Page 15 of The Forbidden Love of an Officer
Neither had his.
She fell asleep, her head resting against his chest. He laid his arm over her shoulders and took comfort in her beauty as he tried to hold her steady while the carriage bounced over the frozen ruts in the road.
He could not sleep. 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 played through his head, but his heart only felt Ellen and nothing of the bitter world he fought in.
He had fought for her, to keep her safe, to return to the beauty he had found and forget death.
What was his intent for the future then?
To keep her safe, he would have to march into 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 through the window, his gaze scanning the passing treeline. He had 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, he watched the large white flakes fall and settle. 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.Ifhe had 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 had done in the years of the Peninsular War, marching hundreds of miles. He had not been tucked inside a warm carriage. He had 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 had 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 was good 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.
4
Ellen woke to find the carriage flooded with natural light. It 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 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 lay slack on his thigh. One booted foot rested on the opposite seat, with his leg bent, the other still rested on the carriage floor. His thigh had become a pillow for her head.
Every muscle and sinew in his body was honed. He was a soldier. Even in sleep he looked ready to fight. Now she had seen the aftermath of his killing, she knew what that meant.
Her heart had chosen this man. Yes, he knew how to be violent, but he knew how to be gentle too. She could not deny him now.
In his sleep, he looked younger. Yet he was young, merely one and twenty, just a little older than her, and he had 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 frightened 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.
