A hearth dominated one end of the single room, a table the other. It wasn’t very big—perhaps twelve paces wide—but the roof appeared whole and the inside was dry.
She hurried back to where she’d left John and found him asleep, perspiration coating his face. The inside of her mouth went dry, but she ignored it and shook him awake.
He was unsteady on his feet, yet she managed to get him into the stone house. He lay down on the floor near the hearth, asleep almost before his head touched the floor.
She checked his breathing, which seemed normal, then touched his forehead. Hot, so hot. He needed fluids and his wound tended. She dredged up the last of her energy and covered him with her cloak.
There was plenty of deadfall right outside the door. She collected some and put it on the hearth. With all the smoke coming from the burned farm, she doubted anyone would notice, let alone investigate what little smoke might escape the overgrown thicket.
She cleaned out the debris-clogged hearth then started a fire. She found a worn broom in a corner and swept more debris out the doorway, checking on John every so often. In the process, she found an iron pot with a handle. Probably one used to heat water or cook in over the hearth.
She took it to the stream, washed it out, filled it with water and hung it over the fire. A stand of willow trees hung over the stream. She took her small knife and chipped off several slivers of willow bark, brought them inside and put them into the water. It was the only medicine she had.
While the water heated and came to a boil, she continued to sweep out the room, discovering a badly chipped bowl, but no other useful items. She took the pot off the fire and set it on the table to cool, then checked on John. He was shivering now, and when she put her hand on his brow, he grasped it and hung on as if she were his universe.
She managed to get him to hold on to the back of her dress instead while she wrestled with his trousers, rolling them up so she could check his wound. She unwrapped the bandage and carefully examined both sides. The entry point seemed fine, but the exit was swollen and red.
“Hot, so hot,” John muttered.
“Are you thirsty?” She released his leg, letting it rest on a corner of her cloak.
“Yes, thirsty.” His hand clenched and unclenched the material of her dress. She pulled his hand away and poured the willow bark tea into the bowl, then helped him sit up to take a drink.
He screwed up his nose and turned his head away.
“I know it doesn’t taste good, but you need to drink it. Please.”
He looked at her and smiled. “Only for you.” He took a sip, then another, looking at her all the while. “Pretty, pretty lady.”
She sighed. “Your fever must be worse than I first thought.”
He frowned at her.
“Only a man in the grips of a fever would think I’m pretty.”
He reached out with one shaking hand to cup her check and run his thumb across her bottom lip. “Pretty mouth. Pretty eyes.” His gaze dropped to her chest. “Pretty heart.” He swallowed hard as his hand slid down her neck to curve around her shoulder. “I’ve wanted you since the moment you stepped into the closet with me.”
She stopped breathing, stopped needing air entirely. “What?”
“You’re so soft and you smell so good.” He pulled her toward him, and she had to move the bowl out from between them or risk spilling the tea. He buried his nose against the base of her neck. His lips feathered over her skin, sending shivers through her entire body. “Want to kiss you.”
“You are kissing me,” she managed to say. Her breathing had restarted, but it came in pants instead of even breaths.
“Your mouth. Please, Maria.”
Oh God, she wanted him to kiss her, but not like this. “John, you’re not yourself. You have a fever.”
She tried to pull out of his grasp, but he retained his grip.
“Are you afraid of me?” he asked, his frown turning sorrowful.
“A little.” He could hurt her in his fevered state. He might not mean to, but he had the power to hurt her more than anyone else ever had.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t…” He stared at her, his eyes glassy and unfocused, then released her with hands that shook. “What’s wrong with me?”
“You have a fever.” She smiled to show him she wasn’t upset. “We have to bring it down a little and I need to clean your wound, if I can.”
“What if you can’t? Will I die?”
She stared at him, terrified of answering, terrified of the truth.
Chapter Nine
“I’ll do everything I can to make you well again.” The thought of him dying made her stomach churn. She wouldn’t let that happen. “Everything. Can you drink more tea?”
