“Cliste, come here, girl,” Sean called in a somewhat hushed voice.
The hound’s head lifted from the dead, frost-brittle grass, ears perking up as much as her bent-over ears could.
“Come, Cliste!” Ashlinn commanded in a voice no louder than the one Sean had used.
Tail wagging as if she hadn’t a care in the world, the hound came bounding toward them. With those long legs of hers, she was at their side in a matter of moments, tongue lapping at their hands. Again thunder rumbled, causing Cliste to cower down, dropping her head below the level of her shoulders.
“Good girl,” Ashlinn said as she petted her head, calming her.
The warmth of Sean’s body retreated from hers, drawing a reluctant sound from her throat. His smile warmed her sufficiently. “Best keep a close eye on her while we’re here.”
Ashlinn nodded in answer.
They ducked out from beneath the scraggly, leafless branches of the dormant willow and started back toward camp. Dark gray clouds roiled overhead, pressing down upon them as if the sky itself wanted to wash this war away. In the short time they had been hidden beneath the willow tree, the temperature had dropped low enough to raise bumps along the exposed flesh of her neck. Storm or no, the memory of that kiss would keep her core warm well into the night.
Chapter 23
In the early morning light, Sean made his way across a half-frozen landscape dotted with more tents than trees. Frosty mud crunched beneath his boots as he approached the hospital tent. He longed for the weight of his rifle, having had to leave it back at his tent. On one hand, it wasn’t prudent to walk about camp without it; on the other, if he had brought it, he feared he’d be tempted to use it.
Knowing the doctor’s tent would be around the back, he skirted around, thankful that he was the only soul out and about in this part of camp. The slightly larger tent with its chair and table our front was impossible to miss. Pulling his gloved hand from his wool coat, he paused to take a breath before rapping on the tent. He had to keep his head about him, for if he lost his temper, he had no idea what he would do to the doctor.
“Taylor, I would speak with you. Step out this instant,” he called loud enough to stir the man.
Rustling came from within. Several moments later Taylor threw the tent flap open and glared at Sean from beneath his bushy brows. With a blanket clutched around him and untied boots upon his feet, he looked more fool than menace.
“What do you want?” he demanded.
“To know why you lured Ashlinn’s hound into the woods.”
The man didn’t even have the decency to look shocked. Instead his eyes narrowed and he half-smiled. “It is no fault of mine if Miss O’Brian loses track of that despicable animal.”
Fury burned through Sean’s common sense. His hand darted out and grabbed hold of the blanket around Taylor. He yanked him closer. “If you do anythin’ to hurt either her or her hound, God help me but I will—”
The pressure of something cold and hard against his throat halted his words. A slight movement caused a sharp pain as a blade sliced through the first few layers of his skin. He froze. Taylor’s sneering face leaned closer until Sean could see the flecks of tobacco between his bottom teeth and smell his rank breath.
“You will do what, mick?”
Darkness framed the edges of Sean’s vision as his control over his temper dissolved. Faster than the doctor could ever hope to be, Sean snatched the man’s hand and pulled it down, away from his throat. In one easy move, he twisted Taylor’s wrist at an odd angle until the scalpel in it clattered to the table beside them. Holding on to his wrist, Sean used it as leverage to pull Taylor into him as he thrust his fist into the man’s face. Whimpering, Taylor scrambled backward, stopping when he got tangled in the tent flap. Wide, fearful eyes stared at Sean.
“Or I will kill you. Do not doubt it for a moment,” Sean said in a voice colder than the December air.
Disgusted, and not trusting himself to keep up his restraint, he turned from the sight of the cowering man and stormed off. Taylor didn’t even have the bollocks to call out a tart response. Sean hoped, for the doctor’s sake, he had the wisdom to heed the warning.
* * * *
Days passed as they waited for the pontoons to arrive that would help them build a bridge across the Rappahannock. The soldier’s itch for action began to plague Sean’s company on the third day. Snow began to fall on the fourth. Considering the pontoons were supposed to be coming from the same direction the weather was, it came as no surprise that they were late. To keep his men busy and warm, Sean had them running drills whenever they weren’t assigned to picket duty. The constant watch of his superiors made visiting Ashlinn difficult. He had to be content with proper conversation when she did her rounds to check on the health of the men in his company. That, and of course the letters they shared through Cliste.
It was for the best, or so he told himself when he couldn’t sleep at night from missing her touch. But her words from that morning when they had nearly crossed the point of no return rang in his memory like bells trying to wipe away his doubt. Honor lay in what he did after he bed her, if he did. He wanted to believe with every fiber of his being that such a thing was true. She believed it was true. Slowly he was coming to realize that might be all that mattered.
Boredom made the other regiments all too observant of his interactions with her. He couldn’t have them thinking she was anything less than a lady, else they may think they could take advantage of her. So he waited and cooled his desire with exercise and the frigid air that wrapped around everything. The one good thing about waiting was that his men healed and caught up on their rest. They became sharper, more focused, finishing drills with precision and in record time.
