Like an experienced soldier, Ashlinn draped the tent—which was really no more than a large square of treated fabric—over one of the sycamore branches that hung nearly to the ground and staked out its four corners. Such skills were rare among the gentle ladies he had known in his life. A smile tried to turn up his lips but his muscles were so tired they refused to complete the action. She reached out to take the musket from his hands. He hesitated, but the stern look she gave him convinced him it was in his best interest not to argue.
To his relief, she placed the weapon inside the tent, then turned back to offer him her hands. Undignified though it was, he allowed her to help him to his knees and then into the tent. By the time he was laying on his back staring up at where the tent draped the branch, his chest heaved with each breath. Despite his exhaustion, he repositioned the musket so that it would be easy to access should he need it. Ashlinn crawled in beside him and Cliste lay down at his head. With the hound blocking the breeze and Ashlinn’s warm legs against his, he instantly warmed a bit. It wasn’t quite enough to make him stop shivering, but it helped.
“You are shivering in this awful heat. ’Tis not a good thing,” Ashlinn said under her breath.
Drawing a knife from her belt, she cut the bandages around his midsection and peeled them away. Propped up on the pack, he watched mutely as she cleaned away the blood and checked his stitches. When she withdrew the bottle of iodine tincture from her satchel he took a deep breath.
“’Tis best to fight off infection. I will not use much this time.”
Her whispering voice softened her hard edges, making her seem more human. The sound sent a thrill of heat through him, one that was almost enough to make him forget her words. Distracted as he was, he didn’t have time to brace before she poured the scalding liquid onto his wound. Groaning, he sat up a bit more and looked closer at it. After she wiped away the liquid, he saw that no pus or drainage came from the wound. Concern gnawed at him.
“’Tis not infected, is it? Shouldn’t there be pus?”
“No, there should not.” The words sounded clipped and short, barely a whisper.
Her brows pulled together and her eyes narrowed to slits.
“But ’tis not that a good thing? ’Tis the bad humors comin’ out, right?”
He didn’t know much about medicine, wounds, and such, but he had heard more than one field doctor say that about pus.
“That is a load of shite as big as the doctors who spread it. Pus is a sign of infection. Think of how many soldiers you have seen lose more of a limb or scar terribly with wounds that had it.”
For a moment he thought back and realized she was right.
“How do you know such things?”
“My da was a doctor who studied the forward-thinking teachings of the time. My mum was a nurse who studied science. I watched and learned alongside them.” Her voice dropped lower as she spoke until Sean had to strain to hear her. Pain laced each word.
He laid a hand on her arm. “What happened to them?”
“Cholera,” she said in a voice void of emotion.
Terrible as it was, it was a noble end compared to some. He didn’t dare say that, though. His own shameful demons would remain just that, his own. Putting on a tight smile that didn’t reach her eyes, she patted his hand where it sat upon her arm.
“I need you to sit up for a moment so I can rebandage the wound.”
Dwarfed within his big hands, hers didn’t look like they could lift a man such as himself, but they did so with ease. Though she may not look as stalwart as most of the nurses he had come across, she most certainly proved herself to be. She placed a piece of pristine white cotton cloth against his wound, then wrapped it, going completely around his waist.
“Will you not run out of wrap by usin’ fresh material?” he asked.
She nodded. “Aye, but if I use the old material it could introduce contaminants to your wound.”
Head cocking, he raised an eyebrow at her. “Most doctors would say they cannot waste material in the midst of war.”
Copying his one eyebrow raise, she placed her wrist against his forehead. “Aye, and ’tis why most of their patients die. Hmmm, you have a bit of a fever. I think I saw some yarrow a ways back. You rest here while I go fetch it.”
She started to rise and turn for the opening of the tent. One hand going to his side in anticipation of the pain, Sean sat up, grabbing her arm with his other hand. It felt wicked to touch her bare arm, wicked and wonderful.
“Don’t, please, ’tis too dangerous.”
The look she gave him reminded him of one his mum used to give him right before she chastised him. “I can take care of myself. I have been a nurse in this war for over two years now.”
He tightened his grip when she tried to pull away. “I have no doubt you are quite capable, but we are far from the protection of the regiment.”
Her eyes softened, her hand covering his. Warmth seeped from her skin into him, giving him an idea. “Please do not leave me. I am so cold.”
Nodding, she sat down beside him. Heat poured into him from where her legs touched his, pulling a sigh of pleasure from him. He turned toward her until his wound pinched so much he had to stop, then curled around that warmth as much as he could. A resigned sounding sigh eased from her.
“All right, I will not leave you.”
She opened her coat, snuggled intimately against him, and wrapped both her arms and her coat around him. Shock rendered him speechless. Such boldness was unheard of, forbidden. But then, he had nearly died and still might if fever took him. He supposed that must be enough motivation for her to break such codes of acceptable conduct. The men’s clothing couldn’t hide the press of her breasts against his chest, the wonderful curve of her hip as he snaked his arm around her. Best of all, this close, the medicine, wet wool, and blood scents faded, allowing him to catch a whiff of her feminine scent of vanilla and roses.
Had he his wits about him, he would have done the honorable thing and moved away. But he didn’t. Or so he told himself. Sleep snuck over him like the mists of his old homeland. Suspicion stirred in him that she would not stay true to her word, but his thoughts became muddled and he grew unable to fight off unconsciousness. Soothed by the feel of her heart beating against his, he drifted off.
Chapter 4
Leaf-laden branches grabbed at Ashlinn’s clothing and arms, some snagging material, others snagging flesh in their attempts to thwart her efforts to move along the riverbank. Clouds crowded the night sky, choking out both the moon and starlight. She had to walk slowly just as much because of lack of light as to ensure her footsteps remained quiet. More than once she was forced to backtrack and go around impassable bushes that she didn’t recall being in the way.
But she had to do this. Sean had been burning with fever when she left, his skin so hot she became uncomfortable lying beside him. And not just because of the heat. She had never been so close to a man she wasn’t related to before, and though he was wounded and sick, it still felt wonderfully intimate. If she didn’t get something to help his fever break, she feared he might not make it. That bothered her more than she cared to admit. This soldier had a quality to him that was charming, unforgettable, and it had wormed its way into her somehow despite her reluctance to allow attachments to form.
What little light made it through the oppressive clouds shown upon the flowing water