He struggled to sit up and swallowed down several more sips of the bitter brew. “Why are you afraid of me?”
Maria opened her mouth to explain, but closed it before voicing a word. He was in no condition to understand.
“Did someone hurt you?”
She met his gaze and saw intelligence in his eyes. Even fevered he was more aware than most men ever were. “Yes.”
“A man?”
She hesitated before answering. “Yes.”
“What did he do?”
“John, I don’t want to talk about it.”
He put his hand on hers and held it. “I won’t hurt you. Never, never.”
“I know.” But she couldn’t hold his gaze, not with the memories so painfully present in her mind.
“I could hurt him for you.”
That brought her head up. “What?”
“You’re still afraid.” He rubbed his midsection. “It makes me angry and my gut sore.”
“I…” She lost the ability to speak. He didn’t know a single detail about what had happened, yet he ached because her wounds were still painful. A few breaths later she was able to unlock her vocal cords. “I’m going outside to get some fresh water. I’ll be gone just a moment or two, okay?”
She waited until he nodded before grabbing the pot and filling the bowl with what was left of the tea. She took the pot to the creek, rinsed it out and refilled it with fresh water. While waiting for the water to heat, she urged John to drink his bowl of tea.
He stared at her, his face hiding none of his sadness.
Finally she sighed. “A man attacked my sister.”
“Attacked?”
“She was only fourteen. I didn’t find her until…after. I will never forget the look of terror and grief on her face.”
“No one stopped him?”
“The man who attacked my sister was a longtime friend of his lordship’s. He’d been kind to us, gave us sweets and told us stories. We told the housekeeper what happened, but she advised us to keep silent. She said my sister would be blamed.” She paused to catch her breath. “The next night he attacked me.
John said nothing, but he took her hand and held on as if he would never let go.
“I kicked and screamed. Somehow I managed to connect with his kneecap. It broke with an audible snap and he fell to the floor crying. The rest of the household began to arrive and I froze in place, certain I’d be punished or ejected that moment from the house. But his lordship sent the man away. We never saw him again and we never spoke of it after that.”
“A man who could do that isn’t a man. He’s a rabid animal,” John said. “I promise, I will
never
hurt you. I love you too much to hurt you.”
She stared at him, stunned. It was the fever talking. It had to be. “You…love me?”
At his nod, she smoothed a hand over his brow. “I would never hurt you, either. Rest now.”
He lay back and closed his eyes.
Definitely the fever talking, but she wished it could be for real.
It took some time, but as soon as the water in the pot started to boil, she took her knife and began cutting her petticoat into more bandages.
John stirred, turning to follow the movements of her hands, a small smile lighting his features. “I feel as if I shouldn’t be watching, but I’m fascinated.”
She stopped to look at him. His gaze had cleared and he seemed fully in the moment. “You’re feeling better?”
He blinked. “I must. Everything was so fuzzy before. Now I can think. What was in that tea?”
“Willow bark. It’s been used to treat fevers for centuries.”
He sat up as she finished tearing strips off her petticoat and examined his thigh. “Infection?”
“That’s the most likely cause of your fever, but we may yet be able to halt it. We’ve caught it early.”
“What do we do?”
“According to Dr. Geoff, fever is the body’s attempt to stop infection. We’re going to help by applying hot bandages to the infected area. I’m also going to bathe your wound in iodine between hot bandages. This treatment has worked on several of our hospital’s patients with early infections.”
“Does it work if the infection has taken hold?”
She shook her head.
“What do you need me to do?”
Again, he placed himself in her hands without hesitation. No one, man or woman, had ever trusted her so completely. Fever-fed words were one thing, but this trust went against everything she’d learned about men with wealth and power, and it left her confused and uncertain.
Something of her thoughts must have shown on her face because he asked, “Maria, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing. It’s just that…” How could she explain that he was the most astonishing man she’d ever met? “This isn’t the first time you’ve put your trust in me. You’ve been doing it since the moment I met you, yet every time you do it again, I’m shocked anew.”
