Motioning with his head, he indicated the rows of tents as they left. “You did this, didn’t you?”
In an almost unconscious attempt at propriety, she let go of his hand and looped an arm around one of his as they walked. “Aye, myself and the other nurses.”
“You’re amazin’. Thank you.”
A smile almost made it to her lips, but exhaustion of both her body and soul made it impossible. They walked the remainder of the way in silence through the quiet, dark encampment without encountering anyone. Ashlinn wouldn’t have cared if they had. At this point, she didn’t care if people talked. All she cared about right now was doing what she could to ease that haunted look in Sean’s eyes.
Sean stood motionless in the darkness of her tent while she lit a candle and filled a washbasin. In the candlelight, his eyes looked so distant it seemed his soul was in another world entirely. She wished she couldn’t imagine what it was like, but she could. She had walked the battlefields collecting the dead and wounded enough times to get a strong feel for the horror the soldiers faced. Taking his knapsack, she set it aside and started to unbutton his shirt, but his rifle strap got in the way.
“I will need you to remove that so we can get your uniform washed,” she said gently.
He reached for it, but hesitated. Slowly, his eyes came to focus on her; he removed the rifle, and set it carefully aside. The only movement he made as she removed his shirt was to lift his arms and help the process. Some of the blood had soaked through, forcing her to peel the shirt away from his skin. Thankfully, she found no wounds to indicate that any of it might be his. The sight of his muscled chest would have sent a thrill through her at any other time, but right now, it simply made her relieved that he wasn’t injured.
She had to fight back the impulse to bury her face against that chest and cling to him as tight as she could. This time she didn’t resist because she was afraid for her heart; she resisted because it would be for her, not for him. And right now he needed her to be strong for him. She took a step back.
“If you will remove your socks and breeches, I will wash those as well.” Though she tried to sound like the professional nurse she was, the woman in her made her voice shake a bit.
Some of the nurses talked about how a few of the soldiers didn’t wear drawers beneath their breeches. Whether or not Sean did, she had no idea. She stepped around him and faced the tent entrance to give him as much privacy as she could. Bootlaces slapped against leather, a belt buckle jingled, then wool fabric brushed against skin. Calling up every lesson in etiquette she had ever undergone, she did her best not to picture him standing naked behind her, and failed. She extended a hand that shook slightly out behind her. Clothing draped over it a moment later.
“Feel free to clean up. There is a towel on the table beside the basin. I will be right back,” she called as she stepped out into the night.
Due to the amount of blood she typically had on her at any given time, she kept a washtub next to her tent. Rounding the edge of the tent, she stopped in her tracks when a figure cloaked in shadow intercepted her. The tension blew from her in a rush when she saw Abigail’s kind brown eyes regarding her with concern.
“Lemme wash dose for ya, Miss O’Brian.”
She took the clothes from her with one hand and extended something to her with the other. On instinct, Ashlinn held her hand out. Abigail placed a wooden serving tray upon her outstretched hand, waiting until she grasped it with both hands before letting go. The spicy scent of stew wafted to her from the heavy, warm tray.
“Abigail, I…” Her first instinct was to refuse the kind gesture, but the words died on her tongue. She didn’t want to insult her, and besides, Sean desperately needed to eat.
Abigail patted her shoulder and moved toward the washtub. “Ya just take care of your sergeant.”
The urge to correct her, tell her he was not “her” sergeant, burned on her tongue, but she swallowed the words in fear of what Abigail would say. She did not have the energy for an argument right now, and she did not want to offend the woman. She started back for the tent. Just before turning the corner, she looked back at Abigail, who had already submerged the first item of clothing. “Thank you, Abigail. You are a true friend.”
Straightening abruptly, Abigail turned her head in Ashlinn’s direction. Though she couldn’t see her expression in the dark, Ashlinn could feel the emotion in her words. “Thank ya, Miss O’Brian.”
“Please, call me Ashlinn.”
“Ashlinn.” She sort of rolled the name around as if it were a delicacy to savor.
