The Lost Love of a Soldier (6 page)

She could not judge the colour of his eyes in the candlelight, but she could see regret and pain. He had killed, but he did not wish to kill. He was not a murderer. Sorrow caught in his gaze, as if ghosts walked about him.

She pressed herself against him, holding him. This time it was not to receive comfort but to give it.

“Ellen?” His hand ran over her hair. “Do you want me to take you back?”

“No.” She did not want to go back, but she did not know how to go forward.

~

Ellen’s answer was warmth seeping through the clothing covering his chest, into his heart. It would have hurt to let her go. But he would have done it, if she’d wished it. Thank God, she did not. He’d promised himself barely hours ago to protect her from the brutality of this world, and he’d not even reached Gretna before he’d failed. “You are strong, Ellen. You are going to have to face unpleasant things if you follow the drum with me. But you will survive.”

She sobbed and more tears dampened his collar in answer. He held her tighter for a moment. But then he set her away. If her father was behind them, they’d lost hours… “We need to leave, Ellen. Are you ready?”

Her gaze met his, flooded with the uncertainty he’d dispelled before this incident. She was brave and strong, and she loved him, he knew it, but he could see she was also a little afraid of him now.

A sigh left his throat. He could do nothing. He had been trained to kill, and he had killed. He was a soldier; it was his instinct to fight and protect.

He pushed his thoughts aside, along with the memories of dead, dying and wounded men. They had to reach the border before her father reached them.
If
he’d followed.

Within a quarter hour they were in the carriage with freshly heated bricks, his weapons tucked away once more, and blankets piled over them as the temperature had dropped still further. The next stop would be Penrith. They were nearly there… nearly.

Ellen pressed against him, seeking comfort, her arms about his midriff, but her body felt stiff and her fingers trembled a little, implying her shock had not really ebbed.

Neither had his.

She went to sleep, her head resting against his chest. He laid his arm over her shoulders, and took comfort in her beauty.

As she slept, he could not. The call of battle still raged in his blood. There had never been any real danger, he was by a mile more experienced in a fight than the highwayman, but a murderous desire had swept over him; the same which captured him on a battlefield.

Kill or be killed.

Ellen was right; he was skilled enough to have maimed the man and no more. But the thought of her in danger…
God
, he could not bear it. He had not stopped for one moment to consider doing anything less than kill. Visions of battlefields, of corpses, and men’s eyes clouding with death before they fell, had played through his head, but his heart had only felt Ellen and nothing of the bitter world he fought in.

He’d fought for her, to keep her safe, to get to her, to return to the beauty he’d found and forget death.

What was his intent for the future then?

To keep her safe he would have to march across enemy lines and slay every man.

A throaty sound of self-deprecation erupted from his chest.
Bloody hell
. It was what he wished to do, but he would end up dead from such stupid ideas, and that would hardly protect her, and what was the point of her companionship and comfort if he was dead?

He looked out the window, his gaze scanning the passing treeline. He’d left the lantern smothered, and the curtain open, so he might look out for any risk of attack, merely to ease his battle ready nerves. But now what he saw was snow.
Ahh
.
Damn
. Why tonight? Why could it not have waited one more day?

As the carriage rolled on at its hard pace, bouncing over the frozen ruts in the road, he watched the large white flakes fall. They settled. It was the sort of snow which could form deep drifts. But maybe it was a blessing. If it fell thick it would hold her father back too. If… he’d followed.

The snow formed a swirling cloud of white and Paul’s heartbeat pulsed, his blood racing as hard as the carriage horses’ pace. This was not now only a race against her father, but a race against the weather. How soon before the roads become impassable?

He watched the white flurries for what must have been two hours, as they swept against the pane of glass in the carriage door. Then the snow subsided and instead he watched the blue glow which shone back off the white blanket covering everything. The carriage slid a number of times but fortunately the frozen ruts in the road, beneath the white layer, gave the horses and carriage wheels grip.

