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Chapter Twenty-Nine
He is the half part of a blessed man, left to be finished by such as she; and she a fair divided excellence, whose fulness of perfection lies inhim.
—Shakespeare,King John
The fog ofsleep blanketed her body.Mmm. Nicholas?He whispered words of love.I love you too.A sob caught in her throat. Oh God, how she loved him. If only it were enough.
The mattress dipped. Her heart pounded as she rolled toward the valley. “Nicholas?” She panicked, surfacing to reality, trying to squirm back, but warm arms caught her, pulling her close. She inhaled. Nicholas. She hadn’t been dreaming.
She relaxed against his chest. “You came home.”
His lips brushed the top of her head. “I thought you might need me.” He paused his kisses. Was she too presumptuous? She had needed to be near him, unable to bear leaving him entirely alone this night. Not after all she had revealed.
Pulling her hands free from where they lay trapped between their bodies, she ran them down his stiff back. “I am so sorry. So sorry for everything.” And she was. If she could change it, save him from the hurt he had faced since coming home, she would.
He lay still, saying nothing. Then she felt a slight rise in his shoulder blades. She caressed them softly. His chest heaved, and he shuddered. She held him, murmuring her own words of love, grateful he would share such raw emotion with her. It was a tempest quickly spent. He calmed, then rolled onto his back, pulling her with him, tossing the sheet over them. She rested upon his chest, listening to the cadence of his breathing, feeling the stark beat of his heart upon her cheek.
He pushed strands of hair from her face, curling them over her ear. “I have much to apologize for. So many regrets.”
Holding back her own rising tide of emotion, she forced herself to lie still. He continued stroking her hair, the methodic rhythm soothing.
“I judged you. I did not trust you. Trust us.”
She tried to lift her head, but his hand held her cheek firm against his chest.
“No. Do not grant me clemency. Not yet,” he whispered. “For I, too, have confessions to make.”
He was silent for a moment before continuing. She knew he was weighing his words, but could not fathom what he was about to tell her.
“I saw many things while at war. Glimpses of heroism. Some regrettable moments. Mostly endless, mind-numbing days of planning and vigilance. And waiting. Until Badajoz.” His hand rested heavily upon her head.
“It was a long siege. Weeks of digging trenches in wet, cold weather and planning our attack. I must admit, when the order to advance was finally given, I prayed to the heavens and said my goodbye to you. There seemed no chance of success.”
She held her breath. He’d thought he would die.Thank you, God, for keeping him safe.
“I watched the slaughter as man after man fell trying to take the walls. I held back my men, though they were angry with me, feeling betrayal of their comrades. It was the longest night of my life.” His hand resumed its gentle stroking in stark contrast to the tension she could feel in his body. “Finally I spotted a diminishment on the west wall defenses. We took the wall and helped turn the tide to victory.”
She could not imagine the life he’d lived while she’d roamed restlessly, safely, about their two estates. She’d no idea how he could have borne such hardship.
“Nicholas,” she began, but he pushed her head back down, holding it close to his heart.
“Langdon was wounded. When success was imminent, I pulled him from the trenches, back to my tent. The surgeon was not sure Langdon would live.”
She was surprised by his chuckle, his chest rumbling beneath her cheek.
“I knew he would. The man is driven. And stubborn. Never left my side even when I ordered him to. You’ll like him.”
His tone changed abruptly, his clasp on her head tensing. “I held Langdon down while they severed his arm. He glared at me while he bit down on the leather, no doubt willing me to hell, but he didn’t make a sound. I wanted to weep for his loss, but I could not. If he could be that brave, then so could I.”
His gentle strokes resumed, but she could not relax. The pictures he was painting were horrific, and his body was rigid, his tale not yet done. If this was not the worst of it, dear Lord, what was? She caressed him softly. What had her Nicholas seen? Lived through?
“We were triumphant that day. We took Badajoz. I nursed Langdon, feeling vindicated at our success. Until the reports began rolling in.” His hand stalled again. “Our men went…insane. There is no other word for it. They sought revenge for their losses. Pillaged the town. It wasn’t until later that night, when the cries of women, of children, echoed across the lands, that I realized the depths of their claims, of their depravity. I met with fellow officers, but there were so few of us and so many of them. I offered to go in and try to calm the men. I did but was met with derision and violence. I was lucky not to be torn apart, such was their state of mind. They were mired in grief and drunk on their own survival.”
He fell silent.
She didn’t know what words to offer, couldn’t even begin to imagine how dreadful it must have been. His pain pulsated. He’d already been full of anger and hurt before he’d even crossed the threshold of Woodfield Park. How could she help him find healing? And would it be the remedy for their relationship?
He traced a finger along her jaw, pressing it against her lips, and she kissed it.