It was unheard of for a white woman—even a Northern one—to call a Negro “friend,” Ashlinn knew, but she didn’t care. Buried in her medical studies as she had always been, friends weren’t something she had really taken the time to foster. That, and most women could not stomach the conversations she found stimulating. But Abigail was nothing like those women. Coming as close to a smile as she had in three days, Ashlinn stepped back into the soft glow of her tent.
Beads of moisture all across Sean’s bare chest glistened in the candlelight. Her eyes followed a few of those beads as they zigzagged their way between his abdominal muscles, past his belly button, and sped along the line of hair leading into his knee-length drawers. The white linen drawers did very little to disguise the contours of his groin. Slowly, he drew a towel along his arms. She knew she should look away—had too—but her head refused to turn. Warmth spread from her center in a rush, concentrating between her legs.
Despite her desire to protect her heart, her resolve began to melt away like the final snow clinging to hills in spring. Seeing him standing there with such a forlorn look on his face made her realize it wasn’t just herself she had been hurting by denying her feelings for him. She wanted nothing more than to go to him, embrace him, lose herself in him. Mustering all of her willpower, she turned her back to him and took several bracing breaths. “I apologize. I should have announced myself,” she said in such a breathless voice, were it not for the still night he likely wouldn’t have heard her.
“’Tis all right. ’Tis not like you haven’t seen me half-naked before.” A touch of humor lightened his troubled tone.
Were it not for that tone in his voice she would have been mortified at the impropriety of the situation. But that tone, that defeated hopelessness shrouding him made all the rules of society seem pointless.
“You are a bit more than half-naked this time,” she said, trying to make her voice sound teasing. Instead it turned out dark, husky, and very unladylike.
“My apologies. I would take my leave, but I am without my clothes.”
Was that a teasing note in his voice as well? It was hard to tell through the darkness that still haunted it. She could find him another set of clothes, but she couldn’t let him go. After all he had been through today, she didn’t want him to be alone.
“There is no need to apologize, Sean. Please, stay awhile. Rest and have somethin’ to eat while your clothes dry.”
The cot creaked and wool brushed against wool. “There, I have covered the bits you have not seen.” While his words were light, his tone was anything but.
Hearing him like this made her heart ache but she did her best to hide it with a smile as she turned and walked to him. He sat on one end of her cot, a wool blanket draped over his lower body. Breaking at least a dozen rules of etiquette, she sat beside him on the cot and handed him a bowl of stew. Without a word, they set to eating. Despite the hunger that had to be gnawing at him, Sean ate slowly and with all the manners of a gentleman. Only when every bit was gone did he set it aside. The moment he did Cliste leapt to her feet, trotted over, and began to lick it clean.
“Where did you get that? I think there was rabbit in it. I haven’t had meat that wasn’t dried in months.”
Ashlinn grinned as she set her own bowl aside and handed him a waterskin and cup. “There was indeed. It was from the nurse that I have been working closely w
ith, Abigail. That woman is nothing short of a marvel.”
After gulping down a cup and refilling it, Sean nodded. “I have to agree.”
Ashlinn gathered the bowls and cups, placed them on the tray, and rose from the cot. Before she could take a step away, Sean grabbed her free hand.
“Please stay with me. I will be a perfect gentleman, I promise. ’Tis just that…I do not want to be alone.”
The vulnerability in his tone struck a chord deep inside her. Not waiting for an answer, he lay down on the cot, turned his back to her, and pulled the blanket up over his shoulder. In only moments, his breathing deepened into that of sleep. Sighing, she set the tray down and began the arduous task of removing her gown, corset, and all their accoutrements. Several minutes later, standing in her pantaloons and chemise, she hesitated at the edge of the cot. In all her life, she had never imagined climbing into a bed with a man that wasn’t her husband. It simply was not done.
