Enticing the Weary Warrior

by Tammy Jo Burns

  Author's Note

  As more information has become public about soldier’s coming home and those that are suffering from PTSD, it made me wonder about the soldiers of the past. Not veterans of Vietnam, Korea, or the World Wars, for we have heard their personal tales of horror, but even further into the past. Because of my love of the Regency Era, I began to wonder how a soldier, or in this case an Agent for the Crown, would behave during that time period if suffering from PTSD? How would they react to their family and friends? Who would they confide to in a time when no counselors, psychologists, or psychiatrists were readily available? In a time where men and women feared hearing the word Bedlam and the horrors it brought with it. Would a man from that time period be willing to admit he needed help to be with the one that he loved, or would he remain silent and tormented?

  Perhaps I made Liam suffer too much. Or I might have had Megan push him a little too much, but what can I say? She’s a spitfire. I do not claim to know anyone suffering from this horrible disorder, but I would like to think that I have adequately portrayed what might have happened to men or women who suffered from it in the 1800s. I did some reading and tried to incorporate what I could from the knowledge I gathered as well as my gut feeling on the subject.

  If you feel I did not adequately portray this issue, please accept my humble apologies, for I am merely a creator of fiction giving voice to characters.

  In the end, I hope that you have enjoyed Megan and Liam’s story and all of the ups and downs that they faced, including their happily ever after.

  Happy Reading,

  Tammy Jo

  About the Author

  I grew up in the Panhandle of Texas, but have always been fascinated with the land of my forefathers – England, Scotland, and Ireland. I also classify myself as a true romantic, and find I frequently dream of greater than life heroes that leave me thinking – that is what love should be like. So, I work on creating love stories with strong women and stronger men, and let the battle of wills ensue. I am currently busy writing my fourth book in my little cottage in the woods of North Texas with my cat, Ajax, to keep me company.

  I would love to hear from those who read my books. I can be contacted at: tammyjo@tammyjoburns.com

  To keep up with my new releases and sneak peeks of upcoming books, sign up for my newsletter here.

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  I truly hope you enjoyed this book!

  Warm wishes & happy reading,

  Tammy Jo

  Excerpt - A Traitorous Heart

  “Good evening, my lord,” Lieutenant Harding greeted Derek as he arrived at the safe house well past midnight.

  “Lieutenant,” Derek nodded curtly. Harding held Goliath while Derek lowered himself to the ground. Derek untied the cane and removed the two pistols. “The prisoner?”

  “Upstairs, my lord. She’s a right fetchin’ lass.” Derek nodded, but paused giving Harding a look that had the man looking sheepish. “Pardon me, my lord.” Derek prominently limped as he moved toward the stairs, leaning heavily on his cane. His leg began to throb uncomfortably. He silently reprimanded himself for not taking a carriage.

  “Has the physician arrived yet?”

  “No, my lord.”

  “Show him up as soon as he arrives.”

  “Yes, my lord.” Derek climbed the short entrance stairs and saw the guards standing at the far end of the hall. He gave a short nod before entering the chamber where they held the prisoner. The guard opened the door for him and closed it firmly after he entered. A slight figure lay on the bed in the shadows. The fire burned cheerfully in the grate belying the seriousness of the situation. Derek stopped in front of the fire and removed his coat, waistcoat, and cravat. He knew from experience it would be a long evening and decided to get as comfortable as possible. He wished for a draught for his leg, but needed all his wits for questioning the prisoner.

  Derek lit a candle from the fire. The glow showed the cracks in the ceiling and the stained walls. If this were not more of a prison, it would be a slum. He moved towards the bed and noticed the prisoner dressed as if she resided here, her clothes little more than rags. She looked more like a street urchin than a woman with traitor’s secrets.

  Her feet and good arm were manacled to the thick bedposts by long chains. Her other arm lay at a slightly odd angle from the shoulder, and her skin looked pasty and covered with perspiration. Her auburn curls caressed her sunken cheeks. She looked to be in desperate need of food. A light blanket covered her, but her teeth still clicked together as if she were freezing. He attributed the action to shock.

  Derek lowered the candle to get a better look at the woman’s face. Something familiar tugged at him. He studied her more intently, trying to see past the grime that covered her. His heart picked up an unsteady rhythm. His hands shook and he tried to calm himself, placing the candle on the side table with a thud before he dropped it and caught the whole bloody house on fire.

  She turned her eyes away from the candlelight, and a moan escaped her lips. Her hair lay matted at the base of her skull. He lightly touched the area and discovered a huge lump. Upon withdrawing his fingers he found them coated in her blood.

  He took out his handkerchief and wiped at the red staining his hand, unable to remove it completely. He lectured himself about look-a-likes and imposters. She could not have survived. No one had. He had been assured over and over. Derek grasped her pointed little chin in his hand and turned her face towards him once more. She cried out at the movement. He focused on the freckles scattered across her upturned nose and the lush bow shape of her lips. Her brow furrowed in pain, and her eyes squeezed tightly shut.

