by Alli Stewart
OTHER TITLES by Alison Stuart
Historical Romance
Her Rebel Heart
Lord Somerton’s Heir
Sebastian’s Waterloo
The Guardians of the Crown Series
By The Sword (Book 1)
The King’s Man (Book 2)
Exiles’ Return (Book 3)
Paranormal Historical Romance
Gather The Bones
Secrets In Time
Contemporary Short Stories writing as Alli Stewart
Romance and the Single Girl
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But wait...there’s more... turn the page for an excerpt from HER REBEL HEART, a historical romance of the English Civil War...
GATHER THE BONES
A haunting historical romance from
ALISON STUART
Prologue
3rd London Territorial General Hospital October 22, 1917
Paul turned his head on the pillow and watched as Evelyn Morrow, clutching her purse to her chest like a shield, followed the nurse past the rows of beds. Her gaze did not move from the woman’s starched back as if she was unable to bring herself to look around her at the carnage the war had wrought.
The breath caught in the back of his throat and a coward’s voice in his mind whispered: Not here, not now.
He knew she had been watching and waiting for him to return to the world. Through the haze of drugs and delirium he had been aware of her standing sentinel by his bed, clad in black from head to foot, a shadow. He knew he had to face her, but he lacked the strength to match her grief against his.
Feigning sleep, he shut his eyes.
‘Now, only a few minutes, Lady Morrow. He is still very weak,’ the nurse said. ‘I will be at my desk if you require anything.’
Paul heard the efficient clack of the nurse’s heels on the linoleum floor as she returned to her place at the end of the ward.
Through the pervading scent of carbolic, he could smell his aunt’s perfume and once again he stood on Waterloo station, a small boy clutching a battered suitcase. A beautiful woman in a blue gown had bent down and taken his hand, enveloping him in a cloud of lavender.
She hadn’t kissed him then and she didn’t kiss him now. Lady Evelyn Morrow just stood at the foot of his bed, looking down at him.
‘Paul? Can you hear me?’ Her tone commanded obedience and his eyes flickered open, meeting hers, dark pools behind the black netting that covered her face.
Evelyn clutched the metal bar at the end of the bed and the feather on her hat began to quiver as her whole body shook with the force of her emotion. ‘You promised.’ Her voice rose on a crescendo of despair. ‘You promised you would keep him safe. Where is he? Where’s my son? Where’s Charlie?’
Paul felt her grief as a palpable force, sending shock waves down the rows of beds that lined the ward. He wanted to say, ‘I promised. I know I promised but I couldn’t keep it. Charlie is gone.’
His fingers tightened on the starched sheet and his breath came in short, sharp gasps as the words formed and then stuck fast.
The chair at the nurse’s station scraped on the floor and her hurried footsteps beat a rapid tattoo on the linoleum floor.
‘Lady Morrow. Really, I must protest. Come away with me this instant.’
The nurse placed a firm arm around Evelyn’s shoulder, leading her away. Evelyn shook off the encircling arm and turned back to look at him, the tears Paul knew she had probably not allowed herself to shed were now spilling down her face.
‘Lady Morrow, please. You are overwrought. I’ll fetch you a nice cup of tea.’ The nurse’s tone softened and with her arm around Evelyn’s shoulders she led the woman into the glassed-in office at the end of the ward.
Paul turned his head on the hard, lumpy pillow, feeling the starched linen crackle beneath his cheek. In the bed next to him, a young subaltern who had lost both his legs lay immobilized by the stiff sheets and blankets. The impeccable bedclothes, pulled up to his chin, hid the reality of his horrific injuries from his visitors, reducing the war to something neat, tidy and manageable.
In the office, beyond the line of beds, the nurse handed a cup to Evelyn. The door opened and the Matron of the hospital entered the little office and began to berate the errant visitor for her unseemly behavior. Lady Evelyn Morrow sat hunched in a chair like a schoolgirl and even through the glass snatches of the scolding--inappropriate behavior and upsetting the patients--filtered out into the ward.
The nurse returned to Paul’s bedside, making a pretence of straightening his pillow.
‘Really,’ she tutted as she fussed over him. ‘I would have expected better from a lady.’
‘Outward displays of grief should be reserved for the lower classes?’ he murmured.
‘Pardon?’ the nurse replied.
‘Tell her I want to see her,’ Paul said.
The nurse straightened. ‘Are you sure?’
He nodded and with a sniff, the nurse bustled back to the office. She whispered in Matron’s ear and the older woman stiffened, casting a quick glance in Paul’s direction. Evelyn looked up as the Matron spoke. She too glanced through the window toward him and rose to her feet, tucking her handkerchief back into her purse.
Her back straight, Evelyn looked the Matron squarely in the eye and her words, audible through the glass, echoed down the long ward. ‘I assure you, there will be no repeat.’
Once more the nurse, this time in the company of Matron, conducted Evelyn to his bedside. A rustle of anticipation rippled through the ward and Paul imagined the faces of the other patients turned expectantly toward his aunt. If nothing else, her outburst had provided an entertaining highlight in an otherwise dull day.
‘Now, Lady Morrow,’ the Matron said as Evelyn took the seat beside Paul’s bed. ‘I am sure I don’t need to remind you, Major Morrow is easily tired. A few minutes, that’s all.’
Paul looked up at the ceiling while his mind framed the words. He knew what had to be said and that the words would not bring her the comfort she sought.
‘Evelyn?’
She raised her eyes and once more they looked at each other, these two strangers, bound together by ties they could not sever.
‘Evelyn...I’m sorry...’ he said, shocked at how weak his voice sounded.
She leaned toward him. ‘No,’ she said in a low voice. ‘I was unfair on you, Paul. It is I who should apologise.’
‘I know what you want to ask me,’ he said.
Evelyn did not hesitate. ‘Is he dead?’
Paul closed his eyes as he struggled with the simple word that would give her the answer she sought. He had no tears of his own to shed for Charlie. Three and a half years in the trenches had robbed him of the ability to show sorrow and his own grief for his cousin ran too deep for such an outward display.
He heard her breath catch and knew she had read the answer in his face even as he answered. ‘Yes.’
Her lips tightened in a supreme effort to control herself. ‘What happened, Paul? Please tell me how he died and why I cannot bury my son.’
He turned his face away from her. ‘I don’t know, Evelyn. God help me, I don’t remember. I just know he is dead.’
Evelyn sat in silence, watching him. As she rose to leave, in a gesture that would have seemed foreign to her in the long days of his childhood, she placed a gloved hand over his good hand. Her fingers tightened on his, binding him to her.