Mission to Love (Brothers in Arms Book 14)

by Samantha Kane

  “Well, I was in bed,” she said. “What did you expect? That I’d taken the time to get fully dressed? Have you any idea how long that takes?”

  He laughed in disbelief. “Ever practical.” He slumped back down and then his head popped back up. “Oh my God, Robert. Are you…”

  “Yes,” Robert said. He ran his hand through Simon’s hair and pushed his head back down into his lap.

  Christy was bemused by the affectionate gesture. It was one she’d expect of Daniel or Harry. She’d never seen Robert do that to another man before.

  There were undercurrents here she didn’t understand. If these were any other two men, she’d say it was attraction. She’d been around Daniel and Harry and their friends enough to recognize it. But Robert had never shown any interest in another man. And while she knew Simon had a rather colorful romantic past, he hadn’t shown an interest in Robert before.

  But they’d been working together quite closely on their current case. Had something happened between them?

  Was something happening now?

  And if it was, how did she feel about that? She’d been so pleased to finally be the one someone wanted, both with Simon and then Robert. She wasn’t sure how she felt about possibly having to share her newfound place.

  But as she watched Simon lay his head down in Robert’s lap and Robert lay his hand on Simon’s head and stroke his brow with his thumb, she realized she might not have a choice.

  Chapter 19

  “Now tell us about the dream,” Robert said.

  “Tell me first about your dream,” Simon demanded. “The one that lost its hold on you when you shared it.”

  “Of course,” Robert said. “But first, do you need more salve?”

  Simon nodded reluctantly. “Please. It felt…good, when you massaged it. My back, I mean.” He wasn’t usually so clumsy with words.

  “Of course,” Christy said. Simon could hear her amusement. She knew very well the other places that felt good when she massaged them.

  A wave of longing crept over him, and he kept his eyes closed as she slowly and gently massaged his back while he hugged Robert’s waist, his head in Robert’s lap. It felt so intimate. It was intimate. They were both nude under their robes, and Simon wore nothing but his small clothes. It was hot and close in the bedroom, stuffy, even with the windows open. The curtains were still; no wind at all.

  He knew Christy and Robert had made love tonight, before they came to him. He knew it from their state of undress and he could smell it on them. It added another level of intimacy, another, deeper level of desire, at least on his part. Why did he still want them? Why, when it was surely self-destructive and would lead to nothing but misery? God, he was a damn fool. He buried it, like he did everything else, down deep, where it would wait for alcohol and mindless sex with faceless strangers and finally death. Because that was what his life had become, hadn’t it, before he’d been kidnapped?

  Then why, that annoying little voice in his head asked him yet again, did you let the memory of Christy keep you alive in Africa?

  “When I was a boy in school, my father died,” Robert said quietly, blessedly breaking into Simon’s thoughts. “We had not been particularly close, but we shared a bond, of course, as father and son. He had always taken me to his study on each holiday home and discussed my studies and what his expectations were of me, what his plans for my future were, that sort of thing. He was a banker, you know.”

  He cleared his throat and gave both Christy and Simon a fleeting smile. “Anyway, he died unexpectedly—an apoplexy struck him down and he died a few days later.” He shifted in the bed, and Simon understood that kind of discomfort brought on by memories.

  “After the funeral,” Robert continued, “I went back to school. I was about eight at the time. I started having terrible nightmares about my father’s dead corpse coming to me from the grave and discussing my future as a banker.”

  He laughed, but there wasn’t much humor in it. “I’d wake screaming. The other boys were quite cruel about my night terrors, and I didn’t dare tell them what the dreams were about. Eventually I was sent home in disgrace, but the dreams intensified. I felt I had failed my father. I began to study with Daniel’s father, and one day I told Daniel about the dreams. It was as if a huge weight had been lifted off my shoulders. Daniel, of course, being older and wiser, said there were no records in the history of the world of a corpse rising from the grave to talk about anything, much less my future as a banker, which seemed to be of very little consequence in the scheme of things. He put it all in perspective for me. But the experience made banking a rather distasteful career choice.”

