Though he pulled back a bit, Taylor puffed his chest out. “It most certainly is, as I intend to officially court her.”
Sean’s fingers tightened around both the strap of his knapsack and his rifle. “Without the man of her family available you would have to gain her consent, which you have not.”
He started to shove past him but Taylor stepped back and to the side to block his path again. The man’s bushy brows pulled together over his muddy eyes like two caterpillars preparing to mate. “But I will, for certainly she will not spurn a man of means who can both provide for her and ensure she maintains the high social standing a woman of her wealth is used to. From the look on your face, I am going to venture a guess that you did not know her family was wealthy.”
The straps bit into Sean’s palms, his hands convulsed so tightly. Not bothering to let go, he dropped his shoulder down, shoved it into Taylor’s own to knock him aside, and marched past him. If he stayed to listen to any more of the man’s dribble, he would end up pummeling him.
“Until she accepts your proposal, she and I are none of your business,” he threw back as he kept walking.
“Oh, she will. You can bet on it, because I can give her everything you cannot, MacBranain,” he called after him, twisting his name as if it were something dirty.
It took the last shred of his control not to turn back around and pound the man into the ground. But that would no doubt accomplish exactly what he wanted, and Sean wasn’t about to let that happen. He marched on, breathing deep of the cool night air, letting it and the darkness drain his anger away. In the absence of anger, though, doubt set in. Ashlinn had never mentioned that her family was wealthy. Had she hidden that deliberately from him? Surely not. She wasn’t shallow. Or was she? He had suspected her family was wealthy, but he hadn’t been sure until now. What else about her didn’t he know?
Chapter 16
Head ducked low to keep the rain from dripping down the back of her collar; Ashlinn pulled her cap tighter down onto her bound hair. Mud splashed up onto her boots as she walked the soggy path from one hospital tent to another. At least in breeches she didn’t have to worry about gathering up her skirts to keep them clean. Why more of the nurses didn’t don men’s clothing, she could not fathom.
Just before she reached the second tent, a figure stepped out of it. The pelting rain misted around the person, obscuring their features from view. Were it not raining hard enough to make a devout man want to build a boat, she would have taken a detour to avoid the person. Every day for the past week, Doctor Taylor had been seeking a private audience with her. Fearing she knew what he wanted, she had begged off and avoided him so far.
To make matters worse, she had not seen Sean the whole week, either. That night after Antietam, her resolve to keep him at a distance had begun to melt away a bit. When she had inquired after him to his men, they informed her that he had been placed on picket duty at the far edge of the encampment. Never had he been assigned to such a duty before. When she asked the men from his company about it, they voiced suspicions that someone had complained about him to their lieutenant. She knew of only one person that would do that, and it wasn’t a soldier. Had she not been so busy tending to the wounded (and searching for her brother among them), she would have gone out to visit him.
As she turned to go around the figure, she saw too late that it was Doctor Taylor, as if her suspicion alone had conjured him. The man stepped into her path and shot an arm out to surround one of hers in a semblance of an escort.
“Miss O’Brian, I am so glad I encountered you. May I have a moment of your time?” he asked so sweetly it made her teeth ache.
She tried to pull away but he held fast to her arm. “Now really is not a good time. I am hardly presentable.”
“I do insist. I have been eager to speak with you for over a week now.” An edge worked away at the sweet tone.
Again, she tried to tug her arm free. He held on so tight that to get away she would be forced to make a scene. Despite the wet conditions, the midday hustle of the encampment meant there would be a lot of witnesses to her unladylike behavior. Had she not undergone so many lessons in etiquette as a young woman, she would have done it anyway.
Muscles going stiff, she stood as straight as she could with him latched onto her arm. “Fine then. What is it you wish to speak to me about, Doctor Taylor?”
“Since you have no living male relative or benefactor, it is to you personally that I must state my intentions to.” His tone was all business, but she feared she knew what he was about to say next was as personal as it could get.