  He noticed a glint of gold on her left ring finger and immediately recognized the signet ring. Auburn hair, the ring, and that familiar spattering of freckles – it could not be, yet the evidence said otherwise. He fell heavily onto the ladder-back chair that sat next to the bed. His heart thundered until he thought it would leave the confines of his chest at any moment. He grasped the hand of her uninjured right arm, not noticing the blood that covered it. He chaffed it gently between his own.

  “Open your eyes,” he commanded.

  ***

  She heard the commanding voice and moaned as the pain filtered into her unconsciousness. She heard the command again. I’m trying, she thought. She fought her way out of the darkness to hear the voice she thought lost to her forever. The pounding in her head intensified so much it almost caused her to give up and retreat back into the darkness. She tried to move her hands to her head, hoping to ease the pain only to find one immobile and the other produced such pain when moved, that she cried out. Oh please, just let me die, she thought as the throbbing intensified. No, she would not give in to death, not when so many others had been taken from her.

  The voice called to her again. Perhaps God had sent him to take her to Heaven. She had always thought it would be her mum to do that, but as long as she had him again, she did not care. Her eyes fluttered open, but the light from the fire and small candle on the bedside table were too much for her to bear. She quickly closed them again, certain she would be sick at any moment.

  “No, open your eyes now,” the voice demanded again. Sometimes he could be so intolerably high-handed, she thought. Nevertheless, she obeyed this one final time and opened her eyes. She knew either he would not truly be there or she had expired and entered the afterlife. She had dreamed of him so many times and woken up certain he would be with her, but there had been no one. Therefore, she decided, I must be dead, only I hurt too badly.

  Derek watched intently as her emerald eyes shown brightly from behind fluttering lids. They looked
feverish, set in a very familiar and dear face. He brought her manacled hand up to his lips and brushed a kiss over the knuckles covered in dry blood.

  “Contessa,” he whispered softly.

  “I must be in Heaven,” she said hoarsely, “but it feels like Hell.” After uttering those words, the ragamuffin prisoner smiled at her jailer and then let the darkness carry her away once more to blessed oblivion.

  Derek stared dumbfounded at the limp hand that he held in his. He reached across her and gently caressed the signet ring gracing her delicate finger. She looked malnourished. What had happened to her in these last ten months? How could Gabe believe her a traitor? What possible causes did he have to even consider it?

  He stood painfully and leaned over her letting his lips lightly caress hers. Derek stood watching her and raked his hands through his golden brown hair giving it a decidedly rakish appearance. He paced the room like a caged animal forgetting about his throbbing leg. The Earl of Blackburn alternated between thanking God that He had seen fit to bring her back to him, and cursing the circumstances all in the same breath. He limped to the door and jerked it open. The guard jumped to attention.

  “Have you heard from the physician yet?”

  “Yes, my lord. He sent the lad back with word ten minutes ago. He will be at least another half hour.”

  “Damn,” he paused and rested his head against the hand tightly gripping the door. “Send the lad for Hawkescliffe. Tell him it is an emergency,” Derek barked the order. “Give me the keys to the manacles,” he held out his hand and his tone brooked no argument. The guard handed over the keys reluctantly and Derek slammed the door in his face, having to take his frustration out on someone.

  He limped back over to the bed and released the prisoner from her restraints. The chains dropped to the floor with a loud metallic clank. He sat and stared at her, his thoughts chasing each other. How could it be? He had been told everyone perished, except the handful that had been severely wounded. Nearly an entire village had been wiped out. He heard a disturbance outside the door before it flew open.

  “All right Blackburn, what’s so damned important that it could not wait until morning?” Hawkescliffe demanded as he strode into the room. Derek had been unaware of the passage of time while he watched her and contemplated the various scenarios. The doctor had not yet arrived, so surely not much time had passed. Derek shushed Hawkescliffe when the woman winced. “Did you just ‘shush’ me?” he asked incredulously.

  “As my friend, shut the hell up,” Derek whispered. “Follow me,” he led Gabe to the fireplace.

  “Well, what is it? What is so important that I had to leave my conference with the Prime Minister?”

  “This woman is not a traitor,” Derek spoke with conviction.

  “What makes you so certain? Tell me you have not let an attractive woman turn your head. You are a better man than that. This woman had incriminating evidence on her person. Of course she is a traitor.”

  “I swear to you she’s not.”

  “Have you questioned her? Did she give you reason to believe that she isn’t?”

  “No, I have not had the opportunity to question her.”

  “Then give me one good reason why she is not, and,” he cut him off before he spoke, “I assure you it had better be one bloody good reason.”

  “Because she’s my wife, dammit!”

  To purchase A Traitorous Heart, click here.

  Excerpt - A Thin Line

  “Oh how dare he?” Kala questioned the empty room. Her voice sounded raspy even to her own ears. Most would think she had a cold or the ague, but no, this was her new voice courtesy of the villain who had been after her sister-in-law, Tessa. Who knows? she thought wryly. Perhaps I will start a new trend among the ton.