  During his story, Christy had stopped massaging Simon’s back, and she sat back on his legs, disregarding her nudity. “You never told me that,” she said. She didn’t sound angry. A little hurt, perhaps.

  Simon wasn’t surprised that Robert hadn’t shared something so personal. It made him vulnerable. On the other hand, Robert was telling her now. Her and Simon, a little voice in his head reminded him. Simon crushed the seed of hope and longing that sprang from the thought.

  “Trust Daniel to point out that you are quite unimportant in the larger scheme of things,” Simon said with a forced chuckle. “Yes, he’s very good at that.”

  “He’s a dear man for whom you would both take a bullet,” Christy said wryly. “And you both know it.”

  “That’s the truth,” Simon said with a sigh. “What a bother he is.”

  “Indeed,” Robert agreed. “Now tell me about your dream, or I shall send for Daniel.”

  “Now you’re playing dirty,” Simon accused him. “Fine.” He took a deep breath and let it out. He knew this story would kill any feeling they might have for him. It would show him for the monster he was. “I was married before.”

  Christy’s hand slipped on his back, and she very nearly fell over face first into him. Simon pretended not to see the sharp warning look Robert gave her. Simon had called Christy a martinet the day before, but Robert was the one in control when they were alone. Simon could see that. Even Simon danced to his tune. Wasn’t he even now telling them things he’d never told anyone else because Robert demanded it of him?

  “Were you?” Robert asked calmly. “I assume you are a widower.”

  “Yes.” Simon didn’t say anything for what seemed like endless minutes. He didn’t care if he made them wait. He needed to tell this story in his own time.

  “She died,” he was finally able to bring himself to say. “We were both young. Too young.” He sighed and pulled his arms from around Robert’s waist. To his regret, Robert let him. But Simon didn’t sit up. Instead he rolled to his side, unseating Christy. Simon lay with his face buried against Robert’s stomach now, hidden from their searching eyes.

  He could hear Christy moving on the bed until she settled next to Robert. He turned his head a little so his voice wasn’t so muffled.

  “It’s really an old story,” he continued, as if they were talking about the weather. “We married young, Giselle and I. We grew up together, neighbors, and everyone said we were foolish and the marriage was doomed. I would say cursed, but in the end the result was the same. Because of my selfishness—my unmitigated thoughtlessness—Giselle died.”

  He took a shuddering breath. “She’s in the dream. She’s always been in the dreams, of course. They used to be about the war, but those never frightened me. I went to war to die, you know. Bought a commission right after I buried her with every intention of joining her as soon as possible.”

  “I’m glad you didn’t,” Robert said. Not exactly words of love, but they warmed Simon all the same because he was pathetic. “How did she die?”

  “I see,” Simon said, finally sitting up because he had to move. He couldn’t lean on Robert anymore. Not for this part of his story. He immediately missed Robert’s stalwart support. “You’re planning to make me go through the whole thing.”

  “Yes, I’m afraid so,” Robert said apologetically
. “Sometimes you have to reopen the wound to let out what’s festering.”

  “That’s a thoroughly disgusting analogy,” Christy said. Her unexpected comment made Simon laugh, and she smiled as she lay down and took his place, her head in Robert’s lap. Simon was struck by the unintended symbolism of it. She hadn’t taken his place. He had momentarily occupied hers.

  Robert immediately began smoothing her hair out, pulling it from behind and under her, spreading it out to the side, running his fingers through it. She did have beautiful hair. Christy hummed a little in the back of her throat in contentment. Simon understood. God, how he understood.

  He went on with his story.

  “We were out walking in the woods on a crisp fall day, flirting, enjoying each other’s company, when I realized that she was my wife and I had every right to take her right there in the woods,” Simon said. “Giselle protested, of course. She was a gently reared girl, only seventeen, quite modest, not yet used to the physical side of marriage. I wasn’t doing a very good job of being patient with her about it. I was a randy nineteen-year-old boy, too immature to understand how to handle the situation. Anyway, I seduced her into it. Took her right there against a tree despite her misgivings. And she loved me. What was she going to say?”