Sean made a sound in his sleep that was close to a whimper, and her decision was made. Leaving the blanket tucked tight around him, she lay down beside him, spooning her body against his as they had done in the woods for warmth what seemed like a lifetime ago. Behind her closed eyelids the faces of all the bodies she had seen return from the battle, and of all the men in the hospital, reminded her of how lucky she was to have the one lying before her. She snaked an arm around his waist, buried her face against his neck, and finally succumbed to exhaustion.
Chapter 15
Darkness still clung to the encampment when Sean gently disentangled himself from Ashlinn’s arms and eased off the cot. She was so exhausted that she barely stirred. A few soothing words soon had her snuggling beneath the blanket, breathing deeply again. Leaving her was the last thing he wanted to do, but he had to. If anyone saw him leave her tent they would begin to talk, and he did not want her reputation tarnished. It was bad enough that he knew he had spent the night with her, innocent though it had been.
The night air cooled his skin as he stepped outside in his drawers and unlaced boots, carrying his knapsack and rifle. Only snores greeted him, allowing him to breathe a bit easier. Around the corner of the tent he found the washtub and his clothes hanging on a line above it. He quickly dressed, not bothering to lace up his boots. Paws padded upon the packed dirt as he slung his rifle over his shoulder and picked up his knapsack. Moonlight shone in Cliste’s big eyes as she looked over the washtub table at him.
He scratched behind one of her ears. “I’ll be fine, don’t you worry about me. Watch over Ashlinn now,” he whispered.
Her tongue dashed out to wet the back of his hand before she turned and lumbered back into the tent. It still amazed him that such a huge, fierce-looking dog could be so gentle and affectionate. She was a marvel to be sure. Much like her owner. Sean couldn’t allow his mind to drift there, or else he may find his feet carrying him back inside the tent. Even if she agreed to let him court her, he could never been seen compromising her honor in any way. If something did happen to him during this war, he wanted her reputation intact so she could find another suitable husband. It suddenly struck him. He wanted to be that suitable husband, more than anything.
As he walked, he contemplated why. Having grown up in a family that showed one another little to no affection, among other issues, he knew he had insecurity issues that made him need someone the way he needed her. But knowing that, he had always been good at fighting the instinct and seeing a relationship for what it really was. No woman had ever captured his attention the way Ashlinn had.
The respect he felt for her intelligence, the warmth he experienced from her kindness— they weren’t just because she would be a good wife. Possibly the contrary. She would be a woman who insisted on having her own life, healing others despite the fact that it was something women simply didn’t do. She would be stubborn, set in her ways, and she would be…amazing.
Holding a hand to his nose as he walked by the rows of bodies awaiting shipment back home or burial, he made his way to the smallest hospital tent. He knew immediately that this was the one Ashlinn had been working in because there were far fewer corpses lined up outside of it than the larger hospital tent. Pride in her abilities swelled through his chest, for he knew it was no coincidence. A glint of muted starlight shown off glass near his right eye, cluing him in to duck a moment before he would have collided with the hanging lantern.
Sean found a box of lucifers on a small table near the tent’s entrance, struck one, and lit the lamp. Not wanting to disturb the patients, he turned the wick down as low as it would go without extinguishing the flame that danced on its end. The soft glow revealed a room packed with at least twenty cots from which a wide variety of snores issued. He couldn’t help but wonder how many of these men would walk again, or hold the hand of the woman they loved again, all because they had the good fortune of being brought to Ashlinn’s tent instead of the doctor’s. At the opposite end of the room, he saw a figure slumped in a chair, sound asleep. By the voluminous skirt that surrounded the person’s legs, he was guessing it was the nurse on duty. Holding the lantern aloft, he began searching the sleeping faces for his men. Some of them did indeed belong to his company.
Several stirred awake at his approach and he offered them words of encouragement and praise for a job well done. For those that asked, he danced around the topic of how many had died and whether or not they had won. Truly, he didn’t know if they had. If he had to guess—which he told a few of them—he would have called the battle a draw. To his surprise, more than a few of the men in the room were Negros. Once he had spoken to each man that roused, he bid them all good night and good health and moved on to the largest hospital tent.
