Kindred Hearts (26 page)

“Yes, love?”

“You knew, didn’t you? How I felt about you?”

“Before you did, I think,” Charles said. “But I didn’t know how you would respond if I approached you. I had to let you work it out on your own.”

“Don’t you think that we’re damned to hell for this?” Tris worried his bottom lip with his teeth. “It says so in the Bible.”

“The Bible damns many things,” Charles said agreeably, “including eating bacon, and wearing linen with wool. But people do.” He cocked his head. “And then there’s adultery,” he added gently.

“Yes, but that’s more socially acceptable,” Tristan said.

“We aren’t talking society,” Charles said. “We’re talking the Bible.” He shook his head. “Well, I’m sure I’m damned for working on the Sabbath, anyway; as a soldier you can’t quite avoid it. Tris, love, sometimes you just have to know when something’s right and when it’s wrong, and neither the Bible nor society nor someone else’s opinion matters in the end. It’s what
you
think is right. And this—this is
right
.”

“I think so,” Tris said. “God, I feel like a child again. I’m so… lost. I don’t know what to do next.”

“I told you not to worry about that,” Charles said. “I told you I would take care of you.”

“But I’m not a child. I don’t need to be taken care of. I just—I want to take care of you, too, Charlie. I want to give you everything.” He kissed Charles fiercely. “I want to be what you want. What do you want, Charlie? What can I do for you?”

Charles disengaged him, holding his hands in both of his. “Tris, you don’t even know what you’re asking.”

“Yes, I do,” Tris said recklessly. “I want to lie with you. To have carnal relations. To fuck.” He kissed Charles again. “I know what that is. I want that. I want
you
.”

Charles was quiet a moment, then said “Not yet, Tris.”

“Why not? I want you. I love you. I’m ready.”

“I’m not.” Charles lowered his head to rest against Tris’s. “I’m not ready, Tris. You’re ill, and you’re so fragile right now—emotionally, physically. Your nerves are shattered. My God, you’re a good three stone underweight—even Jackson mentioned it to me the last time you had a bout at his place. And you’re emotionally raw—you just tried to kill yourself! I’m terrified for you, Tris, and I’m terrified that something I do will send you right over the edge again. Just as my touching you last night nearly killed you this morning. I’m scared to death, Tris. Scared to
death
.”

“It wasn’t you that sent me to the window, Charlie. It was me.”

“That’s what I mean. Until I know for sure that it won’t happen again—that you won’t shatter the way you just did—I can’t take this to the next level with you. I’m too frightened.”

“I thought nothing scared you,” Tris said softly.

“Nothing did—until I met you. Then suddenly there was this other person I needed to be there for, and the world became a dangerous place.”

Tristan went still. Charles noticed instantly. “What is it?” he demanded.

“It—what you just said. It’s how I felt when I realized that Jamie knew who I was. That he
recognized
me, that my being with him made him happy. It was like the world shifted, and suddenly I was in this position of being responsible for him, for his happiness. It’s a horrible feeling.”

“Is it?”

Tristan thought, then amended, “No, not horrible. Just—overwhelming.”

“Exactly. I wouldn’t change it for the world. But it’s still frightening.” Charles kissed him gently.

Tristan wound his arms around Charles’s shoulders, leaning into the kiss, feeling the soft, firm mouth on his, the warm, wet stroke of Charles’s tongue against his. He tasted sweet, of tea and mint. Charles drew him against his chest, holding him in arms that were hard and strong, not soft and clinging; arms that could hold him steady instead of leaning on him, pulling him down until he drowned in helplessness. There was nothing helpless about Charles’s embrace.

The thought eased something inside Tris, something that had been a hard, painful knot for longer than he could remember—so long that he’d not even realized it was there. The last thought he had before drifting into sleep was that he wasn’t alone anymore….

Charles
was pacing the sitting room, prowling like a caged cat, back and forth, back and forth. Charlotte watched him a while, then finally said, “Oh, Charlie, will you
stop
? You’re driving me mad.”

“How much longer…” he began, but just then the door to Tristan’s bedroom opened and Dr. MacQuarrie came out, his bag in hand. He closed the door quietly, then turned to the two anxious faces watching him.

“Your diagnosis was quite correct, Charlie,” he said in his dry fashion. “Nervous exhaustion, leading to a fever. The skullcap and feverfew were good choices; I’d also recommend willow bark or another febrifuge like butterbur to help keep the fever down; that and beef tea for a day, then get him back on a normal diet. Plenty of beefsteak; he needs building up. And rest. Keep him in bed for at least two more days.”

