Page 42 of The Ones Left Behind
“Go and have that seen to,” James ordered.
“Who is in command here?” Matthias asked, half jesting. He knew James was right. Colin pulled up beside him.
“Go to the sawbones. We will finish this last push,” Colin said.
“That leaves you in charge,” Matthias said, with a quick salute to Colin. He watched as Colin went over to direct some of the few men they had left and even saw Tobin stop to have a word with him before he scurried away with dispatches. Matthias would have loved to know what the dispatches said, but Colin had already set off. He could only pray it was good news and this hellish battle was over or nearly so. He stopped to tie off his leg so he would not lose more blood before riding to the medical tent, but looked up one last time at his battalion, only to see Colin being shot from his horse and then crushed under the weight of it.
Much though he tried to erase them, the images of Waterloo were there every time he closed his eyes to seek a reprieve from reality. They played over and over in his mind as if in slow motion. He had seen countless soldiers die, but Colin’s demise he could not forget. This one was his responsibility—his fault.
He awoke drenched in sweat, disoriented and gasping for air. He reached his fingers for the glass next to his bed, grasping its girth, but paused before it reached his lips.
Sobriety was Kitty’s price and he would pay it. She was one battle he could not afford to lose. A week had passed and Matthias had scarcely seen Kitty except for glimpses of her carrying out her housekeeper’s duties. It was as though she had deliberately chosen to do more household tasks after their row, and the servants seemed to be on her side.
“Major?” Hornsby asked, looking around the door into his bedchamber.
“Come in, Sergeant. Don’t gawk at the door.”
“I went to prepare your medicines for the day, and there is none left.”
Matthias realized what that meant. “None?”
“No, sir.”
“Much though I hate to admit it aloud, I do believe they are helping.”
“Of course they are.” Hornsby did not hesitate to chastise him. “Do you want me to ask Mrs. Gordon for more?”
Matthias hesitated. “No, I should do it.” He would have to admit he had been secretly using them. “Help me dress.”
“You could do to spruce up a little. Maybe some face paint from one of the girls would do the trick.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“You’re looking a little whey-faced this morning. Thought you wanted to woo her?” he said as he began to shave Matthias.
“I have not been sleeping well,” Matthias grumbled.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Hornsby goaded.
“No, I do not wish to talk about it.”
Hornsby handed him his clothes one at a time without saying another word. Matthias almost laughed at the batman’s surliness, but he was too worried about his appearance. Had he ever worried about his appearance before?
Once his toilette was complete, Hornsby left, and Matthias hobbled over to the mirror. What was it ladies did? They pinched their cheeks to bring colour to them, did they not? He supposed it could not hurt and then felt ridiculous. He cursed his vanity and then went to find Kitty.
He was exhausted by the time he found her. It was as though she had heard him coming and avoided him. But he had not been one of Wellington’s finest scouts for nothing.
She was sitting in his mother’s garden, resting on a bench while looking off into the distance. She was such a beautiful picture of serenity in that moment, he could envision a portrait of the scene hanging in his private chambers. Perhaps one day he would earn the right to that.
He moved forward, determined to be humble.
He could tell the moment he disturbed her peace. She stood up like a servant would in the master’s presence. He was immediately annoyed and had to repress his anger. “Please sit down.”
She cautiously resumed her seat. “Is something amiss, my lord?”
Matthias forced himself to smile. “No, quite the contrary. Your herbs seem to be working well and I have come to ask for more.”
When what he had said registered on her face, her delight was worth the price of humility.
