She turned away, leaving him chilled, but the warmth of her gaze flooded over him again as she cast him a heavy-lidded look over her shoulder. “But I shall be back to ensure that you are properly watchin’ over Corporal Fergusson there.”
The slip of her accent made that warmth spread down to his groin, stirring much more than her touch alone had. With a slight inclination of her head to both him and Fergusson, she strode off toward the tents.
A pinecone smacked into Sean’s side, forcing his attention from the curves of Ashlinn’s backside as she walked away. “Right then, quit blockin’ the fire, ’cause clearly you don’t need the heat anymore,” Fergusson demanded.
Grinning, Sean picked up the pinecone and pitched it back, hitting Fergusson in the shoulder.
“Hey! Wounded man here. Have some respect!”
Laughter erupted from both men, easing the tension of the long march from Sean’s chest. “Wounded me arse! You just wanted me lass’s hands on your feet.”
“You’re just sore you didn’t think o’ it first.”
While his feet were sore, he didn’t feel the telltale damp that meant blisters, but still…“Aye, perhaps I am a bit at that.”
He clapped Fergusson on the shoulder as he walked past. “You do as she instructed. I expect to find you right there when I return.”
“Is that an order, sir?”
Though Fergusson’s voice was half-teasing, Sean ensured his own answer was quite serious, otherwise he knew the man wouldn’t listen. “Aye, ’tis.”
With a few of the men who were in better condition at his side, they worked together to erect the remaining eighty tents. Those who couldn’t move another step he helped to unroll their bedrolls and get tucked safely within. As he worked, he came across Ashlinn and her nurses from time to time, treating blisters, minor wounds, or simply bringing the men water. Their tenacity and care impressed him deeply, considering the women had marched as long and as far as the men had. It only strengthened his belief that while men may be physically stronger, women were the more enduring sex by far. Each time he encountered her they shared an affectionate look and a tender touch when they could get away with not being seen. She gave him the strength to keep going.
Quite some time after full dark had fallen, Sean and the last of his men standing erected the final tent. A chill that reached deep into his bones turned the air crisp, making it almost painful to breathe. Rubbing his hands together to get the feeling back, Sean bid his men good night and started back for the heart of the camp. The glow of the fire guided him back to where not only Fergusson sat, but a slew of others had gathered as well. Not a single woman sat among them—but then, the nurses did not linger once their work was complete. Still, he had hoped to find Ashlinn here checking on Fergusson and waiting for him. Hours had passed; surely she had finished making her rounds.
He checked Fergusson’s feet, ensuring the man hadn’t moved as he’d been instructed. They were still bare of bandages and warm from the fire that blazed only a few feet away. “Have you seen the doc?” he asked quietly.
Heavy-lidded eyes barely open, Fergusson shook his head. The daft fool still sat upon the bare ground leaning back against his knapsack. Sean wrapped the clean linen Ashlinn had left around both of the corporal’s feet, ducked under one of his arms, and helped him rise.
“Into your tent with you, you fool. The cold ground is no place for the livin’ to sleep.”
He bore the majority of the bigger man’s weight to keep him off his feet as much as possible as they hobbled over to his tent.
“But the fire…” Fergusson protested in a sleepy voice, reaching a hand back toward it.
“’Twill not keep the frost from coming up through the ground to freeze your arse.” Sean said as he helped the man into his tent, laid him down atop his in his bedroll, and threw his blanket across him.
“Thanks, Sarge,” he mumbled as he burrowed into the blanket.
Sean laid the man’s rifle next to his bedroll, within reach but far enough away the he wasn’t likely to roll over it in the night. One hand on the tent flap, a foot out into the darkness, he paused.
“Are you sure you haven’t seen her?” he tried once more.
“Brónach, Sarge, níl.”
Sorry, Sarge, no.
It was no less comfort in his native language. That the man had slipped into Gaelic spoke volumes about how tired he was. Even here in America their kind were careful about when and where they spoke their language. For too long it had been forbidden to them in their own country, punishable by all manner of cruelty by any English soldiers who may overhear it. Here they were merely frowned upon for it, as if it made them less human than others.
