For the Love of a Soldier (25 page)

Sighing, she rolled onto her back.

A flash of lightning lit the room, followed by another rumble of window-rattling thunder. A raw, guttural yell accompanied the storm.

Alexandra bolted up in bed. Eyes wide, she clutched the sheet close. The cry sounded as if it was torn from a tortured man strung on the rack.

Garrett?
Her heart beat in rhythm to the pounding rain.

A moment later, a door slammed open and closed. The low murmur of voices carried to her. She leapt off the bed and snatched up her robe, dashing to the door leading to Garrett’s room. Biting her lip, she eased it open and peered within.

Havers leaned over Garrett, who lay in the bed, both arms flung over his face, the sheet twisted across his waist. Firelight lit his sweat-slicked chest, his back arched while his mouth clenched into a tight line.

Havers held a tray with a mug on it. He reached out to Garrett, barely touching his shoulder, but at the movement, Garrett lurched up as if burned. His arm shot out and sent tray, mug, and liquid crashing to the floor.

“No!”
The word exploded from him as if extracted from the darkest corners of his pain.

Alexandra rushed over to the commode and snatched up the pitcher to pour water into the porcelain bowl. Grabbing a cloth from the towel rack, she dipped it into the cool liquid, rang it out, and crossed to Garrett’s bedside.

“Let me, it’s all right,” she said.

Havers jerked at her approach, but ignoring his reaction, she circled around him to ease herself onto Garrett’s bed. “Shh,” she murmured as if settling a skittish child, or in this case, a wild animal. “It’s all right. Lie back.”

Unfocused, bloodshot eyes impaled her, staring at her blankly.

“Shh,” she whispered. His pale, ravaged features broke her heart. She placed her hand on his shoulder and slowly urged him back into the pillows.

As he settled, his eyes darted between her and Havers, his breathing fast and furious. She pressed the cloth to his brow, dabbing at the sweat beading his temple, dampening his hair. “Shh,” she repeated the calming sound, dropping her voice to a soothing cadence. “You’re home. You’re safe.” His eyes bored
into hers, as though he desperately searched for something beyond his reach.

After an interminable period of time, his breathing leveled and his eyes slid closed. She lay the cloth over his forehead and threaded her fingers through his hair, brushing the disheveled strands back from his temple.

When she felt he had settled enough to leave him, she eased to her feet and turned to Havers, who stood rooted beside the bed. He had recovered the tray and mug and held them in his hand. She lowered her voice. “Why don’t you see if you can get a hot toddy from Cook? I’ll sit with him for a while.”

Havers looked at Garrett, his expression a picture of indecision.

“Havers, I promise, I will not leave him. He will be all right.”

He studied Garrett before he gave a curt nod and dropped his voice to a barely audible murmur. “Talk to him. Talk him through it. It don’t usually last long, but the storm…the noise.” His words trailed off as his eyes drifted to the window, his brow furrowed. “It brings it back. It’s—”

“I understand,” she said.

When the door closed behind Havers, Garrett sprang up, whipping the cloth off his forehead, his eyes darting around the room.

Alex sat back on the bed, refusing to recoil from the wild look in his eyes. When they landed on her, he stared at her without recognition. Enormous pupils colored the steel gray black. She cautiously rested her hand on his shoulder, his skin clammy beneath her fingers as she eased him back. “Shh, it’s all right. I’m here. Lie back. You’re all right.”

At first, he resisted until his unfocused eyes settled on her and he swallowed, allowing her to push him down.

She reclaimed the cloth from where he had flung it across the bed and again pressed it to his forehead.

“Don’t leave me.” His words wrenched from a hoarse throat. His fingers curled around her wrist. “Stay.”

“Of course.” Alex blinked away the moisture blurring her gaze. “I’m here. I won’t leave you. It’s all—”

A crack of thunder cut short her words and Garrett’s hands shoved hers away to clasp his head, holding it as if in a vice.
“Christ.” His back arched, his eyes closed and then opened, dark and wild. “We’re surrounded…Christ, ride!”

“You’re safe! Look at me!” She leaned forward and cupped her hands over his. She stared into his eyes and forced them to meet hers, as if through sheer willpower she could tame his madness.