“Doctor Taylor, this is highly unorthodox—”
“I wish to court you, officially. And let’s be frank: you really can’t do much better than someone of my wealth and standing. You have no need to offer a dowry of any kind. I am a man of adequate wealth and means and I understand that no male relative is living that can arrange a dowry for you.” He interrupted as if she hadn’t even spoke.
Anger fed her strength. How the man could continue to be so arrogant and clueless was beyond her. With a violent twist, she pulled free of his grasp. “If I have no living male relative, it is thanks to you, and I yet might. My younger brother is still missing, which makes your proposal not only terribly untimely, but highly inappropriate.”
Shaking his head, Taylor gave her a tolerant look that she wanted to claw right off his face. “The war took them, not me, as I have explained. And if your younger brother is still alive, it is because he is a deserter, which is only one more reason you should find my proposal quite attractive. There are not many men that would take in the sister of a deserter, especially with no dowry on top of that.”
With a speed and power that surprised even her, she lashed out and slapped the man across the face. Teeth clenched, his head whipped back to her, eyes no more than dark beads between angry slits.
“Certainly you do not wish to court me because I am from a wealthy family with no male heir and my husband-to-be stands to inherit all of my family’s fortune. Not with you being a man of wealth and means,” she said with more than a little sarcastic bite to her tone.
Blood stained Taylor’s slightly crooked teeth as he grinned at her. The sight sent chills racing up her arms. She took a step back.
Droplets of blood flew as he hissed through his teeth. “When no one else will have you, it will not really matter, will it? If you are waiting on your soldier to court you, you will be sadly disappointed.”
One hand doubled into a fist. She stood her ground as he loomed closer. “I will not allow you to speak ill of Sergeant MacBranain.”
He let out a bit of a crazed sounding laugh. “I do not need to. Look around.” His arms swept wide to indicate the encampment. “How many of these soldiers were here when we first arrived two years ago? None. They all die, as will he.”
Her mind worked desperately to try to recall a single soldier from two years ago. She couldn’t. Tears stung her eyes but thankfully, the rain masked them. Words jumbled around in her head, eluding her attempts to formulate an intelligent argument.
“Miss O’Brian, there you are! I’ve been lookin’ for you,” came a familiar voice that she associated with the sound of a harmonica.
She turned in his direction. “Private Fergusson. What is it I can do for you?” Relief allowed her to force a false sense of cheer into her voice.
The tall, ruggedly handsome man stood with his hand on the strap of his rifle. His green eyes narrowed at the doctor with warning. The three-day shadow of a beard darkening his face only served to make him look more menacing. “One of your patient’s wounds needs to be looked at. If you’ll come with me, I shall escort you there.”
So great was her relief that she nearly gasped from the power of it. She moved quickly to his side and took his offered arm. “O’ course.”
“We are not finished here, Miss O’Brian,” Taylor called to her.
She shot a glare back at him. “O
h, we most certainly are. The answer to your question is no, and it will always be no.”
With a disciplined clip, Fergusson turned them in the opposite direction and began walking, water splashing beneath his boots.
“You will change your mind, and you will beg me to ask you again before this war is over,” Taylor called after them.
Ashlinn paused long enough to smile back at him. “Please, do hold your breath until then.”
As they walked through row after row of tents, Ashlinn concentrated on slowing her pounding heart and swallowing her tears. She didn’t realize she was muttering under her breath until Fergusson laughed and complimented her on her Gaelic curse words.
Embarrassment scorched her face. “I apologize, private. That was most unladylike of me.”
Fergusson’s trimmed mustache arched up on one side. “No worries, Miss O’Brian. Nothin’ could color my view of you as a lady, rest assured.”
The words made her smile. “You are very sweet, thank you.”
“’Tis true. And you handled yourself quite well back there. I particularly enjoyed the part where you slapped him.”
