Page 42 of A Night of Secret Surrender
Beautiful? God, he hoped she did not remember telling him that come the morning. Once she had been more forthcoming in confiding in him her every thought, but now she was guarded and careful.
The knock on the door had him turning.
‘It’s the food, sir.’
A woman’s voice and young by the sound of it.
‘If you leave it at the door, my boy shall bring it in.’
He did not want anyone to see Celeste asleep in the only bed, for a servant lad had no business at all being there. When the footsteps receded, he retrieved the tray of bread, cold meat and cheese. There was fruit there, too. Fat tomatoes and near-ripe figs.
A thought hit him forcibly that this was the first moment for a very long time that he did not need to be the hero, to act the leader, to order men around or find the perfect and impossible solutions in landscapes full of jeopardy.
No, right now he could eat one of the figs and sit at the window and watch the rising moon for all the hours of the night should he wish it. It was safe here. He knew it was.
Celeste was asleep behind him, cocooned in her blanket, the bruises around her mouth and nose less obvious now and her lip healing. The swell of her breast could be seen above the covering and he pushed down the burst of desire that accompanied such a notice. Tonight she needed to sleep.
It was the soldiers who had unsettled her and sent her to fright and he wondered what that meant in regards to her chequered and difficult history. She had removed the bandage from around the base of her thumb and he could see the healing mark of a blade in the shape of the wound.
A further question.
She’d told him she’d seen her father die and that it was not the English who had done it. Had the French soldiers taken her away at the same time? She had also told him that the world was a chaotic place and if the sky fell in on the spot where you were standing, then so be it. Had the sky fallen in on her?
Once, he had known her almost better than anyone else. And now he didn’t. This woman was far more dangerous and unknowable than she had ever been and she was also scared. Of life and love and of all the usual emotions that were part of a normal existence.
She’d used her body like a sharp weapon, prying out the truth of him minute by minute as they had lain together. He’d told her secret fears that he had never voiced to anyone before and such confidence left him hollow, for she’d given him not one single truth back.
Not in words at least. There were other ways he could read people, though, and he knew she was teetering on the edge of a collapse.
He smiled but without humour. It was what happened when after great hardship and difficulty one was unexpectedly freed of it. She’d had a headache when she had lain down for he could see the way her hands shaded her eyes from the light and her fingers had crept to ease the muscles at the back of her neck. Even now in sleep her fingers lay across her forehead in an unconscious protection, yet she had not mentioned the pain or complained of it once.
* * *
She woke to the sounds of birds and a breaking dawn and was amazed that she should have slept for so very long. The migraine from yesterday had left her with a dull and aching head, but at least she no longer felt nauseous. Summer was in the chair with one of the grey blankets over his knees and he was dozing.
She felt instantly guilty for having taken the bed for the entire night, so in order not to wake him she didn’t move while she took stock of the chamber. It was a plain room but clean. Someone had recently painted it; spots of cream lay on the polished wooden floorboards where the painter had not quite managed a steady hand.
‘I know you are awake.’
At that she pushed herself up and leaned against the bedhead. ‘Did you sleep at all? That chair hardly looks comfortable.’
‘Any soldier learns to take rest where he can and this was more than adequate. How is the headache?’
She was surprised he had known she’d had one when she had been so very careful not to show it. ‘Much better.’
‘Good. We will leave after you’ve eaten.’
Celeste felt ravenous at the mention of food and saw sustenance on a stool near the bed. Setting to, she began to devour a fig while pulling herself off a chunk of the crusty country bread with cheese and tomatoes. It was delicious and with the food and a long sleep behind her, her day was shaping up well. But when she saw him wince as he stood to stretch a few moments later, concern ran through her.
‘Is it your thigh?’
‘It’s fine.’
She ignored that and struck on. ‘We still have some medicines from Caroline Debussy so I could dress it before we go.’
He hesitated and by doing so she knew that it was far worse than he made out. A sort of unbridled panic made her feel dizzy.
‘If you get sicker, we will both be at risk.’ Bringing the bag up on the bed, she rifled through the contents for the twists of paper. ‘It will be easier to tend to you here than on the road.’