At night he rewarded them with the occasional concert to lift their spirits, and to soothe his own. Ashlinn, Abigail, and a few of the other nurses often made it to these, but they sat separate from the soldiers and mingled with them very little. At least he was able to watch her across the firelight, and even entice her to sing once in a while. Abigail surprised them all by having a lovely, soulful singing voice as well, and she was easier to entice to sing.
Days ticked by. The number of Rebel troops across the river doubled. Now instead of outnumbering them by at least three times, the Potomac army less than doubled their enemy’s numbers. Two weeks later, during a night while Abigail sang a mournful song that had moisture shining in many of the men’s eyes, word came that the pontoons were arriving. For a few moments the men were elated, and hope spread through them like wildfire, driving away the cold and their impatience.
After two more days of heavy snowfall and still not being able to build the bridges, that hope began to wane. Day after day, snow continued to fall with a fury that seemed determined to stop the crossing. It melted quickly, but that only made a muddy, frosty mess. Patience all but gone, Sean’s company hardly responded when word came on December 10th that they were to prepare to cross. But the next night, when the engineers began constructing three bridges under the light of the moon, their hope for action was at last renewed.
Staring out across the frosty landscape broken by the dark ribbon on the Rappahannock where the Union engineers labored, Sean couldn’t share in his men’s hope. Some eighty thousand Rebels awaited them on the opposite shore now. There would be no getting out of this without a bloody confrontation as they had first hoped. At over fifty thousand more men than the Rebels, they were almost assured a victory, but it would not be without a high cost. One good thing had come from the weather delaying them. The citizens of the city of Fredericksburg had been given time by nature to evacuate. But as sure as he knew his own sense of honor, Sean knew not all of the citizens had left. He wouldn’t have, were it his home, or his business that was threatened. That meant there would be more than eighty thousand resisting them.
“Such heavy thoughts on the eve of battle?” Ashlinn’s voice came out of the dark like a dream.
>
Paws padded across the frozen ground toward him. A moment later a canine head pushed beneath his hand. Turning, he scratched Cliste behind the ears. Clothed all in dark blue wool, walking with the light-footedness of a doe, she moved out of the shadows toward him. The breeches she wore tonight were a bit large, and that combined with their dark wool conspired to hide her form from him. While it disappointed him, he was also relieved than anyone else who saw her wouldn’t immediately recognize her womanly shape. Had she not spoken, he may not have noticed her approach.
“You could have been quite the thief, lass,” he said as his eyes traveled across her.
She gave him a coy smile as she leaned against the large trunk of the skeletal deciduous tree beside him. He had chosen this copse of trees for its location far back from the shore and away from the army a bit. Not because he had been expecting her—that was a welcome surprise—but because he didn’t want to be shot at, or disturbed by other soldiers.
“I may have missed my callin’ then,” Ashlinn said in a voice so sweet he could almost taste it.
He leaned against the tree beside her, close enough that their arms touched. The scents of soap, crisp snow, and the tang of iodine mingled about her in a pleasant concoction. Only she would be able to find soap in the midst of a war.
“Most certainly not. You were meant to be a doctor.”
Pink flushed her cheeks, adding to her beauty. “Surely you mean a nurse.”
Reaching out, he cupped one pink cheek in his hand. “Níl, I don’t.”
She leaned into him, and by her rapt expression, he had a feeling it wasn’t because his hand was warmer than her cheek. After a moment, she pulled away, glanced around, then relaxed back against the tree again. For a long moment she was quiet, her lips pursed as if the words that she wanted to say tasted foul.
“You can say anythin’ to me, you know that,” Sean urged.
In a rush, both her breath and her words left her. “I do not want you to go across that river. I know you have to, but I don’t want you to.”
The words seared him to his soul both with desire and pain. A quick glance around ensured Sean that they were alone in the shadows cast by the copse of leafless trees. Everyone was focused either on the construction of the bridges or watching the far shore for any sign that the enemy had detected what they were up to. But to him, having something to live for seemed more important than having something to die for. He didn’t want to cross that bridge and leave her either, but he had to, for honor’s sake, and more importantly, for the sake of his men.
Sliding closer, he took her in his arms. “I wish I didn’t have to. But maybe this battle will finally help bring an end to this war. Then we can be together.”
It wasn’t hard to sound hopeful; he truly felt that way. The only problem was the additional troops that had gathered across the river. Those were just the ones they could see. There could be more. But he refused to allow those doubts to surface, especially now with her looking so vulnerable.
Out in this cold her body gave off little heat, but it still felt good against his. Too good. The curve of her hips beneath his arms, the swell of her breasts against his chest, they drove him to a wonderful distraction. Wonderful, and horrible. He didn’t dare spoil her on the eve of what could be the worst battle of this war, one in which he could die. It was best that her maidenhood and honor remain intact, just in case.
For a while, they stood holding one another, molding as closely as they could. Soon her hands began to work inside his coat, then along the waistband of his breeches. It wasn’t so much the cold touch that made him jump. He took her hands in his and pressed them against his chest inside his coat.
“That will lead us somewhere I fear I won’t be able to turn back from.”
Lips parted in a delicious smile, she kissed his chin. “Good, I do not want to turn back.”
He steeled himself, reaching deep for his control. “Nor I, but I can hardly strip you down in this cold, and we cannot go back to our tents and risk bein’ seen.”