He cocked his head to one side. “Why?”
“Because it goes against everything I’ve ever learned about…society, about…men.”
He gazed at her with wide eyes, obviously thinking about what she said, and she suddenly couldn’t bear to see disappointment in his gaze. She went to the pot and added her homemade bandages to the boiling water, staring at the rolling mass blankly. Waiting for him to respond.
“You trusted me first.”
His words, so simple, startled her. “What?”
“You trusted me first. In the closet. I grabbed you and held you against your will, but you didn’t scream. You didn’t fight. You trusted a man you’d seen for all of, what? One second, perhaps two? What did you see when you opened that door?”
“I saw…” The memory was clear. His bloody, dirty uniform. And his eyes. “Please don’t laugh.”
“I promise.”
“Your eyes. Green, frightened and yet determined. I saw your uniform, saw that you were wounded, but all that was secondary to what your eyes told me.”
“What did they tell you?”
“That you needed me, and you’d never hurt me.”
“You’re very astute.”
“No. That’s not what—” She took a breath and started again. “I saw you. Not a uniform or a wounded soldier. I saw
you
.”
He smiled. “As I saw you.”
This was no ordinary smile. It was open, soft and hid nothing. She’d seen it before, on her parents’ faces as they gazed at each other.
Love.
“I…you…” She couldn’t breathe again, couldn’t think. Her mouth was hanging open, but she couldn’t even find the will to close it.
“Maria?” When she didn’t answer, he moved as if preparing to stand.
That woke her from her stunned stupor. “No, stay there. I’m fine…don’t get up. I’m going to bring the first bandage over.”
She turned to the pot and used a stick to pull out a bandage. She let it dangle over the water to allow it to cool and the excess water to drain. “Can you turn so I can put this directly on the exit wound?”
He rolled until he was on his side. “Like this?”
“Yes, thank you.” She brought the cloth over and laid it on the wound, then carefully squeezed it, bathing the wound.
John hissed through his teeth, but didn’t move.
“How bad is the pain?”
“It’s hurt worse.”
She nodded. That was a good sign.
After a minute, she took the cloth away and opened her bottle of iodine, dribbling a little right into the wound. She repeated this three times before stopping to inspect it closely. “How is the pain now?”
“Better.”
She put her hand on his forehead. “Your fever is better too.”
He reached up and took her hand, bringing it to his mouth where he placed a kiss on her palm. The touch of his lips shook her composure, shook her entire body, shook her soul. A small sound escaped her throat and she leaned toward him, caught in the wonder of his gaze.
He kissed her cheek, her nose, her mouth. Gentle, so gentle were his kisses that tears dropped from her eyes to run down her face. But still he kissed her. Over and over, his lips telling her with every touch, every caress that he truly cared for her.
She pulled away after what could have been minutes or hours, putting her fingertips on his mouth. “No, we must stop.”
“I’m sorry. Did I frighten you? Hurt you?”
“No, no. I…I didn’t want to stop.”
His sudden grin lit up the whole room. “I understand. I could kiss you forever.” He cleared his throat and glanced at his thigh. “So, what next?”
“I think we should stay here for a while yet and rest. We can set out again tonight if you’re feeling up to it.”
She picked up a couple of bandages she hadn’t gotten wet and rewrapped his wound.
“If I get through this, it will be because of your nursing skills.”
She snorted. “I wish I had more to work with.”
“Your ingenuity has more than made up for any lack.”
She shook her head and pulled out two eggs she’d taken from the farm yesterday.
“Good thinking,” he said.
She added the eggs to the pot of water and a few minutes later they were eating them.
Maria pitched the eggshells out the door then added a few more sticks to the fire. When she turned around, John had his hand out to her. “Come, lie with me.”
There was no saying no to him. She joined him on the floor and he snuggled her close, her back to his front. His arm was heavy over her waist and his hand lay flat on her torso, below her breast.
