Page 31 of The Last Kiss

Ash still felt dislocated, but he blinked a couple of times and focussed on the tree with its sturdy branches covered in the first flush of spring leaves. “Yes. Yes, this is the place.” He looked around at the still pond, the heathland and birds skimming over the water, and it looked alien, as if he’d transplanted himself straight from Flanders to this bucolic English scene. He half expected to look down at himself and see his uniform.

“Come on.” Harry let go and the loss of his touch disturbed him like the loss of an anchor. Panic rose and he bit it back with a ruthless act of will.I’m not there, I’m here.I’m here with Harry.Fixing his attention on Harry’s back, he watched him walk Sable onto the grass and swing down from the saddle, hitching her reins to a low branch. Turning, he came forward to take Bella’s reins, his fingers brushing Ash’s as he handed them over and their eyes meeting for a fluttering second. Christ, but Ash was all over the place today. He felt thin as paper, liable to be swept up and away by his riotous feelings.

Once Bella was tethered, Harry moved around to help Ash dismount. As before, he swung his bad leg over Bella’s back and felt Harry’s hands on his waist to steady him, to take his weight until he could get his good leg on the ground. And all he could feel was the strength of those hands, the way Harry’s fingers flexed against him, the heat of his chest pressing against Ash’s back. He leaned into that touch, but only for a moment because Harry stepped back suddenly, clearing his throat and turning away. Ash couldn’t move, concentrated on stroking Bella and taking his time to unstrap his cane, giving himself a moment to slow his pounding heart and decide what to do. It was possible, he thought when he’d stood there too long, that he’d never know what to do about Harry West.

“I brought a blanket.”

Ash glanced over to see Harry spreading it out in a patch of warm sunlight under the tree. He looked up and their gaze met and held again and — good Lord — Harry bit his bottom lip in a gesture so deliciously uncertain that Ash thought his heart might leap right out of his chest. He’d barely got enough wits about him to remember to pull the picnic from his saddle bag before he made his way over to the blanket.

He manoeuvred himself down onto the ground without help, although he could feel Harry watching him with a heat much fiercer than the warm spring sunshine. They sat a respectable distance apart while they ate, a twelve-inch no man’s land stretching between them. It was a gulf he had no idea how or whether to cross.

Cook had packed a veritable feast: pork pies, lemonade, apples and two big slices of pound cake. It was delicious and he tried to focus on that as they watched the water, enjoying the quiet. But he was too aware of Harry, as if each nerve was attuned to the man. When Harry shifted, Ash felt it, when his eyes flicked to Ash, he felt their heat. When Harry lay back on the blanket to stare up through the leaves, Ash watched with such a knot in his chest he could hardly breathe. He wanted to kiss him, that was the thing. He wanted to lean down and press his lips to Harry’s mouth just like Harry had once kissed him. But this time he wanted to taste lemonade on his lips, not blood and tears. He wanted to run his fingers into his hair and kiss the delicate skin of his eyelids, the firm line of his jaw, the vulnerable Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. But he didn’t dare. Instead he lay down too and gazed up at the fluttering leaves, past them to the blue of the sky, until his eyes drifted shut and a lazy sleep overtook him.

***

Harry didn’t doze. He lay on the blanket, propped up on one elbow, and watched Ash sleep. His lips were gently parted, dark lashes stark against his too-pale face, with a thick tumble of hair falling over his forehead making Harry’s fingers itch to push it back from his face. Gazing at him like this felt like a privilege, although they’d slept side by side often enough in dugouts and support trenches. He’d slept with Ash’s head on his shoulder, so close he could have kissed his hair had he dared. He wished he had, wished he’d thought to do it back then when he’d had the chance. Here, it felt impossible. Ash was lord of the manor, Harry his loyal retainer, and the world was set against them in every possible way. If he’d been a gent himself, or Ash a working man, then maybe there would have been a way for them, but as things were….

God, he wished they lived in a different world. In that better world Ash thought they deserved. Then he could lean down, take Ash in his arms, and —

And if wishes were horses, Harry West, beggars would ride.

He wrenched himself away. The worst of it was that he was certain Ash wanted the same as him, but Ash wasn’t doing a thing about it. And he was right not to, Harry knew that; it was too bloody dangerous, too big of a risk. If they were caught… He had to think of Kitty and the girls, couldn’t bring any shame to them for his own selfish reasons.

With a grunt, he got to his feet and stalked toward the soggy edge of the pond. Behind him, Ash stirred but Harry didn’t turn around. He needed a moment to himself, to get his churning feelings under control. The pond wasn’t much like the sort of pond he knew. It had no real shape to it, a haphazard marshy type of dip in the ground with the sun glinting on its surface and birds flitting and chirruping all around. A bleak landscape, really, and he wouldn’t like to be here on a miserable day like yesterday. With the colour leached out of the boggy heath, it would be a very different place. He pushed the thought aside before it could get its claws in and looked away to his right, where the water’s edge curved back on itself. A crop of pretty purple flowers drew his eye, just the colour Kitty would like. He headed over to look —

— and the ground disappeared from beneath his feet. “Fuck!” Shock sucked the air from his lungs as he found himself up to his waist in cold clammy mud.

“Harry!” Ash scrambled awkwardly to his feet, staggering over the uneven grass towards him. “Don’t move.”

“Jesus fucking Christ it’s cold. No wait!” He held up a hand to ward Ash off. “Don’t come closer, you’ll end up in it as well.”

“You won’t get out without help.” Ash was sheet-white as he looked around frantically. “Damn it,” he balanced himself awkwardly and held out his cane. “Here, can you reach the rifle?”

Harry stared at him. “What?”

“The-the-the — ” Wild panic twisted his features. “The cane. C-Can you reach it?”

Harry tried, but when he leaned toward it, he started to tip forward, deeper into the mire. “No. Shit. Is there a branch or something longer?”

“No. I c-can get closer.”

“Don’t!”

“I won’t let you drown.”

“I’m not going to drown. Ash,stop.” But Ash had already dropped awkwardly to his knees, edging forward and reaching out with the cane. This time it was almost close enough. He could touch the end of it with his fingertips but couldn’t get hold of it.

“Grab it,” Ash barked, then flinched, flattening himself against the ground. “Just fucking grab it, man.”

And, no, this wasn’t Ashleigh Dalton of Highcliffe House. This was someone else entirely, someone Harry remembered well. “Hang on.” Harry kept his voice calm as he probed with his feet. He’d found the bottom, he wasn’t going to sink deeper, and edged forward half a step. Ash watched him from a haunted face and Harry was dead certain the poor bastard was seeing ghosts. His fingers closed around the cane, but he was afraid to tug too hard for fear of unbalancing Ash. “I’ve got it, can you pull?” Ash didn’t move. “Ash? I’ve got the cane.” Nothing. Ash just stared right past him, glassy eyed. “Dalton?” Bollocks. “Captain. Hey! Captain Dalton.”

Ash blinked, twitched, and stared at Harry. “W-West?”

“Pull me out,” he snapped. “Come on, pull.”

Ash nodded, scrambling backward as he hauled on the cane until Harry could reach solid ground with his hands and started to push and wriggle himself out of the mire. Flopping without any dignity onto his belly, he hauled his legs free of the mud. Then he rolled onto his back and sucked in a breath of air. “Ugh, that was bloody stupid.”

“Yes, rather.” Ash sounded all wrong and Harry squirmed onto his knees to peer up at him. Ash was on his feet but didn’t look well. For a start, he was shivering like he was frozen, his face grey and eyes too wide.

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