Page 39 of Mistress of Misfortune

Chapter 10

In the dark, Thorne could not find his friend.

“Nigel?”

All around him echoed the savage sounds of butchery, the cries of fallen men and the gruesome shouts of the advancing rebels. Blood soaked his uniform, and dripped from the gash on his brow into his eye. His hand shook as he swiped at the burning crimson tears. He fell and then pushed himself up from the dirt, unwilling to surrender himself to the pain and the blackness waiting beyond it.

A terrified lieutenant staggered up to him. “Colonel, they are too many. We must– Ah.” He toppled over, a huge curved sword buried in his back.

In the madness of battle Thorne fought his way toward the small knot of officers desperately trying to hold their position. He could see rebels coming from all directions around them, and only a narrow avenue of escape.

Men fell all around him as a heavy weight bore down on his shoulders. It felt crushing, and yet he knew he had to bear it. It was Nigel, and he needed help. Thorne put one foot in front of the other. He had only a few moments before they would cut him down. Something jabbed him in the back, and he staggered, sure he would fall.

He could not fall. If he fell, they both would be killed

“I am here, Alistair,” a low voice said from the darkness. “Come back to me now.”

“Nigel.” The weight vanished as he spun around, peering through the shadows at the blurry pale face of his captain. “There are too many. We are overrun. The general has sounded retreat. I cannot see– No.” He tried to push his friend away. “We must go. Run. That way. They will kill you. Hurry, Nigel.”

Soft, cool hands touched his wet, burning face. “Alistair, look at me. Look. It is Meredith.”

Thorne jerked upright to find himself standing naked in his darkened chamber. He stared at Meredith, who stood in front of him, her lovely eyes filled with worry. The memories of the terrible battle, and the relief to find himself alive, flooded him with the despair he had never been able to escape. He pulled her into his arms and held her as he tried desperately to compose himself.

“You were shouting in your sleep,” Meredith murmured to him. “I could not rouse you from the nightmare.”

“How long has it been?” he asked her, glancing at the darkened window. He could see the moon rising. “It must be the middle of the night.”

“It does not matter.” She smiled. “We were both exhausted. Come back to bed now.”

“I cannot.” Thorne jerked on his breeches and looked for his dressing robe. “Go to sleep, my dear. I will take you home in the morning.”

She sank down on the bed. “You are leaving me alone?”

Meredith sounded so forlorn he dragged a hand through his hair. “I have an affliction that prevents me from sleeping properly. I am plagued by nightmares. They cause me to sleep walk as I just did. I do not wish you to see me like this.”

She held out her hand to him, and when he took it drew him down beside her. “That is why you always look so weary. You cannot sleep. What causes these terrible dreams?”

He should not tell her anything, but she had already seen the worst of it.

“My regiment was ambushed, and massacred by rebels. I was the only survivor.” Thorne brought her hand to the scar hidden by his hair. “When retreat was sounded, I carried my best friend, Major Nigel Robbins, from the battlefield. He was badly wounded, and could not walk. I was attacked from behind again and again, but somehow I did not fall. I refused to stop. Nigel was already dead by the time I reached help. Then I nearly died myself. Those terrible hours, all the effort I spent trying to save him, unaware that he was already gone… That is what I dream of, every time I close my eyes.”

“Oh, my love.” She leaned against him, and stroked her fingers gently against the old wound. “I am so sorry.”

“That is why I avoid this bed.” Thorne laced his fingers through hers. “This has been the most peaceful night I’ve had since my return to England, and you saw how that ended.” He kissed her brow. “I will leave you to your rest.” He rose, but stopped short as she held onto his hand. “Meredith, you can do nothing about this.”

“I can hold you in my arms,” she told him as she drew back the coverlet. “I can wake you from the nightmare, and hold you again until you calm. Please let me try.”

“I have become violent in the past, believing myself to be in battle,” he told her flatly. “I might harm you. That is why I have never wanted women in this house. A man can stand up to another man, especially one gone crazed. A woman…” He shook his head.

“I am not afraid,” Meredith insisted. “You do not have to bear this alone, Alistair.”

Joining her on the bed felt more like a victory than a surrender. Thorne wrapped his arms around her, and held the slender softness of her body close.

“You are mad, you know,” he told her. “I am not exaggerating about my affliction. When I sleep-walk I am unaware of what I do. I could attack you and never know it.”

“I will wake you, and you do not have any weapons.” She lifted the coverlet to look under it. “Well, there is that. But I like that very much.”

The laugh that came from him sounded rough, almost torn, but it felt good. He pulled her close, and let himself relax.