Page 62 of The Last Kiss

Harry sagged back against the stall door, Sable’s nose butting at his shoulder. “All right,” he said unsteadily.

Boyd nodded, expecting no less. “Ah, Harry, what the devil were you thinking? Didn’t I tell you there were eyes on you?”

“I didn’t think you meant — Did youknow?”

“Suspected. And obviously not only me. Bugger it, I should have said it to your face. Warned you better.”

“You aren’t…disgusted?”

He shrugged. “Can’t say I think it’s right and I wouldn’t want it for my son. But you and Mr Ashleigh done your duty to the country, and the rest’s between you and the Lord.” He took another step closer, peering up at Harry, brow drawn. “I’m sorry for you, son. I’m sorry for you both.”

“Will you — ?” His voice caught, he cleared his throat. “Will you make sure he keeps riding? He needs to.”

“I’ll do what I can.”

“And — ” Christ, he wanted to leave a message, say goodbye somehow, but that would be stupid. Dangerous. “If I leave you my sister’s address in London, will you write to me if — if there’s any trouble for him over this?”

Boyd hesitated, but then nodded. “Aye, alright. If there’s trouble, I’ll let you know.”

“Thank you.” His throat tightened, an unmanly rising of loss that broke out in a stifled sob. He turned away, embarrassed, and buried his face against Sable’s neck. “Ah, fuck it, I’m going to miss this place.”And Ash, my beautiful Ash.Another sob, barely repressed.

Boyd’s bony fingers closed on his shoulder, a single hard squeeze. “Get your bag packed, son. I’m to see you to the road.”

He nodded, unable to find his voice, and pressed his face against Sable’s neck again as though through her he could touch Ash one last time. Then, with a ragged inhale of breath, he straightened, wiped his face, and forced himself to keep going. What else could he do?

It didn’t take long to pack. He didn’t have much except for Ash, who was everything to him and who he was leaving behind. Numb with loss, he shoved his clothes into his bag and met Boyd outside the stables. He could feel eyes on him and saw John Pierson skulking by the paddock fence. That little shit, this was all his doing. Fist clenched, Harry stalked towards him and John startled, looking like he might run. He was a skinny lad, not nearly a man. And grieving, Harry knew. Christ, this war and the damage it left behind.

“I ain’t going to hurt you,” he growled, though he loomed over the boy, forced him to tilt his head to look up. There was that angry jut in his jaw, the hardness that might never leave. Maybe it had always been there. Harry didn’t know and he didn’t care. “I’m sorry you lost your brother,” he said, and saw surprise register in the boy’s face. “I’m sorry I spoke badly of him. And I’m sorry for you.”

“Yeah?” The insolent smirk on John’s lips looked forced. “I ain’t the one with his marching orders.”

“I’m sorry for you,” Harry went on, “because this won’t make it better. Causing grief to others won’t take your own away. Might even make it worse, when you come to think of the harm you’ve done.”

John shifted, looking away. “I only done what Sir Arthur told me.”

“No matter the reason, you’ve done harm here, John Pierson. You’ve hurt a good man. And if you carry on hurting people just becauseyou’rehurting then you’ll come to a dark place, and there won’t be nobody willing to help you out of it. You’ll be all on your own.”

“I already am,” he spat, and it was the first thing Harry had heard from the boy’s mouth that felt like truth. His lips came down tight around the words, a thin angry mouth that made him look younger still. He glared down into the dirt at his feet as if willing back tears. “I’m already alone.”

Harry’s battered heart gave a twist of regret. Maybe, if he’d been kinder to the boy, tried to understand… He sighed. It was too late now. “Look to Boyd as a friend, John. He’s a good man. Be more like him and you’ll do alright.”

There was no more he could say, and he had little enough inclination to be generous. Maybe he’d had his reasons, but John Pierson had devastated his life. And, more importantly, he’d harmed Ash. Turning away, Harry trudged back toward Boyd who waited at the stable yard gate.

“Get to work,” Boyd called to John. “We’re short-handed now so you’d better pull your weight.”

Watching over his shoulder, Harry saw John disappear into the stable. He could neither tell nor really care whether he’d got through to the lad.

“Apple didn’t fall far enough from the tree with that one,” Boyd muttered as they left the yard together. “A bad lot, the Piersons.”

Harry didn’t have the strength to reply. He barely had the strength to walk, aware of the house behind him and of who was inside. Looking back, his gaze fixed on Ash’s bedroom window — the window he’d climbed through last night and condemned them both to this unbearable parting. And suddenly he couldn’t move, couldn’t take another step away. All he wanted was to run back. Without thought, he took a step forward.

“Don’t.” Boyd’s hand landed on his arm. “Leave it now, son.”

But the pain was agonising. “I have to say goodbye.”

“You’ll only make it worse for him. And for yourself.” Boyd’s fingers tightened on his arm. “Come on. Don’t give Sir Arthur an excuse to change his mind.”

A toot from behind startled them both, and Harry turned to see the Allen’s car turn into the driveway. Miss Allen was at the wheel, her matronly mother perched, frowning, in the passenger seat.

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