  He paused, lost in the memories. At that moment he felt every blow, every cut, burn, blade, and yes, near drowning he’d experienced in the last few months. He felt old and worn down.

  “She wasn’t going to say no,” Christy said softly, breaking into his grim reverie. “I’ve been where she was, Simon. You are very persuasive.” She smiled at him. Simon was shocked. “Robert knows,” she said, surprising him again. “I told him.”

  Simon looked at Robert then, asking without words if he had also told Christy about them. He had never felt like such a knave as he did at that moment. He had sullied them both, perhaps ruined a marriage that had so much promise. He ruined everything he touched. So many undercurrents and revelations this night. And still they were not over.

  “As to that,” Robert said, sounding very strange. He cleared his throat nervously. Simon tried to silence him with a look, but Robert ignored him. “I, too, have been there, and he is quite persuasive.”

  At his casual confession, Christy slowly turned her head in his lap to look at him. At least he had the courage to meet her gaze. When she turned to look at Simon, he looked away.

  “Well, well,” he murmured. “Aren’t we all being so very honest tonight?”

  “Apparently,” Christy said. “But I’m ill-equipped to handle more than one thing at a time, so I shall deal with that later. Finish your story. Giselle.”

  “Always practical,” Simon said. He didn’t know why that appealed to him. Perhaps because of Giselle and what he was about to tell them.

  “Maybe it’s cowardice,” Christy said. Simon could not let her believe that.

  “I know you think you’re weak and easily swayed, changing your colors and character to suit people’s expectations and situations as needed. But I have seen your core of iron, forged perhaps by loneliness and abandonment. Your ability to adapt and compartmentalize and move on from heartache and rejection are the characteristics of an iron will, not a weak personality.”

  Christy seemed stunned by his praise.

  “Yes. You do know her well. I agree.” Robert sighed. “I can see that you two have a deeper connection than I thought. I have no right to stand between you.”

  “Robert,” Christy said, alarmed, grabbing his arm.

  “I’m not good enough for her,” Simon said bluntly. “I never was and I never will be. You were always the right man for her.”

  “That is not true,” Robert argued.

  “What?” Christy seemed as confused as Simon was.

  “Are you actually trying to convince me to run off with your wife?”

  “You don’t have to run,” Robert said. He wouldn’t look at Christy. “I’m saying if the two of you want to be together, I won’t stand in your way.”

  “What about what I want?” Christy asked.

  “Yes,” Simon said, pointing at her. “She already made her choice.”

  “You didn’t give me the option of choosing, not really,” she threw back at him. “But I did, and I don’t regret it.”

  “But it’s obvious you still have feelings for him. You told me you did.”

  Robert’s words cut Simon as cleanly as a sharp-edged sword. He’d known it already, of course. This afternoon had proven he and Christy still burned for one another, that she still ached for him the way he ached for her. But it was not meant to be.

  “I cannot,” Simon said. “I am not meant to love again. Not because I don’t care for Christy, I do. But because I ruin everything I love. I kill and destroy. It’s what I do, without even trying. And I won’t do that to you. To either of you.”

  “Simon, what foolishness is this?” Christy said impatiently. “I have seen how you treat your friends. How you care for them, take care of them. They needn’t even ask and you are there for them. You’ll do anything for them. And none of them are dying. On the contrary, I know for a fact that you have saved the lives of several of them at one time or another. You do yourself an injustice to deny yourself love based on one unfortunate tragedy in your past. People die, Simon. They just die.”

  “Giselle didn’t just die. I killed her.” Before they could protest, he pushed into the tragic end of his story.