Charles sighed in relief and sank down onto the sofa beside Charlotte. “Thank God,” he breathed. “I had visions of it being something serious.”

“It is serious.” MacQuarrie set his bag down and sat in the chair opposite the twins. “I had the chance to speak with Northwood. I’m very concerned.”

“About Tristan?” Charlotte asked.

“About you,” MacQuarrie said to Charles. “Charlie, you’re a bright lad, and I think you’ll make an excellent physician, but there’s something you need to learn. Something all physicians need to learn. And that is that you’re not God, and you can’t save everyone.”

Charles’s eyes widened and he stared at MacQuarrie in a panic. “But you just said Tris would be all right!”

“I’m not talking about Tris. Well, in a sense, I am, but not about his fever.” The doctor fixed his gaze firmly on Charles. “Do you know what I see when I look at him? Not Tristan Northwood. I see Gregory Winstead.”

Charles fell back in his chair, covering his face with one hand. Charlotte looked confused. “Gregory Winstead? Wasn’t he the one that ran berserk and attacked an officer? What has Tristan to do with him?”

“Gregory Winstead was a very troubled young man that Charles tried to help. Unfortunately, he was beyond either Charles’s or anyone else’s aid. From what little Mr. Northwood told me, I get the impression that his nervous exhaustion is quite severe. And I’m concerned that Charles will take it on himself to save Mr. Northwood, and will be devastated if he fails. Charlie….”

“I’m not trying to save Tris,” Charles said, agitated. “Well, yes, but only in giving him the help he needs. I know I couldn’t have saved Greg. I
know
that. Yes, I spent a lot of time thinking that I could have done more….”

“But you couldn’t have,” Lottie assured him, patting his hand gently. He turned his hand so that it clutched hers. “We talked about this in our correspondence, and I thought you had realized that.”

“I did. I do.” Charles rubbed his eyes with his free hand. “I know that I did whatever I could for Greg, but sometimes I don’t
feel
that way. Does that make any sense?”

“Of course,” the doctor said. “Charlie, I’m not telling you not to help Mr. Northwood. I know you want to help—that’s part and parcel of being a doctor of medicine. I’m just… concerned that….” He blew out his breath in frustration.

Lottie patted Charles’s hand again and lurched to her feet. “I think that perhaps you and Dr. MacQuarrie need to speak privately,” she said placidly. “I shall go in and sit with Tris.” She dropped a curtsey to the doctor, then went back through the door into her husband’s bedroom.

The doctor blinked, then turned to Charles, his expression puzzled. Charles smiled briefly. “She’s odd that way,” he said by way of explanation. “It’s almost as if she reads minds. I’ve never seen her at a loss to know what to do. I’m not saying she’s never wrong—she’s just never uncertain. I’ve always envied her that.”

“She doesn’t seem to be very concerned about your relationship with her husband,” MacQuarrie said.

Charles blinked. “Tristan is my friend…,” he said slowly.

“Come, Charles. Your feelings for Tristan, like his for you, are more than just friendly. He made that quite clear after I assured him that his secrets—and yours—are quite safe with me.”

Charles felt the blood drain from his face. “Mac,” he began, then trailed off helplessly.

“Charles,” Mac said gently, “I knew about you and Winstead. I know that he broke off his relationship with you and that that left you helpless to aid him when he went through all that nonsense with Warren. I’ve served in the South Seas, and the Indies, and other places where sodomy is not the crime it is in England, and it seems to me that it has no deleterious effect on any other element of life, despite what Europeans, particularly the English, believe. Europeans don’t have a monopoly on culture; far older ones than ours accept the differences in men more graciously. I respect our religion, but as a physician and a scientist, I don’t always believe what Christianity preaches. As I told Tristan, whatever is told to me is as safe as if it were said to a papist priest in the confessional. And I’d have to be blind not to see the way you look at him—and he looks at you.” He rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. “To be honest, it doesn’t surprise me as much as I would have thought. You, I knew about. Him—with all his womanizing reputation and his wild antics, it makes sense to me now.”

“You’ve lost me,” Charles said.

