumpled and dirty as if he'd been sleeping in them for a while. His curls were wild, and there were even bits of leaves in his hair. His skin was pale, except for the dark circles under his eyes.

  What the hell had happened to him in the week since I'd last seen him?

  “Gracen?” I finally managed to say his name.

  He smiled at me, but it was a weak smile and didn't quite reach his eyes. “Honor, what are you doing here?” He sounded even more tired than he looked, which was saying something.

  “I could ask you the same question,” I countered, my mind still reeling. I believed I’d never see him again. “Why aren't you with your unit...I mean, your regiment?”

  He looked away, a dark flush creeping up his neck. The realization hit me all at once.

  He'd never joined the army. That might have been what he told his father, but he’d never actually enlisted.

  “Did they recognize you from before?” I looked around, wondering how much danger we were in.

  He shook his head, giving me a quick glance. “I didn't give them the opportunity to. How could I after the things you said? How passionately you believed them?” He looked at me now. “I am an educated man, Honor, and I've never been one to believe in the superstitions of others...but something about how ardently you argued for your cause...” His voice trailed off for a moment, and then he finished his thought. “It almost made me believe.”

  I had absolutely no idea how to respond. Despite my best efforts, I hadn't been able to completely keep myself from thinking about what I'd say if I saw him again. It'd seemed like such a remote possibility that I told myself no harm could come of it. Except it had, and now that it was here, my mind was inexplicably blank.

  “You have no idea how happy I am that you're here.” His voice broke through my thoughts. “I never thought I would see you again.”

  “Then why did you leave in the first place?” I asked. Maybe it was an inane question, and I had a feeling I'd hate the answer, but I asked it anyway. I needed to know for certain.

  The conflict was written on his face, and a part of me was glad that I wasn’t the only one going through such emotional turmoil. It would've been worse, I thought, if it'd been easy for him to walk away. If I hadn't meant enough to him for it to be painful.

  “Gracen?” I prodded. I didn't know if I'd get another chance to ask him, so I was going to push until I got an answer, no matter if I liked it or not.

  “I couldn’t stay there anymore.” He looked at me, his eyes blazing. “Not while you were there.”

  I rolled my eyes. Was he serious? First, he said he was glad to see me, then he said he couldn't be near me. Men. I gave an exasperated sigh. “Do you know how contradicting you sound right now?”

  “I know, I know,” he said as he ruffled his hair and turned away. “This hasn’t been easy for me.”

  “Easy for you?” I stared at him, unable to believe what he just said. Anger sparked inside me, burning past everything else to set free the words I'd held back. “Do you have any idea what I’ve been through since you decided to disappear?” I let every negative emotion bleed into my words, but managed to keep my tears back. “I gave myself to you, trusted you, and when you didn't like what you heard about me, you accused me of being a manipulative slut!”

  His eyes were wide when he turned around. “I never said–”

  “You might as well have,” I snapped. I wanted all of this out. I needed to have it gone. So I could have closure before I went home. “As soon as you heard you weren't the one who took my precious virginity, you immediately jumped to the conclusion that I'd seduced you to try and trap you in a marriage.”

  He at least had the decency to look embarrassed. He started to reach for me, then dropped his hands. “I apologize, truly I do. I wasn't myself that morning. The whole thing took me quite by surprise, and I admit that I didn't handle it well.”

  “That’s an understatement,” I muttered. I folded my arms, determined to keep strong. “You acted like a...child, and then ran away.”

  “I couldn’t think of a better solution.”

  I resisted the urge to roll my eyes but didn't hold back what I was thinking. “That wasn’t a solution, Gracen, that was a fear of confrontation.” I let the silence sit between us as I rubbed my arms. I hadn't realized until now how early it was, how the sun hadn't yet burned off the chill. When I finally spoke, my voice was soft, “Do you have any idea how much I hated you for leaving like that?”

  His shoulders sagged, and he leaned against a nearby tree, a defeated look on his face. I didn't understand him, didn't understand what he was thinking. He'd stood up to his father about the war, but had fled when faced with having to explain what happened between the two of us.

  Maybe I didn't mean enough for him to show that sort of bravery and strength. The thought tore at me.

  “What were you expecting would happen?” I asked, taking a step closer. “That you could pretend to your father that you were in the army and when all this was over go home like nothing had changed?”

  I wanted to tell him that he'd have years to wait if he thought that.

  “I didn’t have a plan,” he admitted, his tone wry. “It seems that I do unwise things when I'm around you.”

  I winced as his comment and rubbed my forehead. “And what were you thinking – or not thinking – that I'd be doing during all this? Or did you even care about that at all?”

  Gracen looked up at me. “I care. How could you even question that?”

  I stared at him. Was he serious? A thought occurred to me. “Did you think that when all this was over, I'd be waiting for you at the estate? Waiting for you to come back?”

  He waited for a moment before answering. “I prayed you would be.”