“’Tis all right, Corporal. You get some rest,” Sean told him.
Chilly fingers fumbling in the dark, Sean tied the tent flap closed to help keep the cold out. Soft chatter from the rest of the men gathered around the glow of the fire told Sean they would be aware enough to get tucked into their tents before their arses froze to the ground. Nevertheless, he stopped by to throw a few more branches into the flames, pat shoulders, and offer words of encouragement. Those illuminated by the orange glow either sat upon logs roasting squirrels or rabbits over the fire, or lounged upon blankets, their breath puffing white upon the air. None of them had seen the doc, as they called Ashlinn, since darkness had set in.
The moment he stepped away from the fire the bite in the air made him button up his coat and put his hands in his pockets. For good measure, he made another pass through the tent rows of the 69th, just to make sure Ashlinn wasn’t lingering to take care of someone. Four fires blazed throughout the regiment’s area, one near each set of twenty-five tents. Around each, Sean found men gathered, warming either themselves or their food, but no nurses remained. No one had seen Ashlinn for hours. Though logic told him she had likely returned to her own tent, or gone to see to the setup of the hospital tent, a nagging sensation wouldn’t allow him to listen to it. Regardless, he decided to start there. The clear, star-filled sky bathed the encampment in a considerable amount of light, but it also made it much colder. He found the large hospital tent with little trouble, but Ashlinn wasn’t wandering its quiet rows of cots.
Dousing the lamp, he hung it up where he had found it and stepped back out into the dark. Eyes scanning the nearby tents, he whistled low and soft. She usually erected her tent right around the vicinity of the hospital tent, but he couldn’t exactly go checking in each tent for her. The general would not respond well to complaints from the nurses that he had peered into their tents. His whistle wasn’t answered, and worse, Cliste didn’t come bounding to him.
Unease crept up and wrapped around him, raising bumps along his skin. If the hound was anywhere in the area, she would have come to him. Slowly, he made his way through the rows of tents surrounding the hospital, whistling as he went. On occasion he stopped and listened. For good measure he made two passes through the rows of nurses’ tents. Not a soul stirred in this area that he could ask about Ashlinn. Even after what felt like at least an hour of wandering, only the hoot of an owl in a nearby tree answered him.
Stomach feeling like he had swallowed a handful of lead, he stopped at the edge of the encampment where the last of the nurses’ tents met the edge of a nearby forest. Cold seeped up from the ground, making him pace in place to keep his feet from going numb. On one hand the numbness would take away the pain, but on the other, he wouldn’t realize it if frostbite began to set in. The air began to stiffen his nose hairs with each inhale. His concern grew into something that edged on the border of panic. It was too cold for Ashlinn to still be outside. Exhausted as he knew she had to be, her tired muscles could only keep her warm for so long.
He tipped over that edge into panic and started for the tents once again, intent on checking each one if he had to. Rustling in the bushes to his left stopped him in his tracks. A soft whine preceded the emergence of a huge gray shape that was the size of a
thin bear. Breath blowing from his lips in a puff of white, Sean reached out to scratch both sides of Cliste’s huge head as she reached him.
“You’re a sight for sore eyes, girl,” he whispered.
Again Cliste whined. That combined with how her head drooped and her tail was tucked, sent a shock of concern through him. His hands quickly checked the big hound for any wounds but didn’t find any. She gave a short woof, turned, and bounded back into the trees. Dread turning to guilt, it hit him that he should have realized Ashlinn had gone searching for her brother. Any time they came to a new camp she searched the area. One hand on his rifle to keep it from bouncing, he took off after Cliste. The hound ran so quick through the underbrush and around tree trunks that he had a hard time keeping up. More than once her ghostly gray shape slid out of sight, pushing him faster. Just short of a mile or so, she finally stopped.
A body lay at the hound’s paws.
