The Soldier's Tale (8 page)

Authors: RJ Scott

BOOK: The Soldier's Tale

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"Feeling like maybe we might want the lube and condoms in the side draw?"

They laughed, the tension of the minutes preceding sliding back to the recesses of Daniel's mind as he lost himself in making love with Sean.

Chapter Eleven

It was raining on Saturday morning. Daniel sat in the window seat drinking tea and watching the rain slide down the small panes of glass. It was the kind of rain that could ruin a wedding.

"I kind of expected it to rain," Sean had commented morosely before he left this morning. He was pulling on his shirt, his back to Daniel, who stubbornly refused to leave the warmth of the bed. "With Di's luck, I'm surprised there is isn't thunder and lightning."

"It can't rain all day," Daniel offered in response. He was trying hard to keep things focused away from him. The last thing he needed was Sean turning around and mentioning one more time that Will and Di really wanted Daniel at the wedding. They'd had their first argument over it all the night before, but Daniel was tenaciously clinging to his excuses for not going, and even cited pain in his knee, blaming an overenthusiastic bout of lovemaking with Sean.

His lover had pointedly left the walking stick Daniel sometimes used leaning against the front door, and the morning suit was hanging on the bedroom door. All reminders of what Daniel wasn't going to do. Frustrated, he crossed back to the bed, climbing under the sheet and closing his hand around the ancient dagger. He winced as he caught the tip of his thumb on the blade but didn't have the energy to check the cut or the blood that he knew would be staining the sheets. The cut hadn't hurt; it wasn't that deep. The sound of the rain against the window lulled him into a half doze, and his last thoughts were of his friend and the wedding. They would thank him at the end of the day when he wasn't causing problems or making the place look untidy. Imagine he was there now,
bloody hell
, standing next to Will, and his knee gave out, or he tripped or some other accident meant he was weak and useless. It wasn't going to happen. It was safe in bed.

The dream came upon him with the familiarity of repetition with the same images, the man in chains in the fire cursing another who stood and smiled as the flames grew stronger. Then the knife in his hands and the sudden stillness in him as he watched the blade fly through the heat to kill.

In his nightmare, there was a new image. He was running. Away from his dead friend, away from the fire, away from Belvedere and his horrific vengeance, straight into the arms of the night and the pathways in the forests that he seemed to know so well. The dream was disjointed, mixed with images of Afghanistan, war, explosions, then the dark of the forest from another time. The images were stark, the moon high in an ink black night, and then there was another. A woman. Screaming, "Don't hurt me, don't hurt me."

"Who are you?" he asked in the dream, but instinct told him who this woman was. She was cowering against the tree, her hands gripping tight to a small child. Sarah Curtess, his friend's wife, ill and exhausted and hiding as he was, in a place he'd happened upon by chance. He was holding out his hand to her and her young son. He knew what Belvedere was like; he had seen enough of it, he would take revenge on Sarah and the boy.

"Can you help me?" she answered in his dream, her voice ragged and thin.

"What use am I?" He looked down at his dream-self, the trappings of wealth long since exchanged for the uniform of a peasant, and then back at her. "I have nothing to give you."

"Please don't let them hurt our son. Make us safe; don't let him find us." Her voice echoed in his head, and her pleading made him weep. "You are a soldier. It doesn't matter how you do this. Just please keep us safe." He looked at her, her beauty beneath the dirt, her son struck dumb at her side. He needed to keep running, through the wilds of lowland Cymru and on to the island of Ynys Môn. He had family there. The decision to run on his own was one he couldn't make. He had to look after them, his new family, and they had to keep running from death. Keeping people safe was what he did, what his unit had done in Afghanistan, whatever the price. It was what they were trained for. She looked at him with such hope, like he was some kind of hero. Her features changed, and she looked more like Di, calling him a hero, someone she looked up to and respected, and in his dream, he closed his eyes then opened them again. Di was gone, and Sarah was back. Sarah and her small son.

Belvedere's men would still be looking for them. Stooping to pick up the child, he extended his other hand. "We run," he said firmly.

* * * *

Daniel awoke with a start, his heart racing and his eyes blurred with unshed tears. He scrambled to his feet, wiping the trickle of blood on his hand onto the white cotton sheet.

What the hell was he doing? It didn't matter that he couldn't walk very well, or that he was scarred, when the manner of how he received the injuries was because of duty to his country. He shouldn't hide. Sean didn't want him to hide, nor did Di and Will. They had pride in him, saw him as a hero. Why couldn't he see that in himself? He looked at his watch, rubbing a hand on his chest to calm the flight impulse that was churning in him. It was half an hour to the wedding, and he was here in his house barricaded from the world.

In fifteen minutes he had managed to take a shower, shave, and hobble to the suit. It was a beautiful dove grey suit, and he didn't hesitate, pulling the individual items on as quickly as he could with the pain that hindered his movements. With only a few minutes to spare, he was outside his house, resting the weight of his bad leg on the walking stick and looking up at the small church. The bells were ringing, and Di's car was just arriving, a modest Volvo, no fancy Rolls-Royce or silver Bentley to bring her to her destiny. The rain was heavier, if that was possible, and the driver helped her out of the car, an umbrella shielding her from the worst of it all. She smiled at the driver, a gorgeous happy smile, not one ounce of hate visible in her expression for the weather. Cautiously he edged off of the curb, taking simple steps to her side, and open-mouthed, she looked at him.

"Daniel," she breathed, another smile curving her lips. Offering his arm and taking the umbrella from the driver, Daniel escorted her to the covered entrance outside the heavy oak door that led to the inner vestibule.