Oh, how she wanted him to touch her more intimately. “How far are we from the border?”
“I don’t know. We lost some ground thanks to those Germans. A day and a half, two days away?”
“What will happen once we get across?”
“We head for the nearest town. The British Army has an unofficial presence in many of the towns along the border.”
“You’ll be sent back to England?”
“I’m not sure. I’ll have to report in and be interviewed by someone. That could be done in England or somewhere on the continent.”
“And me?”
“Your experience with the Belgian underground will be of great interest to my superiors. I believe they’ll want to interview you as well.”
“So, we’ll stay together?”
“That would be the best course of action.” He rubbed his face against the back of her neck and kissed her.
She shivered.
“Sleep,” he said, pressing her even closer. “We have a long walk ahead of us tomorrow.”
She put her hand over his where it rested on her abdomen and linked her fingers with his.
* * *
She didn’t wake until late afternoon. The sun was setting and the air hung thick with lingering smoke from the burned down farmhouse. The fire she’d started in their small hearth had long since grown cold.
John woke when she slid out from under his arm. Maria turned and felt his forehead, smiling when she discovered his temperature to be normal. They both drank some water from the pot before stepping outside to deal with their personal needs.
She checked his wound and found the swelling and redness had gone down. Relief nearly sent her to her knees. Her idea to flush out the infection had worked.
“It feels much better,” he told her. “The pain is quite manageable. We should be able to go a fair distance.”
She sucked in a breath and struggled not to cry.
“Maria.” His hands cradled her face. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” She smiled through her tears. “I’m happy. I was so afraid we hadn’t gotten to your wound quickly enough.”
He leaned forward until his forehead rested against hers. “You rescued me again.”
“You need to stay out of trouble, Lieutenant.”
“Not much luck of that happening.” He took her hand and pulled her out the door. “Come on.”
They walked through the night, avoiding German troops by staying off the roads.
As dawn broke, they found a farmhouse and a farmer’s wife collecting eggs in a small coop.
“Good morning.” John said in French as he sketched a small bow to her. “My wife and I are travelling and were wondering if we can beg a bed from you today.”
The woman looked at him with empty eyes. “You’re running from the Germans aren’t you?”
He didn’t reply.
“They took my husband,” the woman said, her voice hollow, lifeless. “And shot him right over there.” She looked at patch of ground only a few feet from the house.
Maria wanted to offer her comfort, but what words could possibly lessen the pain of the offences she’d suffered? “I’m so very sorry.”
The woman smiled grimly. “There’s a bed in the cellar, you can sleep there.” She led them into the house and down a steep set of stairs into darkness. The cellar was a musty, hard-packed earthen room. The only furniture was one narrow bed tucked against the dirt wall.
“I’ll wake you at dusk,” she told them.
“Thank you,” Maria said.
The woman nodded, lit a small oil lamp to light the room, then went up the stairs and closed the hatch.
Maria looked at John. “Why did you tell her I was your wife?”
He had the grace to wince. “We have to stay together. I couldn’t risk getting separated from you.”
She glanced at the bed, her mouth drier than a desert. There wasn’t enough room to be separated at all. Yes, they’d slept in each other’s arms, but in a hayloft on a few old horse blankets or on the floor of that old stone hut, when the risk of discovery was great. This was a real bed, in the cellar of a house, where they were far less likely to be interrupted.
But he wasn’t some ham-handed drunken fool looking to take advantage of any woman he could find.
John had proved himself to be a true gentleman. He’d kept his word time after time and she knew he’d keep it again.
Damn him.
Maria took a deep breath. She’d debated with herself about this since the moment they’d met. She knew the risks and consequences, but the rewards… She took him in, his tall, strong body and the kind heart inside it, and made her decision.
She slid her arms around his middle and laid her head on his chest. “Hold me, please.”
He sighed, a relieved sound, and his arms folded around her. “After all we’ve been through, don’t be afraid of me now,” he whispered. “I couldn’t stand it if you were.”