“Listen to me! Garrett, you’re safe.” She raised her voice and repeated the words, watching as his eyes clung to hers. When she felt he had returned from his battlefield, she lowered his hands to his sides and threaded her fingers through his hair, sweeping it off his brow. She dropped her voice to dulcet tones and as Havers advised, she began to talk.

“When I was a girl and the thunder roared, my father told me the angels of music had heard me practicing on my mother’s piano. He said I had offended their sensibilities, not to mention deafened them with my pounding.”

Garrett’s eyes became less vacant, his panic receding and his breathing leveling off as her words pulled him back from the darkness gripping him. She dabbed the cloth over his forehead, his cheeks, and his neck until finally, his eyes drifted shut. But still, she talked. Her words low and soothing.

“My father would beg me to have a care for his head and of those in heaven, and refrain from practicing unless old man Bates came for a visit. Then I was given free rein to pound away. If Lady Bates arrived, I was also to sing. My father compared the woman to a magpie. Like a magpie, Lady Bates was a scavenger who enjoyed foraging in other people’s nests and devouring everything she thought edible.” She grinned at the memory.

“He told my mother my playing was a foolproof plan to not only clear a room but stop all guests from dropping in uninvited. He wanted to loan my talents out to friends who complained of their relatives overstaying their welcome. He planned to charge them for my services, convinced he’d make a fortune. My father was always in need of a fortune.”

“Did…did it work?”

She froze. The words were music to her ears, more beautiful than anything she could produce, for she had spoken the truth. To her musical mother’s despair, she couldn’t sing a note.

She swallowed back her tears. “Of course it worked. That’s
why I’m confiding this pathetic story to you rather than singing a lullaby. I do have a care for your head.”

His eyes opened, and the familiar glint lit the gray depths. “Thank you.”

Her breath caught and her heart flipped over. She blinked to clear her blurred vision before she managed a small smile. “You are welcome.”

She couldn’t drag her eyes from his, so delighted to see the sanity returned to them. To have him back. She might not be able to carry a tune, but her heart played a joyous, pulsating song.

“You’ll have to sing for Keyes should he ever dare to visit.”

His words shattered the moment, but when their meaning registered, she grinned. “He would fare better in a duel with you. Less pain and suffering.”

“And the piano playing? As bad as the singing?”

“Of course not.” She beamed. “That’s much, much worse.”

He laughed. “Accompany your song with the piano, and the combination will be so lethal, Keyes won’t feel a thing. He’ll drop dead on the spot.”

“You might have something there.”

Another moment passed and his gaze drifted to the window. The storm had tapered off to a persistent patter, the wind whistling and the raindrops dancing over the roof. “The noise…it’s…well, the angel of music is no longer angry.”

“No, he’s settled for now,” she murmured.

“But…”

“I’m here.” She assured him, unwilling to let the shadows cloud his eyes again. “I’ll stay with you.” She shrugged. “You never know when a poor child might butcher a tune on their piano.”

Garrett’s gaze swung back to hers. Finally, he nodded. “You are probably right. I’ve heard many bad singers in my day.”

“I commiserate with them.” Suddenly she became aware that his sheet was tangled about his hips and his chest was naked and inches from her.

The firelight flickered over the broad expanse, and she drew in a sharp breath, wondering how she could have been oblivious to it. To him. “Ah…ah, where is your nightshirt?”

He laughed.

“Do you have one?” she persisted.

“No.” He sat up and arranged his pillows behind him before settling back into them. “Can’t abide them. In fact, the one you are wearing looks like an old maid’s castoff. Wherever did you get it?” He fingered the collar of her white linen robe and grimaced.

Slapping his hand away, she sat up poker straight. She narrowed her eyes at him. “I didn’t think you would recover if I wore my silk nightgown, the whisper-thin one with the slit up the side and the drooping lace décolletage. The shock alone would have killed you.”

He closed his eyes and groaned. “I’m a weak man, and you have no mercy. Wait—” He held up his hand. After a moment, he opened his eyes. “Right. I have the image down.” He smiled. “I feel better now. Much, much better.”

She stared at his smug expression, torn between offense and laughter. Her amusement won, and her laugh slipped loose. “You are incorrigible.”

