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He’d been a good soldier, a brilliant surgeon. Now he was neither. Neither of them had anything to rush home for, yet whilst Rae consequently couldn’t wait to get back to another place like this, he couldn’t wait to get out of here. But where even was home for him?
At least that answered his question, then. He had nothing to offer her.
And yet here he still was. Unable to stay away from her any longer. Wanting to spend this day in her company. They were on borrowed time, he and Rae, and he should know better. But right here, right now, he didn’t care.
‘It is indeed Christmas,’ he agreed. ‘So let’s go and feast.’
* * *
It was a Christmas beyond all she could have hoped for. The men dancing, rice cans attached to their legs, their feet practically a blur as women kept time with sticks on the ground. At one point she was even hauled to her feet by some of the women and challenged to match the rhythm; faster and harder and more complex all the time.
It was exhilarating, and incredible, and special.
Not least when Myles looked over from where his own group was taking part in the festivities, the glance they shared so intimate. So unabashed.
Then the refugees sang traditional songs, and when it came time for the volunteers to share their own carols, something akin to pure joy suffused Rae as she turned to find Myles standing there, right next to her.
And then he smiled, and a memory—a decade and a half old—rushed her.
She was in love with him.
All over again. She wanted more with him. She needed more. But if she couldn’t help him to face his demons then there was never going to be a chance for them.
Sliding her hand into his, Rae waited for a moment until they could slip out unnoticed, the festivities finally winding down, and led him to her room.
There was no easy way to tell him so she just plunged in.
‘I—I’ve been doing some research into your case,’ she announced, trying to ignore the shake in her voice.
‘Is that so?’
‘It is.’ She swallowed hard. ‘And I’ve found out that they think that village was attacked by the local forces in retaliation for the villagers selling some of their harvest that year, instead of saving it all for the rebel soldiers.’
‘I see.’
‘Which means it wasn’t about you or your team. It wasn’t because you were there helping people.’
She’d never heard of it at first, but it turned out it was pretty commonplace—farming villages whose crops should have easily provided enough food for themselves and for sale at market, but who were on the brink of starvation because each season almost all their crop was taken by the warlords.
But she knew that didn’t mean Myles was about to accept her word for it.
‘I have letters, research, if you want it.’
‘I’ve already heard about it. It was a theory.’ His clipped tone was clearly intended to end the conversation.
She couldn’t give up that easily.
‘Whose theory?’
‘It doesn’t matter.’
‘It does to me.’
A month ago his glower would have cut into her. Instead, she found herself sitting up straighter, maintaining eye contact. She had started this. She had to see it through.
‘Myles, please... I want to understand.’
‘An army theory.’