Sean plunged into an all out run the last few yards, collapsing to his knees beside Cliste. Blond hair spread about her like spilt gold, Ashlinn lay upon a bed of leaves. While she wore a coat and gloves, the garments would scarcely do any good after long out in this cold. Her face was pale—even for her milky complexion—and her eyes were closed. For a moment, he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak. A panic the likes of which he hadn’t felt since the IRA came for his parents clenched tight around him.
At last, he forced words past the lump in his throat. “Ashlinn, can you hear me?”
She didn’t so much as stir.
“Please, angel, say somethin’,” he begged through a sob as he gently shook her shoulder.
When she didn’t respond, he leaned close to her face. After an agonizingly long moment, he finally felt her breath upon his cheek. Tears of relief sprung to his eyes and a breath left him in a rush. He scooped her up, cradled her against his chest, and rose to his feet. Bumps rose along his skin from her chilled body touching his. She was light as a feather—a bony feather. It made him wonder when she had eaten last. He tried to recall seeing her eat and couldn’t. Food had been scarce during their long march, but he had thought she was getting enough. Head tucked down so his breath could warm her pale face, he strode toward the encampment.
Light as she was, exhaustion pulled him down with every step he took. But he refused to give in. She might die if he did, and he wouldn’t let that happen. His tired muscles began to cramp but he ignored the pain. At least it made them burn, and that allowed him to forget for a while how bloody cold it was. The starlight upon Cliste’s bobbing tail kept him moving forward like a beacon that promised refuge. He only hoped the hound was leading them back to camp, because as blurry as his vision was becoming, he surely couldn’t do it.
A fallen limb caught his foot and sent him to a knee. The frozen ground jarred his kneecap and made him bite back a curse. Ashlinn stirred in his arms. Starlight glinted off her blue eyes as they slowly opened.
“Sean…we have to find Cliste,” she said slowly, as if her tongue wouldn’t work quite right.
He knew how she felt. The cold tightened his jaw muscles and made it hard for him to respond. The sound of her voice, no matter how faint, eased the weight of worry crushing his chest. “We found her, angel. Nothin’ to worry about.”
The wrinkles between her brows smoothed out and her eyes slid closed. Fueled by desperation, he cradled her against him again and rose to his feet. One breast moved against his chest as it rose and fell with her breaths. The feeling nearly would have made him weep with relief if he’d had the energy. Once he was up and took the first step, the forward momentum kept him moving despite the ache in his legs and arms. Scar tissue in his side popped and shifted, breaking free of the muscles it had adhered to and sending white-hot shards of pain into him. He ground his teeth against a cry and kept marching. Cliste paused to look back at him.
“Go on, I’m fine,” he assured her.
The hound made a soft sound that Sean would have sworn was disagreement, but she kept going. A few heartbeats later, they emerged from the woods at the edge of the encampment. The sight of all the tents was almost enough to make Sean’s knees give out. But he didn’t dare give in to relief yet. Not a soul stirred within the dark camp as they made their way through the rows of tents. Being within the camp made him even more desperate to get her warm. No fires burned in this area, and he knew he’d never make it carrying her back to his section of camp. Left with no other choice, he followed Cliste, knowing the hound would take them to Ashlinn’s tent.
At last, when the large hospital tent came into view, Cliste entered one of the smaller tents near it. Sean ducked inside and carried Ashlinn to the cot at the back of the tent. She stirred when he laid her down, but just barely. He returned to the tent opening, closed the flap, and tied it closed. Fumbling around in the dark, he found her trunk and more importantly, the candle that sat atop it. His searching fingers found a small wooden box, removed a lucifer from within, struck it against the iron hinge of the trunk, and set the flame to the candlewick. Meager though it was, the small flame would help heat the room. All the while Cliste sat near the cot, her head resting near Ashlinn’s.
Ashlinn stirred when he began to remove her boots. Taking her freezing hand in his, he knelt by her side. “Hey, angel, I’m sorry but I’m goin’ to have to remove your clothes. They’re frozen solid in places and will only make you colder as they thaw.” He wanted to go get Abigail or another nurse to do it for her. But she didn’t have time for him to search them out. He had to get her warmed up immediately else frostbite—or worse, hypothermia—could set in. If that happened…no, he couldn’t let himself slip into despair.