  “Giselle was very cold that day in the woods. I can still see her shivering, like it was yesterday. Her hands were so cold. She was small, like you, Christy. Did I tell you that? But blonde. I promised her I’d warm her up from the inside out, thinking it such a great joke, so bawdy and mature. And then it started to rain. But I hadn’t finished, so I just laughed at her shivers and kept at it until I was satisfied. Her lips were near blue with cold by then. But she still kissed me. Still told me she loved me.”

  He stopped. Looked away. He realized he was picking at the sheets and made himself stop. “We were soaked to the skin from the rain by then. I had to carry her the last mile home. She had a fever before nightfall. By morning she was delirious. Two days later she was dead.”

  When he looked back at them, he felt haunted by her ghost. “I did love her, you know. Very much. She was far too good for me.” He took a shuddering breath. “I have not been back home since her funeral.”

  “I’m so sorry, Simon,” Christy whispered. She didn’t give him platitudes. She knew him well enough to know he didn’t want them. “But you didn’t kill her.”

  “Did you force her against her will?” Robert asked. “That day in the woods. Did she say no? Fight you?”

  “No, of course not,” Simon said, shock on his face. “I would never do such a thing to any woman, least of all a wife I loved, no matter how young I was. But I should have known. I should have listened to her complaints about the cold and the rain.”

  “Complaining about ill weather is rational,” Robert told him. “I’m sure you did the same. But I’m also sure that she wanted you, probably just as much as you wanted her. The conditions weren’t ideal that is true. But I’m sure the passion was mutual. You were both young and in love, Simon. As Christy said, people die. Sometimes they just die, as tragic as it is.”

  “Don’t you think I know that? After everything I’ve been through?” Simon asked, stubbornly refusing their kindness and sympathy. “But I also know that she’d still be alive if I hadn’t been so selfish.”

  Robert sighed. “Now tell us about the dream,” he urged Simon, changing the subject, obviously deciding not to argue the point. “Do you dream about that day?”

  “That’s right, the dream. I’d almost forgotten that was what started this whole thing. Yes,” Simon said. “It used to get it mixed up with the war and I’d see Giselle cold and shivering on the battlefield, or dying in Portugal. That seems so long ago. Now…now I see her in Africa. And it’s so bloody hot, but there she is with her blue lips, and cold hands and de
ad eyes, lying in the dirty sand in that stinking hole. And I promise to warm her up and then…and then…” His voice broke and he stopped talking.

  Christy reached out and grabbed his hand. “It’s just a dream, Simon,” she told him. “It never happened.”

  “It happened to me,” he whispered, clutching her hand. His back ached all over again. Burning. “I brand her. I brand her back with that red-hot piece of iron, and I’m laughing.” He shook his head, unable to go on.

  “Simon, you know you would never do such a thing,” Robert told him. He put his hand over his and Christy’s joined hands. “You’re just…transferring something awful that happened to you onto someone you loved, into another situation, another awful situation. It’s not that uncommon, I believe. Our minds do terrible things to us sometimes. Especially when we are at our weakest.”

  “No,” Simon said. “It’s a warning.” He looked at Robert and Christy, and everything felt bleak and hopeless. “I do terrible things to people, especially to people I care about. You both should be very wary of getting too close to me.”

  “I think, perhaps, your warning comes a bit too late,” Robert said.

  Christy pulled Simon’s hand to her and kissed the back of it before pressing it to her cheek.

  “My back feels better,” Simon said, gently extricating his hand from Christy’s. It was both a physical and an emotional pulling away, like building a wall between them. It was for the best, even if it didn’t feel that way. “I’m sure that was part of what brought the dream tonight. Thank you, Christy, for helping me.”

  “Of course.” She rose awkwardly from Robert’s lap, making sure to keep her robe closed. Robert got up to stand beside the bed. Simon was grateful they accepted his change of mood without protest.

  “We should all get some rest,” Robert said. He sounded as tired as Simon felt. He helped Christy off the bed, lifting her down and setting her on her feet beside him. He put his arm around her and pulled her close.