A groan of protest from her worked at his restraint. “If only I had worn a dress, you could lift my skirts and join the fire that burns within me.”
The image her words conjured was enough to ignite a fire all his own within him, and make him so hard he feared for the crotch of his breeches. Eyes going skyward, he leaned his head back against the tree and fought to regain his control. Words both explicit and urgent spoken in Gaelic left his lips. Ashlinn leaned against him, her pelvis pressing against his erection in a way that made him dizzy.
“I want you, Sean. I need you.”
Finding his control, he wrapped his arms around her and met her longing gaze. “And I you. After this battle I promise you that we shall find a secluded place and I will let you ravish me all you want, my angel.” What he didn’t voice was his doubt over surviving the coming battle. It was the true reason he didn’t dare take her virtue tonight. But she didn’t need to hear that. She needed encouragement so she could make it through the hell that lay before them.
“Do you now?”
Eyes closing as he pictured her naked, he nodded. “I do.”
She drew away, leaving him chilled and more than a little wanting. The hooded look she cast him over her shoulder, the way she chewed her bottom lip, both nearly undid him. “In that case, will you escort me back to my tent so I may get to sleep and get this night over with? I am lookin’ forward to the next one ever so much.”
Her voice was all sugar and spice, pouring over him like the most delectable of treats. Hands in their pockets, they walked back to the encampment, so close together their elbows overlapped. It was best that she was dressed as a man so he couldn’t offer her his arm. Being that close would have certainly shattered his resistance as if it were brittle glass. Reluctant though he was for the next day to dawn, at least he had something to look forward to at the end of it. If he survived.
Chapter 24
The first light of dawn that brightened the dim interior of her tent came with a terrible drawback: the distant sound of gunfire. All the excitement and desire she had felt with Sean last night suddenly became eclipsed by fear for him. Him and her brother. At this large encampment, filled with so many other regiments, she had hoped to at last come across Michael, or at least word of him. All the prior day she had scoured the tents, asking troops about him, looking for him. No one had seen or heard of him. But a new day could bring new possibilities.
She went through her morning routine as quickly as she could, dressed in men’s clothing, bound and hid her hair beneath a cap, and gathered up her medical bag. Almost as an afterthought, she paused at the tent opening, grabbed a few cotton balls, and stuffed them into her ears. She had a bad feeling she was going to be in the thick of it today.
Gun smoke wafted on the air, carried by a cold breeze that blew up from the river. Head hung low, Cliste trotted alongside her as she made her way across the half-frozen ground. Once they left the rows of tents for the open space between the encampment and the riverbank, the stench of death reached Ashlinn. Doing her best to breathe through her mouth and not think about how the smell coated her tongue, she allowed the cries of the wounded to draw her in. Looking around, she realized she was one of the first nurses to arrive.
Soldiers in blue lined their side of the ice-edged river, all crouched low or lying prone as they shot at the Rebels across the way. Amidst the chaos, engineers labored over three pontoon bridges, struggling to continue building them under fire. Behind the line of soldiers, Ashlinn spotted a wounded man closest to her location. Crouching low, she went to him. Blood covered the front of his uniform but his hands clamped so tightly over his midsection that she couldn’t see the damage. She tried to speak to him but the sound of gunfire was too great. His wild eyes refused to focus, meaning he likely wouldn’t have responded anyway.
Ashlinn snapped her fingers and pointed at the man’s shoulder. Cliste shot in, grabbed hold of the man’s c
oat just above his shoulders as carefully as if taking a treat from a child, then began to pull him back. The man struggled at first, but once he realized he was moving away from the fighting, he went limp save for his hands clutching his middle. Ashlinn strode straight to a small group of trees a few feet back. Cliste followed with the soldier in tow. Thin though the trees were, she and the other nurses had piled sandbags between them up to chest height the week prior. That, combined with the old blankets they had strung between them to keep out the wind, had turned the copse into a battlefield triage.
Skirts clutched in one hand, the end of a canvas stretcher in the other, Abigail strode from the encampment toward her. Three other nurses, two of whom were Negros, walked with her, one holding the other end of the stretcher’s poles. Unable to speak and be heard, Ashlinn smiled her thanks to them as they helped her load the man onto the stretcher. When they reached the hospital, the soldier had passed out. Ashlinn’s heart sank as she moved his hands away from his midsection. A gaping hole in his stomach revealed shiny innards. Knowing there was nothing she could do for him, she turned him over to the hospital doctors.
Cliste in tow, she and the other three nurses set out immediately for the battlefield again. Working as a team, the women brought the wounded to the makeshift triage at the small gathering of trees. Throughout the morning they treated those they could on the spot, taking the more seriously wounded to the hospital in most cases. When time allowed it, Ashlinn insisted on treating even the serious ones, knowing handing them over to Taylor and his team would surely end in either their death or dismemberment.
One of the lieutenants of the 69th stopped by sometime after the first hour of dawn. Wrist-deep in a man’s stomach, searching for a bullet, Ashlinn didn’t have much of a chance to look at the man, let alone talk to him.
Honor Before Heart Page 20