Her right cheek twitched twice and a moment later that corner of her mouth rose in what he thought might be an attempt at a smile. “Sean?” she asked in a voice that sounded thin as a summer fog.
Eyes squeezing shut tight against the hot tears that threatened them, Sean bent to kiss the back of her hand. “Yes, ’tis me.” The chill from her skin seeped through her gloves and into him, turning his lips icy in moments. He peeled her gloves off, cringing at the white bits of frost that broke free from them and fell to the floor.
“Are you able to sit up?”
For a moment her eyes fluttered, then slowly opened back up. She only hummed a reply and her head dropped in what may have been a nod, but may also have been from exhaustion. Her body was fighting too hard to warm itself up, no doubt leaving her with very little energy.
He lifted her to her feet and held her close against him, hovering over the candle. After a few long moments, she reached out and braced herself against the nearest tent post. Drawing reluctantly away, Sean set to removing her clothing. While he was no saint, he had never removed a woman’s clothing to such a degree, and it quickly confounded him. The dress was easy enough to get off but then came the underslip, her corset cover, and the corset itself. By then thankfully his fingers had warmed up enough that he could feel them and manipulate the strings of the corset.
Soon she stood in only her cream-colored silk chemise and ladies’ drawers. She began to shiver and sag as if her legs would give out at any moment. Sean scooped her up and carried her once again to the cot. This time he tucked her beneath the blankets. She grabbed his hand, her grip stronger than he thought possible in her state.
“Please, do not leave.”
Sitting down on the cot beside her, he began to remove his boots. “I won’t. You’ll never get warm enough on your own.” He wanted to say more, to explain how sorry he was to break propriety and have to do this, but he couldn’t lie to her. Sorry was the last possible thing he could feel about lying beside her. He also wanted to say how he would be a proper gentleman, but there was nothing proper about lying mostly naked beside a woman one wasn’t married to. Yet he had to, for her sake, society views be damned. He would not let her die because others thought this improper. For her life he would compromise his honor. Hell, he would compromise anything.
Obl
ivious to his inner turmoil, Ashlinn had turned over. Whether she was simply nestling deeper into the blankets, or trying to give him a sense of privacy, he wasn’t sure. Soon he could hear her breathing in long, steady breaths and he had his answer.
Like a bad whiskey, he forced his gentlemanly senses down and stripped to only his knee-length drawers. Skin to skin was the fastest way to warm her. As he returned to the cot, Cliste retreated to lie on a blanket in the corner of the room, seemingly satisfied that he had saved her master. The hound’s absence removed the last lingering feeling of propriety. Now not even she would oversee them. Hand on the blanket, he hesitated as he fought against everything he had ever been taught. He had to do this. Her body might not warm up enough on its own.
He crawled beneath the blanket and squeezed onto the small cot beside her. Wrapping an arm around her, he pulled her up against him. Every inch of her was cold as ice. Ever so slowly, the cold receded like the withdrawing tide. For several minutes she shivered from head to toe, but it eventually passed as his body heat brought her own temperature back up.
Chapter 20
Wrapped in Sean’s arms as she was, it took a while for Ashlinn to realize she was truly awake and not just dreaming. His warm, mostly naked body convinced her as surely as anything else could. She was not experienced enough with men to imagine the muscles of his chest against her back so perfectly, the swell of his bicep around her side, and the hard length of his erection against her buttocks. Especially the last part. Oh no, that was certainly not of her mind’s conjuring.
The cocoon of heat coupled with the feel of so much of his skin touching hers made her want to stay in that moment forever. But moving on to the next one had its advantages as well. She wiggled her buttocks back against him more firmly, delighting in the feel of his erection moving against her seemingly of its own accord. It was horribly wicked, but she couldn’t help it. He felt so amazing, and she had longed for him for months now.
Honor Before Heart Page 17