  Back to the matter at hand. She had found Gabriel Hawke, the Duke of Hawkescliffe to be a traitor in the true sense of the word. She had argued with herself for over a month that she had misunderstood what the voices on the other side of the door had been saying the night of Derek, her brother, and Tessa’s ball. As many times as she tried to deny it, she could not deny overhearing him speak of troop movement, nor could she come up with a plausible answer for his actions.

  The man had given away government secrets to a French whore. What made the treason so much worse remained the fact that he was Derek’s best friend. Her brother's best friend and a traitor to King and Country. And to make matters worse, at one time she thought herself madly in love with him. He had definitely ruined that possibility for both of them. No way she could even stomach the idea of being married to him now. She could barely look at him. And to think, he had once stood alongside Admiral Nelson at Trafalgar.

  She pushed herself out of the big bed, paced to the window and threw back the curtains. The moonlight streamed into the room but did nothing to calm her. The rare cloudless and fogless night in London showed off the true beauty of the city, but she failed to see it. She had too many thoughts wrestling about in her mind for superiority.

  “How could he?” she muttered helplessly, pressing her forehead against the cool pane of glass. He had witnessed the heartache Derek had gone through when he believed his wife to be a traitor. Thank goodness all that had turned out to be false. So how could he, Derek’s best friend, do something like this? The man must have lost all the good sense he had been born with. Perhaps the stress of being one of the highest peers of the realm finally affected him.

  She shook her head sadly replaying that awful night in her mind. So many things had happened that night. Tessa had been kidnapped for one. But first she had heard Gabe giving information on troop landings to that exotically beautiful woman. She had a French accent, claiming to be an émigré to all other members of the ton. And there lie the real crux of the matter. Not only did he divulge information to the enemy, but the enemy had been beautiful and seemed to have him firmly in her clutches, if the way the woman had been adjusting her dress been any indication. She thumped her hands on the windowsill and let out a little growl of frustration. She had to decide what to do about this matter and soon.

  One thing had made itself abundantly clear though. “She can have him. I’m done with him.”

  “Done with whom?”

  Kala whirled around and clutched at her throat with one hand. “Dru, you startled me. I hope I didn’t wake you.”

  “I couldn’t sleep. Indigestion,” Kala’s aunt explained as an aside as she patted her swelling tummy. “Now what has you in such an uproar?”

  “Oh, I’m just excited over all the events of the last few weeks,” Kala stuck as close to the truth as possible.

  “It has been quite an adventure, hasn’t it?”

  “Yes. Derek and Tessa will be leaving for the country once more. Then we will all gather there for Christmas in a few months.”

  “Now what are you so worked up about?”

  “I can’t tell you, Dru,” Kala said, her shoulders drooping.

  “What? You used to tell me everything. I am your favorite aunt, you know,” she waggled her brows for effect.

  Kala giggled but shook her head adamantly. “No. This is something I must figure out and address on my own.”

  “If you insist,” she reached into the pocket of her dressing robe and took out a deck of playing cards. “What do you say we pass the time with a few games?”

  “Yes, but no bets this time. Derek yelled at me for an hour for losing my quarterly pin money to you,” she shook her head sadly. “I had three queens and two tens. I still don’t understand how you beat me,” she lamented.

  “Derek is a spoilsport.”

  “Derek is right,” a deep voice drawled from Kala’s doorway.

  “Richard, I hope you didn’t miss me.”

  “Of course I did, my love.” He dropped a kiss on her lips and then covered her stomach with one of his large hands. “Is she keeping you awake?”

  “Yes.” Kala watched the byplay unashamedly and with a great deal of envy. She had been raised in a h
ousehold like this one, with parents that adored one another and touched and kissed. She had hoped that she and Gabriel could have had something like this, and perhaps they could have if he had never become the Duke of Hawkescliffe. He had changed drastically in so many ways after receiving the title, a title he never should have had to don. A large part of her mourned that fact. Another part of her knew she must get on with the job of living.

  “Richard, please stay and keep an eye on Dru. I think she cheats,” she whispered loudly.

  “Kala, I’ll let you in on a little secret,” Richard replied.

  “What?”

  “I know she cheats.” The three stayed up until early morning playing, laughing, and talking.

  ***

  The next morning, Kala quickly dressed in a plain, serviceable dress and scampered downstairs before anyone else arose. She asked a footman to call for a carriage. He performed the task reluctantly, seeing a dressing down in his future for letting her leave the house unescorted. Miss Kala would be the death of them all in his lowly opinion.

  The carriage arrived and Kala embarked on a journey across town to the Horse Guards. She left the conveyance and paid the driver. She paced back and forth in front of the building, chewing on her thumb as she tended to do when nervous. She had let her sable hair fall in loose waves down her back, not wanting to waste any time in getting here. Her thick, black lashes fluttered, hiding the mercurial changes of her hazel eyes.

  She needed to speak to Director McKenzie as soon as possible and silently cursed the man for choosing this morning to not arrive before everyone else to the War Office, the central headquarters where plans were made to defeat Napoleon, and as she so recently found out where her brother and Gabe worked as well. So caught up in practicing her speech, she did not hear the brisk footfalls until they were upon her.