“Sometimes, acting so—
extremely
—is an attempt to hide in plain sight. A terribly shy man might act boisterous to hide his shyness; a man who is melancholic may laugh louder than anyone else. And a man who is uncertain of his own masculinity may feel the need to act twice as manly. Sometimes, it takes the form of bullying, like Warren, and the boys you knew in school, as we discussed once before. And sometimes, it takes the form of reckless, daredevil behavior—proving how much of a man you are by bravery and fearlessness. Northwood needed to prove his masculinity to himself, and thus to others. Because sometimes one knows things without knowing them.” He shook his head. “There is so much we don’t know or understand about why people behave the way they do. Why is your sister so confident, so uninterested in other people’s opinions, when her husband is so opposite? You and she are twins, born the same hour, and the superstitious nonsense of our ancestors would have you identical in nature. But that is patently not so—your personalities are vastly different. There is more to know about our minds than we can even begin to suspect, and behavior like Tristan’s, behavior like Warren’s, behavior like poor Winstead’s. What makes such men do what they do?”

“That falls into the realm of philosophy and is thus beyond my poor perspective,” Charles said.

MacQuarrie snorted. “Be that as it may, I know that the two of you have something between you. I pray that it doesn’t result in one of you being harmed. But more than that—Northwood’s problems may turn out to be more than you can handle. I’m asking you to take a good hard look at him, and at what it is you feel for him. Is he worth risking your life for? Is there any real hope for the two of you? I should hate to see him drag you down with him.”

“I think—I believe—that much of what troubles Tris is related to what you described, his need to be a man. He just needs to understand that loving someone doesn’t make him less than manly.” Charles rubbed his face again wearily. “I don’t know if he can learn that. I don’t know if I can help him. All I know is that I have to try. You asked if he was worth it. I have to say yes. He is.”

“Then you have no choice but to try,” MacQuarrie said heavily. “Just realize that he is the one who will have to take charge of his life. All you can do is help him realize it, and pray he doesn’t react like Winstead. At least Winstead did not betray you to the authorities. You can only believe that Northwood will not.”

“I know.” Charles nodded, then rose as MacQuarrie did. “Thank you, Mac.”

“Just don’t let him wreck you, Charlie. You’ve too much to offer to throw your life away on one man.” He shook Charles’s hand. “I’ll call on you tomorrow to see how he does; I won’t expect you back at the hospital for another three or four days, but certainly by then you should see signs of improvement.”

“Thank you, Mac,” Charles said again, and escorted him to the door.

“
Sleeping
again?” Charlotte asked quietly.

Charles looked up from his post at Tristan’s bedside. It was the second day of Tristan’s illness, and Charles was exhausted, but reassured by his slow progress. “Yes. But the fever’s gone, so I’m hopeful he’ll be hungry when he wakes. Reston brought up some broth; I’m keeping it warm on the hearth for him. I’m concerned about his lack of appetite—some of that’s due to the fever, of course, but I’ve noticed over the last month that he doesn’t eat very well.”

“No,” Lottie agreed. “And he drinks too much. Papa and Daniel are the same way, but I don’t think Tris is addicted to the drink the way they are. I’ve known him to go weeks without becoming inebriated or drinking more than anyone else does. It’s only been in the last few months that he’s made a habit of it.” She leaned back against the door, shaking off Charles’s offer of the chair. “No, thank you, I’ve been sitting all afternoon and I need to stand a bit.”

“After Tris wakes up and has something to eat, I’ll take you for a walk,” Charles promised. “It seems to be quite pleasant this afternoon.”

“I wouldn’t say no,” Lottie said. “As for Tris’s appetite: he’s never been a big eater, but lately he doesn’t eat much at all. I’ve asked him about it but he just says something about not being hungry or having had a sandwich earlier or some such nonsense. I think the drinking has killed his appetite. Still, he’d only lost a little weight until recently. He’s much worse in the last few weeks.”

“Since I’ve come,” Charles said softly.

“Yes,” Lottie agreed.

He snorted. “I can always rely on you for honesty,” he said curtly.

“Yes, you can,” his twin retorted. “I don’t believe in playing games, Charlie. He
is
worse since you’ve come. I’m not saying it’s because of you, but it might be.”

“I think it is,” Charles said. “I just need to find out what to do about it.”

“Well, in my opinion, you’ve made a start.”

He snorted again. “Right. By sending him into a decline to the point of him being ill. That’s
very
helpful.”

“You’ve said yourself that sometimes one has to get sicker before one gets better,” she pointed out logically. “Tristan just needs to decide if he’s going to get better or keep on going the way he has. That’s something you can help with, more than I.”

“She’s right,” a quiet voice said from the bed. “I can’t do this without you, Charlie. I can’t go on without you.”