  He wasn't kidding. I could see it on his face.

  “How could you possibly think that? Any of that?”

  Gracen sighed and closed his eyes.

  “Do you have any idea how bad–?”

  “I was married once.”

  The statement stopped me cold. I looked at him, but his eyes were still closed.

  “Her name was Silva,” he continued. “She was seventeen when we married, but I'd loved her since she was thirteen.”

  I sat on the ground across from him, watching. Waiting. I wasn't sure I wanted to hear him talk about this woman he'd loved so much. I knew it couldn't have a happy ending, not if he was supposed to marry Clara now.

  “We had only been married for a few months when she told me we were expecting our first child. We were so happy. Even my father was happy, and I'd never seen him happy before.” His eyes opened, but the look in them said he was far away. “I supposed he must've been, with my mother, but I was too young when she died to remember him that way.”

  “What happened?” I didn't want to ask it, but I had to know.

  He finally looked at me. His words were quiet, even. “She died in childbirth, and our son died with her. In one night, I lost everything. Everyone I ever loved was gone.” His voice broke.

  Without thinking abo
ut it, I crossed the short distance between us and wrapped my arms around him. He stiffened at first, then relaxed against me. I held him close, cradling his head against my chest and buried my face in his hair as tears welled up in my own eyes. I wondered if he'd ever let himself cry for his wife and child, or if his father had made that impossible too.

  “I never thought I would be able to love anyone like that again.” Gracen's voice was muffled until he pulled back and met my gaze. “Until I met you, Honor Daviot.”

  I swallowed hard. I couldn't let myself hope that he meant what I so desperately wanted to believe he meant.

  “Forgive me, Honor.” He cupped my cheek, his eyes dark and shining. “Forgive me for all of those horrible things I said to you.”

  Tears escaped and ran down my cheeks. I couldn't do it. I couldn't pretend that this wasn't happening, not anymore. I'd been fooling myself into thinking that what I had with Bruce was real. This was real. More real and pure than anything I'd ever felt in my life.

  He leaned into me, resting his forehead against mine. I closed my eyes and concentrated on the feel of his thumb against my cheek, the heat of his breath on my lips.

  “I love you, Honor Daviot. With every thread of being inside me, I love you.”

  I gave in to what I wanted, what I needed, and closed the distance between us to put my mouth against his.

  26

  He loved me. There was no pretense to it, no prompting or reason why he should say it. He didn't have anything to gain by saying it. Which was why I believed him.

  And why I knew I had to leave.

  I broke the kiss and took hold of his hands. I squeezed them as I took a deep breath. I had to do this before I lost myself in him. It would be so easy to do, and it would only hurt him in the long run.

  “I…I can’t...” My throat started to close, not wanting to utter the words. I made the mistake of looking into his eyes. Confusion and hurt stared back at me, and I didn’t know what to say next. I pushed myself to my feet and took a step back.

  Gracen stood, a bewildered expression on his face. I knew he didn't understand what I was doing or why I was doing it. Hell, I barely understood it. I only knew that it was right.

  “You can't what? I don't understand.”

  I turned away from him so he couldn't see the tears in my eyes. I picked up my pillowcase but didn't bother getting out any of the food I'd packed into it. I wasn't hungry. I wasn't anything. I wasn't even thinking in terms of going home anymore. I just wanted to be done.

  “Honor, stop!” He grabbed my arms tight enough to hurt. “Please, just tell me what–”

  “I love you too, Gracen!” The words burst out of me, as if I simply couldn't hold them in any longer.

  A smile broke across his face, and it was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. This was what real love felt like, and it was tearing me apart. I knew what I'd felt for Bruce had never been true love because the thought of never seeing him again didn't cause me any pain.

  But what I’d say to Gracen next was going to rip out my heart.

  “I’m going home, Gracen.” It physically hurt to say the words.

  “But you love me,” he countered. “We can be together.”

  “And do what?” I asked, forcing myself to be strong. “Go back to the Lightwood house where you can marry Clara and I'll spend the rest of my life watching you have a family with her? I can’t do that. And I won't be your mistress. I'm going home.”

  He released my arms, and I nearly fell.

  “You said your father beat you. Why would you go back to that?”

  Shit. I'd forgotten about that.

  I pinched the bridge of my nose. I could come up with an excuse. I was sure I could. But I wasn't sure I wanted to anymore. I was tired of lying.

  An inkling of an idea poked into my mind. Maybe I could do it all at once. Tell the truth...and push Gracen away enough that leaving him would be easier.

  “My father didn’t beat me,” I said finally. “He’s one of the greatest men I know. I lied to you before because I couldn’t tell you the truth.”

  Gracen took a step back as my words sunk in. His eyes narrowed, and for a brief moment, I saw a glimpse of his father in him.

  “You've never stopped lying to me, have you?” His hands curled into fists so tight that his knuckles turned white. “Has anything you've ever said been true?”