Upon entering, the rotting stench of putrid flesh forced him to cover his nose with one hand. The beds within this tent outnumbered the other by at least five and half times, which could have contributed to the smell, but Sean knew better. It had a lot more to do with the differences in Taylor’s and Ashlinn’s medical practices than it did with the sheer volume of patients. He would have bet his rifle on that. Forcing himself to breathe through his mouth, he made the rounds, stopping by each cot and chatting with each man that awoke at his approach. Though some were in dire shape and likely wouldn’t make it long, he maintained his smile and positive attitude for each of them.
Canvas brushed against canvas—loud to Sean’s soldier’s ears—drawing his gaze to the tent opening at the back. A paunchy figure a good half a head shorter than him strode up with enough aggression that Sean instinctively reached back for his rifle. Seeing that it was only Doctor Taylor, he didn’t draw the weapon around, but he didn’t let go of the stock, either. The man brushed crumbs from his mustache in a hurried motion.
“Who is this disturbing my patients?” Taylor barked, his harsh tone far more disturbing than Sean could ever be to the men.
In a much quieter voice that managed to sound far more menacing, Sean answered, “’Tis Sergeant MacBranain, and I’m checkin’ on my men.”
Taylor took a step back, and straightened to stand as tall as he could. “Well then, Sergeant MacBranain, you have no doubt seen that they need their rest. Shall we leave them to it?”
Sean had to grind his teeth against a reply to the question that wasn’t a question at all. He did his best to keep his response even and quiet. “I shall indeed, after I’ve seen to each of them, and not a moment before.”
Emitting a huff, Taylor’s somewhat bulging eyes skitted to Sean’s hand that remained on the stock of his rifle. He gave him a curt nod and retreated to the back of the tent to plop down in a chair. Grabbing a cracker from a plate, he resumed eating, but Sean could see him watching him out of the corner of his eye. Not sparing the man another thought, Sean completed his rounds with deliberate slowness. When finished, he made his way to the other end of the tent, doused the lamp, and walked out. Hurried steps pounded on the packed dirt floor behind him but he let the tent flap go anyway.
Canvas slappe
d against flesh, making the corners of Sean’s lips curl up into a grin. Not wanting any further interaction with the despicable man, he kept walking. His spirits, and his tolerance, sank as he heard steps slapping the ground behind him. Sean didn’t slow his pace and soon the overfed man was huffing.
“I desire a word with you, Mr. MacBranain,” Taylor snapped.
The lack of his title meant Taylor no doubt wished to speak to him man-to-man instead of doctor-to-sergeant. As it was not a conversation Sean wanted any part of, he kept walking.
“That was several, so good evenin’, Taylor.”
The man’s sweaty stench preceded him as he sped into a jog, passed Sean, and stood to block his path. Tempting as it was to simply plow right over him, Sean stopped, fearing he wouldn’t leave him alone until he had his say.
“What’s it you wish to discuss with me?” Like his patience, his words were clipped short.
If this fool persisted, he wasn’t sure he could hold his anger in check, not after what he had been through over the past several days. Everything was still too raw.
The man’s chin thrust up in an attempt to peer down his hawkish nose at Sean, which only resulted in him glaring at his chest. “It is regarding your intentions toward Miss O’Brian.”
Was that a hint of sweet cracker he smelled on his breath? The bastard had to be spending a small fortune to get a hold of such a thing, a fortune that would be better spent on medical supplies. Sean didn’t think his opinion of the man could drop any further. He had been wrong. Then something far worse occurred to him. Had the man seen him leave Ashlinn’s tent? Surely not; he had been too careful for a fool like him to notice.
“That is none of your business, Mr. Taylor.”
He deliberately dropped the man’s title to remind him that they were speaking man-to-man and in doing so, he was not bound to the etiquette of a soldier. Would such a formality fly with his lieutenant if this led somewhere bad? Probably not, but Taylor didn’t know that.
Honor Before Heart Page 13