Though humor lightened Fergusson’s tone, an underlying hardness suggested he didn’t like the doctor very much. Ashlinn knew exactly how he felt. As they left the tents behind and started across a well-trod meadow of yellowing grass, it occurred to her that he was leading her somewhere. The rain had reduced to a drizzle, making her wonder how long they had been walking. While she trusted the young, strapping soldier, she hardly knew him, and strolling off into the wild with him was far from appropriate.
“Private Fergusson, where are we going?”
With a thrust of his head, Fergusson indicated the tree line not more than ten yards away. “Your presence is requested by the gentleman there.”
She realized someone was walking toward them out of the trees. The confident gait of the lean figure made her heart pound faster. She would know that walk and silhouette anywhere. Warmth spread through her, banishing the chill brought on by her damp coat. Realizing she was a soaking wet mess, she had to fight the impulse to fuss with her hair and tuck it up beneath her cap better. Her breeches clung to her legs and rear, making her suddenly very self-conscious. After a week of not seeing Sean, she was glad no matter the circumstances, but she would have preferred to look more presentable. She knew she needn’t fuss over such things since they were only friends. Yet the surge of emotions at seeing him well felt like anything but friendship, and certainly, so much more than desire. Trotting alongside him, tail held high, was Cliste.
Fergusson let go of her arm and suddenly snapped to attention, right hand rising to his forehead in a sharp salute that Sean returned. Ignoring them both as if she had seen their exchange dozens of times, Cliste bounded up to Ashlinn and licked her hand.
“Sergeant MacBranain, the lady was in a bit of distress when I found her in the presence of the doc. I thought a walk in the fresh air may do her a bit o’ good.”
“Thank you for lookin’ out for Miss O’Brian’s well-bein’, private. ’Tis much appreciated,” Sean said.
“You’re most welcome, sir. As is the lady.” He turned and gave her a slight bow before returning his attention to Sean. “If you’ll excuse me, sir. ’Tis my time to report for picket duty.”
“O’ course. Carry on, private.”
Again they exchanged salutes; then Fergusson marched off toward the tree line.
Rain poured from Sean’s cap as he grabbed the brim and tipped it slightly to her. “Good day, miss. May I have the pleasure of escortin’ you back to your tent?” he asked in a formal tone that still managed to be quite warm—due in no small part to the handsome smile that graced his lips.
It took a great deal of effort to pull her gaze from those lips up to his eyes. She longed to taste them again, but she didn’t dare. That hadn’t worked to guard her heart before. It certainly wouldn’t work now. Still, she was in need of an escort back to camp. Even inside her own head that sounded like an excuse to touch the strong arm he offered her. But it was a good enough one, for accept it she did. Even through both of their coats, the warmth of his arm seeped into her, taking some of the chill away. She shivered involuntarily and he drew her a bit closer. His side touched hers, sending more heat rushing through her. He led her not directly back to the camp but toward the trees that ran along the edge of it.
“You’re chilled. I apologize for havin’ him bring you all the way out here in such weather,” he said.
She shrugged. “’Tis all right. I would have gone anywhere so long as it was away from Taylor.” And toward you almost slipped out, but she held the words back at the last moment. What on Earth was wrong with her?
They reached the trees and the leaves caught the misty rain before it could fall upon them. The occasional drop from the yellow or green water-laden leaves reached them, but it was considerably less than in the meadow. Ears perked up, Cliste ran on ahead, no doubt after some poor forest creature by the enthusiasm her wagging tail exuded.
“I apologize for bein’ absent for the last week. Someone told my lieutenant that I was bein’ improper with one of the nurses, so he put me on picket duty until I sorted things out.”
She glanced at Sean out of her peripheral vision. Was that a blush darkening his cheeks? Had his words not inflamed her, she would have smiled. But thoughts of Taylor going to Sean’s commanding officer and speaking ill of him made her want to do anything but smile.