"Can you give me a minute to get in to stand with Will?" he asked softly, and she nodded in understanding.

Gently she cupped his face with her hands, the light of affection in her eyes. "Is a minute enough time?"

Daniel looked down at his leg and then back up at her, offering her a grin of his own. "Maybe give me two?" Bridesmaids fluttered around them, the two young women petting and primping and pulling at Di's veil. It was his cue to leave, and he pushed open the door. All eyes turned to him expectantly, clearly expecting the open door to be the herald of an arriving bride.

Pulling the door closed behind him, he began the journey to the altar and to Will. His steps were deliberate and slow, the stick a counter tap to his heavier footfall, and finally he stood next to his best friend. Sean nodded his approval from his position as usher to one side of the altar.

"You took your time," Will observed wryly.

Daniel tapped his foot with the cane. "Bad leg," he said with a straight face and as much apology in his voice as he could muster. Then he leaned into the hug that his friend gave him, and when he pulled back, Will had the rings in his hand and passed them over without saying a single word.

The oak door opened again, and everyone turned from him to the promise of the bride. This time it was the bridesmaids first and then Di, a tumble and show of red and ivory in her dress as they approached the front of the church. The service wasn't long, but Daniel was never more pleased than when Sean offered an arm to support him standing.

When they exited the church, laughter and smiles were captured on film, and Daniel noticed one thing. Where there had been a storm and rain that lashed an angry revenge on Di, now there was only sunshine and the warmth of an Indian summer.

It was a beautiful day.

* * * *

The reception was held at the Red Lion, and it was only minutes after the wedding party had arrived that Mark cornered Daniel and asked him back to the snug.

He didn't hesitate to begin talking, words spilling as if he couldn't stop them. Daniel followed about half of what he was saying, and when he finally stopped talking, it was Sean who summarised.

"Somehow Daniel standing as best man broke the curse on the Fitzwarrens?"

"Not the entire curse of course, just your part of it."

"Our part of it?"

"It's written on the stone in the church, and it's the second part of the get-out clause, so to speak. 'When the one who reads the earth joins with he who sees beyond…'"

"That was us, we think," Jack interrupted, indicating he and Mark with his hand. "I read the earth with archaeology, and Mark is the psychic who sees beyond."

"So the rest of it is 'when the warrior and the healer stand to swear a sacred bond, when the one who seeks in danger is sworn to the landless lord, then shall my curse be lifted and all the lands restored.'" Mark finished with a flourish and sat back in his chair. Daniel assumed he was supposed to understand from these words just what the hell was going on.

"The warrior? God, that could be you." Sean pointed out quickly. "And I
am
a healer."

"Yeah, I get that." Daniel could see how they fit that part. "What about that sacred bond nonsense?"

"The wedding!" Mark was triumphant in his logic. "A wedding is a sacred bond, and Daniel stood as best man for Will, and Sean was a groomsman." Daniel expected Mark to end the sentence with a
ta-dah!
and was vaguely disappointed when he didn't. "I think we would see a larger crack in the stone at the porch door to the hall if we were to go to the castle." He looked beseechingly at Jack, who just shook his head.

"We are not traipsing to the ruined castle in the dark."

Mark looked momentarily disappointed and then rummaged in his jacket pocket for a small notebook, the cover of which was dark with scribbles and notes.

"So if we are the soldier and the healer…" Daniel spoke directly to Sean, who leaned in to bestow a small reassuring kiss before finishing the sentence that Daniel started.

"Who then is the landless lord, and who is the seeker?"

Mark was consulting his notes. "We think Phil is the landless lord, but the seeker? We have no idea. You can't say anything about this to Phil. You can't try to cheat a curse, I think it will only be lifted if Phil, or whoever the landless lord is, finds his seeker on his own."

"If the curse is lifted, what does that mean for the Fitzwarrens?"

Daniel had been wondering the same thing, but given Sean's longstanding friendship with them, he could understand why he vocalised his concerns.

"I wish we knew for sure." Jack wasn't committing himself to anything it seemed.

Daniel and Sean promised not to say anything to anyone about Mark's theories, waiting behind when Jack
encouraged
Mark to finally leave them alone.

"That is one hell of a story," Daniel began, attempting to push the conversation away from him and into neutral territory. He could see Sean's serious expression and knew his lover was going to want to have the conversation about him changing his mind and going to wedding. He was suddenly desperate to avoid that one.

"Daniel, why did you change your mind about coming to the wedding?" Hell and damn it, those were almost the exact words he knew Sean would use. He sighed inwardly. Should he explain the dream and Sarah? He didn't want to. That could wait for when the darkness invited the exchange of secrets and they were in bed on their own, not in the middle of a wedding celebration. He leaned forward for a kiss. Kissing Sean was something that somehow made everything right. Sean deepened the kiss, and for a while, they enjoyed each other until Sean pulled back, a look of expectation on his face. Daniel couldn't avoid it. He really needed to give an answer.

"Would you believe it if I told you
my
ghosts told me to go?"

The End—for now…

About the Author

RJ Scott lives just outside London. She has been writing since age six, when she was made to stay in at lunchtime for an infraction involving cookies and was told to write a story. Two sides of A4 about a trapped princess later, a lover of writing was born. She loves reading anything from thrillers to sci-fi to horror; however, her first real love will always be the world of romance. Her goal is to write stories with a heart of romance, a troubled road to reach happiness, and more than a hint of happily ever after.

Email:

[email protected]

Webpage:

www.rjscott.co.uk

Facebook:

http:// www.facebook.com/author.rjscott

Twitter:

@rjscotts

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Silver Publishing
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