More water from her canteen cleaned the blood away and revealed the wounds. Much like the wound in his side, the one on his arm was so deep that she could see the gleam of muscle. His arm was starting to swell, which would make it more difficult to sew the wound closed if she didn’t hurry. Thankfully, the bayonet hadn’t gone through the man’s arm and didn’t appear to have hit bone. Regardless, the three-inch or so wide laceration was nasty looking.
Brown eyes wide and trusting, Cliste watched every move she made. Ashlinn shook her head at her companion.
“Don’t know what draws you to this one so much, but I’m curious to find out,” she murmured.
Standing, she held a finger out to the hound. “No lickin’,” she commanded in a soft whisper.
Eyes dropping in disappointment, Cliste lowered her head onto her huge, crossed front paws.
Though the water in the pan hadn’t started to boil yet, she dropped the suturing needles and the end of the tongs in it as she moved to leave the alcove. Rain fell from the sky as if it wept over the atrocities of the day, turning the world into a dreary gray haze that was impossible to see through. Nevertheless, she scanned the area, listening hard as she did so. All she could hear was the splatter of thousands upon thousands of fat drops of rain. With the ghosts of her past waiting to haunt her, she didn’t want to go out there, but she had to. The urge to return to the battlefield and continue searching pulled at her the moment her gaze drifted that direction. She fought it with every ounce of strength she had. This man needed her help. Returning to a fruitless search wasn’t an option.
Careful of the slippery slope, she climbed down the last few feet to the mud-colored water and plunged her hands in. With a bit of soap she kept tucked into her pocket, she washed as thoroughly as she could with such water, scrubbing until even her nails shone clean. If only the “good doctor” of the regiment could see her now, he’d surely be cursing and shaking his head at her supposed foolishness. Washing one’s hands was a waste of precious time he had always told her. Well, she would waste time so that this soldier didn’t join the bastard in the afterlife.
Lips curving up into a smile, she glanced skyward.
By no small miracle, she made it back to the alcove with her hands held up and out before her without touching anything. The soldier’s breathing had become slightly labored, his chest rising and falling too rapidly. She knelt beside him.
“Sir, can you hear me?”
His eyes fluttered beneath his lids. Cliste’s tail thumped in the dirt.
“If you can hear me, sir, this is going to hurt.”
Careful so as not to overuse the precious mixture, she poured the iodine tincture directly into the open wound on the soldier’s arm. A colorful curse flew from his lips as his eyes shot open and he tried to sit up, getting only a few inches off the ground before collapsing back. Surprisingly, he did not scream as most soldiers did when exposed to the tincture. Those eyes she had wondered about were copper with sunbursts of darker brown coming out from the pupil. They fixed upon her, their pain and beauty ensnaring her so that she couldn’t move, let alone look away.
Beside them, Cliste whined. The soldier’s gaze shifted and the trap released, allowing Ashlinn to breathe again.
“Is the dog all right?” he asked.
The heavy Irish brogue coloring his voice sent a thrill into her that darted straight for her abdomen. She possessed a similar accent, but not nearly as strong since her family had been in America for two generations and had worked hard to get it out of her voice. It made her wonder if he were a new immigrant. When his words sank in, she smiled.
“Of course, she is just worried about you.”
Hair so dark brown it was nearly black fell across those alluring eyes as his head turned to look at the hound. “The Reb didn’t hurt her, did he? I tried to stop him, but when he wounded me, she ran after him.”
Ashlinn sat up straighter, having to fight the impulse to cover her gaping mouth with her clean hand. “You saved my hound?”
A smile turned the man’s rugged face handsome. “Aye. But she saved me as well.”
Were he not bleeding and nearly mortally wounded, she would have hugged him, societal rules be dammed. “Thank you. She is all I have left,” she whispered.
The man’s gaze shifted back to her and it was as though the sun itself shone upon her again. “You are an angel hidin’ in men’s clothin’, but an angel nonetheless for it.” His voice began to drift, trailing with each word.
Smile turning crooked, she cocked her head. “You won’t be thinking that for long. I’ve got to clean the wound in your side and it’s going to hurt like hell. But I need you to hold as still as you can, understand?”
He turned his gaze to the roof of their little alcove and nodded. “Aye.”
“Would you like some laudanum or morphine first?”
Closing his eyes, he shook his head. “No. That stuff’s wicked addictive.”
“All right then. Here we go.”
She poured the tincture into the wound on his side. Lips closing tight over a groan, his back bowed. Using the clean cotton rags she had brought with her, she cleaned the area around the wounds after flushing them both with the iodine tincture.
“Bloody hell, ’tis not water you’re cleanin’ me wounds with, is it?” he asked when she retreated to get the needles and thread.
“No. It is an iodine tincture.”
His labored breathes tugged at her heart. “Why?”
She looked deep into his pain-filled eyes. “Because it will save your arm and your life. You do want me to save your arm, do you not?”
“Aye. My soul would die if I could not hold me fiddle.”
Shock raised her eyebrows. Few men she had used such methods on had ever acquiesced so easily. Most wanted the false comfort of their regiment doctor’s usual practices, even if that was sawing off their limbs. She wasn’t about to tell him that her methods included two sets of sutures, one inside the wound, and one outside. Some things were just best left unsaid.
While he wasn’t looking, she dipped the little finger of her left hand in laudanum. Holding it up to his lips, she gave him her best casual smile.
“Here, suck on this.”
His eyes widened and he grinned. “I would deny you nothin’ me angel,” he murmured.
“Delirium already, not a good sign,” she said through a smile.
The tightness around his eyes and lips betrayed his pain despite his playful expression. Obedient as his word, he opened his mouth and closed his lips around her little finger. The warm wetness of his mouth made her skin tingle. The smooth, bumpy texture of his tongue running along her finger caused her to shiver in the most wonderful way. His brow furrowed deeper as she withdrew her finger, tongue darting out to touch his lips.
“You tricked me,” he said.
“I am sorry, truly. But no worries, it was not enough to make your body want more. Just enough to take the edge off.”
His head turned away from her. “Hope you’re right, I’d rather be dead than addicted.”
Respect for the man swelled within her. Not many would refuse laudanum or morphine, even knowing what it could do to them. All too often their fear and pain got the better of them until many begged for it.
“You are very brave, soldier. And smart,” she said as she picked up the suture thread and the first needle she would use.
He opened his mouth but only a moan came out. Already the drug was taking effect. It took several tries before he could produce words. “Sean. My name…is Sean.”
“’Tis