When he smiled, she shook her head. She never would have thought she would miss this arrogant side of him.

He furrowed his brow. “But I need more details to get a clearer picture of matters.”

“What matters?”

“Exactly how low does the neckline to this gown plunge?”

Her laugh was rich and sultry, stunning even her. She leaned close and opened her mouth to respond when a throat cleared. It was like being doused with a bucket of ice water. When she recovered her ability to move, she did so quickly, jumping to her feet and whirling around.

Havers stood framed in the door, his expression carefully blank. He held a mug in one hand, the other clutching a stack of books. “I have what you asked for. And…” He glanced down as if he needed a visual reminder of what he held. “Ned gave me these books that Kit left last time she were here.”

“Thank you, Havers,” Garrett said. “I appreciate it.”

Havers handed the items to her, eyeing her as if she were an apparition from the underworld who had bewitched Garrett.

“That will be all, Havers.”

Havers bobbed his head and shuffled backward. “Right, sir.” He turned, gave his head a sharp shake, and departed.

Alex stared at the closed door. She should follow the man
out. She didn’t know what had gotten into her earlier, but it wasn’t good. It veered into that boggy ground that she had been struggling to avoid.

“What did he bring?”

She jumped at the words and spun to face Garrett.

“What books?” He nodded his head to the stack in her arms.

She stared at the bare expanse of his chest, his naked shoulders, and his handsome features. When a loud flood of rain thrashed the roof, she jumped and dropped her eyes to the books.

“Bring them over here,” Garrett said.

She crossed to the bed and dropped the volumes beside him.

“What’s that?”

She followed his eyes to the mug she held. Remembering her request for the rum drink, she handed it to him. “It’s for you.”

He peered into it and frowned. “What is it? Poison eye of newt?” He tried to return it to her. “It’s not necessary. I promise to forget about the images of you in the satin nothing. And the one of you naked in my arms. Poof. Gone.”

He was becoming more himself by the minute. And Garrett Sinclair in his full faculties and bare-chested was a lethal combination. “Very funny. It’s a rum toddy.”

As if she had taken a candlesnuffer to the flame burning in his eyes, the light died, and his amused expression vanished.

“No.” The mug slid from his fingers onto the floor. He never glanced to the spill pooling over the carpet.

“Garrett!” She snatched the towel she had used to swipe his brow and knelt to soak up the mess. “What is wrong with you?” She set the mug onto the bedside table, hurried to the commode to wring out the cloth, and dumped it into the porcelain bowl.

When she returned to the bed, Garrett had his arms crossed over his chest. “Havers knows this. No spirits. No laudanum. Never again. He must have brought the toddy for you.”

She stilled at his words and his truculent expression. “All right.”

After a moment, he swiped a hand down his face and exhaled. “I can’t.” He looked at her and then away. “I can get back faster if I’m not…if…I need to be in control. That day during the charge…” He swallowed, but forced himself to continue. “I had no control. I couldn’t stop it. Then I was
wounded and the nightmares began. They toss me back into the battle. Over and over again.

“They came all the time, day or night. I couldn’t escape them. I turned to drink. A lot. First to dull the edges and then to blur the rest. It worked for a while, but then it…it didn’t. So I stopped.” His voice fell. “They don’t come that often anymore. Only sneak up on me when I’m not in control of a situation. And certain triggers set them off.”

An image of him at Hammond’s came to mind, when he had shoved the brandy glass away from him. Then another of him at the hunting lodge, whipping the flask into the fire. She recalled the thunderstorm and her heart constricted. “The storm?”

“Some loud noises. The storm. The name of a battlefield. So you see why I don’t talk about it. It’s not a pretty sight.”

“Garrett, I—”

“Don’t.” He met her eyes. “I wanted you to understand, to explain tonight. You were kind to me, even after my behavior today. The things I said. You could have left me alone, but you didn’t. This is all I can give you.” He swallowed. “Let it be enough for now.”

The shadows had returned to his eyes and they seeped into her heart, but she raised her chin and grasped on to his last words—
for now
. That meant there would be a later. It was a small breach in his wall. “Of course.” She hesitated before continuing, compelled to respond as honestly as he. “This afternoon, it’s all right. We both got carried away.”