Page 14 of The Forbidden Love of an Officer
He no longer wore his blood-stained clothes and he had put on his greatcoat.
‘Have I made you dislike me?’ The words held anguish. He looked younger. His age. ‘I am sorry.’
She stood, setting her cup down.
How could she balance the man she loved against the soldier who could kill? There was a lethal warrior residing inside the gentle man she had met in a drawing room.
He was not gentle.
But she did not dislike him. Her heart loved him. She had known he was a soldier, she had not understood what that meant. Now she was terrified of the choice she had made.
She went to him, sobbing, and her arms embraced his midriff; doing what she had longed to do for an hour – hold him and cry – and pretend that what had happened had not happened.
His hand slid her bonnet back so it hung from her neck, then he kissed her cheek and her forehead as his hands held her waist. ‘I have spoken to the magistrate. The villain was known here. There will be no prosecution against me, and the driver who is injured is being replaced. The injured man will stay here until he is well enough to travel back. I have given him money for his lodgings.’
Ellen nodded against his chest, not knowing what else to do.
His palm lay on her hair, a gentle weight of reassurance.
How could he touch her with such gentleness yet do what he had just done?
‘You have had a taste of death tonight, Ellen. Has it made you wish to turn back? I will take you back if it has changed your mind.’
Had it?
She would not remain with her family if she returned. Her father would force her into marrying Argyle.
But Paul had killed a man…
Yet that man was a thief, he had chosen a fate to kill or be killed. He had shot the carriage driver.
She pulled away from him, although her hands held Paul’s greatcoat either side of his waist in fists. ‘Was killing him the only way?’ Maybe she showed her naivety by asking. But she was a little afraid of him tonight.
His eyes studied her in the flickering orange light of the tallow candles which burned in the room. ‘Not the only way, no. I could have brought him down from his horse and shot him in the shoulder or the arm. But it is my instinct, Ellen. In battle, a soldier cannot risk simply wounding a man. Otherwise, as you fight on, a dozen men could be aiming a pistol at your back and… you were in the carriage… and I did not know if there were more men in the woods.’
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 had 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 will face unpleasant things if you follow the drum with me. But you will survive, and I will make you happy.’
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 had lost hours… ‘We need to leave. Are you ready?’
Her gaze met his, flooded with the uncertainty he had 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 to protect her. 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.Ifhe had 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.