“That son of a—”
“Now, now. Best not to waste your energy on him. Besides, ’twas a good thing. It gave me time to think things over,” he said.
“Things?” Ashlinn didn’t trust herself to say more. She did not want him to hear the mixture of hope and fear in her voice.
With his free hand, Sean swept aside the drooping branches of a willow tree and led her beneath it. The ground around the base of the tree was so dry it didn’t squish beneath her boots in the slightest. Letting go of her arm, he took her hand in his and leaned back against the trunk of the tree. His copper eyes captured her gaze and held it. The raw emotion in his eyes made her swallow hard.
“Us.” The way his voice dropped low and became husky made her want to look away to hide her own reaction, but she was held fast.
“I have little more to me than me name, and even that’s not much where I come from. The doctor tells me you are from a wealthy family in good standin’. You deserve much better than the likes o’ me.”
She shook her head, trying to ignore how the direction of this conversation was splintering away bits of her heart. Her hand tightened around his. Though he had made no move to let go, she feared he would, and heaven help her, she didn’t want him to. “You are a good man. That’s a rare thing worth more than all the wealth in the world,” she whispered.
The smile he allowed to shine through his mask was genuine. “You may feel differently when we aren’t in the trenches of hell. And I wouldn’t fault you for it.”
Jaw clenching, she turned her head away. He took hold of her chin and turned it back to him ever so gently. “But I would like the chance to get to know you better, and for you to get to know me better. So that when that time comes, you can make your decision with all the cards showin’, so to speak.”
Still, fear kept her from allowing hope into her heart. “What are you saying, Sean?”
“You’ve captured me, Ashlinn. You’re wicked smart, independent, and you stand up for what you believe in. I can’t imagine a more intriguin’ woman.” Through all that, he remained confident, holding her gaze, but then his eyes dropped as if he were suddenly self-conscious. “Before I ask you what I want to ask you, though, there’s somethin’ you need to know about me.”
He wouldn’t look up at her. Concern for him, as well as for herself over whatever it was he had to say, churned within. But there were things she had to say as well. The battle of Antietam had shaken her resolve to its core, making her realize frien
d or otherwise, she cared for this man and did not want to waste what time she had with him. Seeing him so devastated after Antietam had changed something in her, broken it open.
“If you are destitute, I do not care. A widower, I do not care. Estranged from your family, I do not care.” She lifted his chin with a finger and stared straight into his frightened eyes. “There is very little in this world that could make me see you in a bad light,” she told him. And she truly didn’t, heaven and all the powers that be help her.
Palm against a birch for support, Sean turned away. His head dropped and his breathing hitched. The last of her resolve to keep him at a distance melted like lingering snow in June. She reached out to him, hand hesitating inches away. Breath held, she waited, giving him time to find the strength on his own.
* * * *
Swallowing hard, Sean straightened. Come what may, he had to get this out before he went any further. Honor demanded he do so.
“My parents betrayed our people to the crown. But I didn’t, I swear by all I hold dear, I didn’t. I knew nothing about what they were up to.” A few shuddering breaths and he went on. “We were run out of our home in Kilkenny by the IRA. My parents stayed in the North, where those loyal to the crown remain. But I couldn’t. I had no love for the crown. So I came to America.”
Not a single soul outside of Ireland had ever heard that story. Telling it lifted a weight from his shoulders that he had become so accustomed to bearing, he shuddered. Were his hand not against the tree already, he might have staggered. Still, he couldn’t look at Ashlinn, couldn’t bare her rejection over this. Yet bare it he would, if he had to.
Slowly, she pulled his hand from the tree and took both of his in hers, squeezing them hard. “You do not need to bear the sins of your father. There is no shame in leaving a situation like that. You are a good man, and the good you have already done in this country has redeemed the MacBranain name. Now, Sean.” When his eyes dropped again she ducked low to keep in their sight. “Ask me what you want to.”
Honor Before Heart Page 14