He remembered all the travelling he’d done in the years of the Peninsular War, marching hundreds of miles. He’d not been tucked inside a warm carriage. He’d been outside trudging through the cold and urging his men to ignore their numb feet, when his were also numb and his fingers burning with cold too.

How would Ellen survive days like that? True she would be with the baggage train and have the luxury of a respite in the carts. But there were times when the carts got stuck and the women had to get out and walk through knee deep mud, snow or thickets, and then in the summer there were days of blistering heat…

He’d been a fool, to bring her with him. Cruel. Selfish. But yet again he shoved the thought aside as he did with the haunting memories of war. She was happy to be with him. He would not take her back. She was his now, his comfort, and he would be hers. She would be the thing that brought his mind back from war to peace.

Maybe it had been a good thing that she’d faced the encounter with the highwayman, maybe it meant, when she faced the reality of war and wished she’d not left England, he could say, “But you did know…”

Had he become such a selfish bloody bastard then?

Yes, where Ellen was concerned. A thousand times, yes. He loved her.

It was not until the sunshine finally began glinting on the snow, reflecting gold light as it rose above the horizon, that Paul finally rested his shoulder against the corner of the carriage, lifted one foot up onto the opposite seat and fell asleep.

Chapter Four

Ellen woke to find the carriage flooded with natural light. It was appeared to be late morning. When she sat upright she saw a carpet of snow outside. Everything was white. The world looked pure again, denying the memories of a man lying still on the ground beside a dark pool of blood as Paul stood over him with a sword and a pistol still gripped in his hands.

She shivered at the memory but her stomach growled, despite her revulsion. She’d eaten nothing since it had happened, and she’d been sick last night.

She looked at Paul. He slept, leaning against the corner of the carriage, one elbow resting on a sill beside him, so his curled fist could support his chin. His other hand now lay slack on his thigh since she’d risen. One booted foot rested on the opposite seat, with his leg bent, the other still rested on the carriage floor. His thigh had been a pillow for her head.

Every muscle and sinew in his body was honed. He was a soldier. Even in sleep he looked able to fight. Now she knew what that meant, she’d seen the aftermath of his killing.

But her heart chose him. She could not deny him now.

In his sleep he looked younger, as he’d done last night. He was merely twenty-one, just a little older than her, and yet he’d endured so much…

He needed a sanctuary and he’d chosen her. She would willingly play that role, even if at the present moment, the idea of his capability to kill scared her.

The carriage jolted and instantly his eyes opened. He sat up, his hand going to his hip, as though to grasp a sword or pistol. But then he saw her and smiled. His hand lifted instead and raked through his hair, hiding the instinct to be ready to fight.

As the image of the dead highwayman hovered, she wondered how many pictures of battlefields played through his head.

She could perhaps understand a little more of the soldier, now she knew what that meant.

She smiled.

“How are you?” he asked. “You slept well. You have been asleep nearly all night.”

“Were you awake then?”

“Yes. I did not like to sleep while it was dark, in case, well…” He did not end the sentence but she understood. He’d been nervous of more highwaymen. But he could not be worried for himself he was able to defend himself– he’d worried over her.

He looked down, lifted his fob watch from his inside pocket and flicked open the catch. “It’s nearly noon.”

She wasn’t surprised; the hunger in her stomach and the sunlight implied it. But he looked surprised he’d managed to sleep.

She wondered how much last night had disturbed him. He’d seemed cold and unemotional then, but now…

“We’d better stop soon.” He leaned over the carriage to open the hatch which let him speak to the man on the box. “Where are we?”

“Two miles from Penrith by the last marker, Captain.”

“Stop at the next coaching inn, will you?”

“Aye, Captain.”

Paul sat back again and then stretched, lifting his arms and arching his back. It showed off the lean, muscular definition of his torso and his thighs, which his uniform hugged so perfectly.

A warm sensation fluttered low in her stomach. They were nearly at Gretna. Soon she would know what it would be like to share a bed with him. She smiled, excitement and anxiety skittering through her nerves; warring love and fear. It tangled up like a muddled ball of embroidery threads within her.