  “I couldn’t tell you the truth – I still can’t – you wouldn’t believe me.” I knew I needed to stop trying to explain myself. I needed to accept his anger and leave. But I didn't like the idea of his last thoughts of me being that I was a liar.

  “You owe me the truth.” His voice was calmer, but I could see the anger in his eyes. “If you love me, try.”

  Fuck. I couldn’t get any air into my lungs, even though I could hear the heavy panting of my labored breathing. Black spots appeared in my vision, and I realized that I couldn't do it. I couldn't just feed him a lie and walk away. If he was going to hate me, then it had to be because he truly knew who I was and where I was from.

  “Sit down,” I murmured.

  “I’ll stand.”

  I nodded. My legs couldn't hold me anymore, not now that I'd made the decision to come clean, so I sat. I rested my elbows on my knees and stared at the grass.

  “No matter how crazy this sounds, please let me finish, because I don't think I can get through it more than once.”

  When he didn't argue, I took that as the closest to an agreement I was going to get.

  “These clothes I'm wearing are the uniform of the United States of America.” I could feel his eyes on me. There was no going back now. “I joined the army in the year 2004, shortly after I graduated from high school...”

  I explained everything, and he let me talk. I told him about Iraq, my unit and Wilkins, everything I had seen and done overseas, everything that had set me on the path that had eventually led me to him. I told him about Bruce, and how long we'd been together, hoping he'd figure out that my fiancé was the only other person I'd slept with. I couldn't bring myself to specifically say it, but I wanted him to know anyway.

  And then I told him what I knew of this war. Of what happened to the British Empire and how America grew into a powerful nation. I kept my voice even, forced myself to detach from any of the emotions that wanted to come forward with the memories.

  When I finished, I felt drained, empty, but a little better. At least, no matter what happened, I'd know that Gracen knew the truth. I glanced over at him, but he was staring at the ground. I wasn't sure when he'd sat down, but he was less than a foot away now. Physically, at least. I knew he was a hell of a lot further away in every other sense.

  The sun was almost directly overhead now, but I didn't ask him to hurry. It was a lot to take in. I'd lived it, and I barely believed it.

  “If you didn't want to tell me the truth, you could have at the very least been respectful.” His voice was soft but angry.

  “You can’t think I made all this up?” My chest tightened. It wasn't unexpected, but it still hurt.

  “I don't see any other explanation for it.” He stood and started to walk away. “I'll leave you be since that seems to be what you wish.”

  “I can prove it!” I called after him as I scrambled to my feet. That little voice in the back of my head that had been telling me to walk away was getting smaller.

  As he turned, I grabbed my shirt and yanked it over my head.

  “What are you doing? Cover yourself!” Gracen snapped as he turned. His face flushed, but I couldn't help noticing that his gaze kept snapping down to my bra-clad breasts. It was a simple white cotton bra, but by eighteenth-century America standards, it was extremely revealing.

  That alone should have been a hint to him that I wasn't from around here, but it wasn't what I wanted to show him.

  I took a breath and turned around. I bent my head forward so that my hair wasn't in the way. It took a moment, but then I heard him gasp. I gave him some time to
adjust to the side of a tattoo on a woman, and then another minute while he absorbed it.

  “What is that?”

  I glanced over my shoulder to see him coming toward me, his eyes locked onto my shoulder. “What does it look like?”

  He looked up at my face briefly, and I nodded for him to continue, giving him permission to touch me. A shock ran through me as his fingers touched my skin, tracing the lines of the American flag he didn’t recognize.

  “It looks like a flag,” he said quietly. “But not one I know.”

  “This is what the flag of the United States of America will look like in the future. In the time I come from.” I closed my eyes and tried to focus on the truth of the matter rather than the way his touch made me feel.

  “Tell me.”

  I swallowed hard and prayed that this meant he was starting to believe me. “The stars symbolize the fifty states that will make up the USA. The stripes are the thirteen colonies that will all eventually declare independence from Britain. Soon.”

  I looked at him again. His face was pale, eyes wide.

  “I swear to you, Gracen, everything I told you is the truth. Including how this war is going to end.”

  I watched the emotions play out on his face. Confusion. Anger. Grief. I waited, determined to give him the time he needed.

  He stepped closer and traced the lines of my tattoo with his fingers again. Then he bent his head and pressed his lips against the nape of my neck. It sent a shiver down my spine, and I had to remind myself not to get caught up in the physical.

  “I believe you.”

  The relief that went through me at those three words nearly made my knees buckle.

  “Can you forgive me?”

  I turned toward him, and then his arms were around me, and I felt safer than I had in a long time.

  “Will you?” he murmured against my hair. “Honor, my love, will you forgive me?”

  I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. He believed me. A lot of things still needed to be figured out, but for right now, in this moment, this was all that mattered.