“I cannot wait to stretch my legs a little,” he murmured as he dropped back against the swabs. Then he looked at her. “I admit I am sick of this carriage.”

Her smile parted her lips. “I am also.”

“Shall we take a break once we’re wed, before we travel to Portsmouth? We may find lodgings for a night. It will be our wedding night.”

His blue eyes shone

She nodded, the flutter stirring low in her stomach again – desire and disquiet. “It will be Christmas Eve too. There may be poor service at the inns. Do you feel guilty dragging our drivers away from their families?” He looked at her oddly. “Paul…”

“My apologies. I had completely forgotten about Christmas. My mind has been focused on gathering my men and then coming to fetch you ever since we had the order to sail. I’ve not known it as a time of celebration for years. My family would not expect me to be there, they’ll not miss me. But yours… You will miss your sisters?”

She nodded, her vision clouding suddenly with tears. The twelve days following Christmas were for feasting and celebration and on the twelfth night, at Pembroke Place, they always held a servants’ ball, when someone would be crowned the Lord of Misrule and order all the entertainments. Ellen and her sisters were allowed to watch for a little while.

He gripped her into a sharp, hard embrace. “I should not have mentioned them. I–”

She pulled away. “You need not apologise. It is nice to know you think of what will affect me. I do miss them. I will miss Penny most. I wish I had been able to explain to her. But I do not regret leaving with you. I will be happy with you.”

His palm rested on her hair. “You can write to your sister, when we’re married.”

“Yes. What of your family?”

He laughed, a low deep pitch. “My family are long forgotten.”

“But you came with them in the summer…”

“Yes, because I’d returned to England and sought my old self, the privileged sixth son of the Earl of Craster, but I am not that now. I am first a soldier. My family is the army, and my men. Christmas with my family would feel like living in the past.”

“You are no longer close to them?”

“As close as it is possible to be when I lead a very different life to them. They will not miss me, and I will not miss them.” His fingers gripped her chin, and then he looked into her eyes. “But you will be my family now, and I will be yours. We will be each other’s comfort and companion. That is what I wish for us.”

His words sent shivers running across her skin. “Yes, that is what I want too – to make you happy,”

“And I wish more than anything to make you happy, so we have hope, Ellen.” His head lowered and he kissed her.

The ache in her stomach swept out to her limbs – yet along with the pleasure of his warmth and gentleness came concern; his gentle hands could kill a man…

When they pulled into an inn a little while later, having driven into the town of Penrith, Paul moved immediately, letting her go so she could sit up. He climbed out of the carriage in a moment, lowered the step, and then lifted his hand to help her.

She took it and smiled as he smiled at her. “Let us go in search of refreshment.”

The cobbles of the courtyard were slippery from the snow, so they walked tentatively. He kept a hold of her hand. It was protective, –the way he had been with her ever since they’d been together.

She’d never seen her father be even slightly attentive to her mother. She’d only seen her father give orders and her mother obey and defer to his wishes. This side of Paul, the man she had first met in the summer, was precious gold in her eyes. If only there was not also the part of him that frightened her a little – the image of the highwayman lying dead in his blood still hovered in her head.

Paul ordered cured ham, cheese and freshly baked bread to break their fast, and then asked how many miles they were away from the Scottish border and how long it would take them to get there. The innkeeper implied they could make it by nightfall, if the snow neither melted nor started falling again.

By nightfall. In hours they might be wed.

They ate hurriedly, not wishing to delay. But then, watching her closely, looking into her eyes, Paul suggested they walk away from the inn, and a little way up the road, so he could stretch out before having to endure the cramped carriage again.

His long legged stride made it difficult for her to keep up, especially as the layer of snow caught on the hem of her skirt making her velvet habit heavy as it soaked up the moisture. But she liked the gentle give of the crisp snow beneath her half boots and slid her feet through it. She slipped. Her fingers gripped the firm muscle of his forearm.