“For how long?”
The man shrugged. “Three or four days maybe.”
Trent rounded on the guard. “Is this how we treat our fellow servicemen?”
“This is how we treat our inmates.” The guard sneered. Then took a step backward as Trent crowded him against the wall with his bulk.
“This man was detained for a crime he didn’t commit. This writ from the crown exonerates him. And you almost let him die. Get out of here!” He pointed to the door.
Hartwick crouched next to her. “He is weak from dehydration, but he will recover. Let us get him out of here.”
“Malcolm, love. It’s me. Can you get up?” She stroked his face again.
This time, when he opened his eyes, she saw recognition.
His hand lifted, and he touched her cheek. “Adeline,” he croaked. Then his eyelids fluttered closed.
“I’ve got him,” Trent said.
She and Hartwick moved out of the way.
Trent scooped Malcolm up into his arms. “I’m so sorry, sir, I had no idea they would ambush you like that.”
Adeline looked up at the lieutenant. “You couldn’t have known that Admiral Garrison was so easily bribed. Please, let’s leave this place.”
Trent nodded and strode carefully through the door with Malcolm. Hartwick was next. Adeline gave the cell one last look and noticed a drawing etched into the wall below the window. She crossed to look closer. Her heart clenched as she ran her fingers over a precise depiction of the North Star.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Malcolm swallowed liquidfrom a spoon lifted to his lips. Salty and warm. They served chicken broth in heaven? He forced his eyes open to see if his angel was still with him. Then he sighed in relief. Adeline.
“Drink a little more, love.”
He opened his mouth automatically and swallowed more broth. It soothed his parched throat. He was still so tired. His stomach clenched. Strange. Shouldn’t he have left behind his pain on the earthly plane? He swallowed once more when the spoon nudged his lips. His eyelids felt so heavy.
When he opened his eyes again the light had changed. A soft glow filled the room he lay in. His throat still felt parched, but his mind was clear. He stretched and then turned onto his side. That was when he saw Adeline. She slept beside him, her arm curled up under the pillow and her wild curls spread over her shoulders. He reached out and lifted a strand of her hair, running the silky strand through his fingers. If this was heaven, he was eternally grateful she had waited for him.
Then her eyes popped open. She didn’t have her spectacles on. Why would she need them in heaven? The whiskey depths of her eyes were filled with relief.
“You’re awake. How are you feeling?”
“Is this heaven?” he asked.
“No.” Her lip quirked up in a wry smile. “You are at Hartwick House.”
“But you are dead. Are you haunting me?”
Her eyes widened. “Dead? What do you mean?”
Not dead.
Adeline took his hand and placed it over her heart. It beat steady under his palm. He sat up abruptly and immediately regretted it when his head swam, and tiny bursts of light filled his vision.
Adeline sat up as well.
Her hand grasped his arm. “Go slow. You were severely dehydrated when we found you in that cell. Why were you refusing to eat and drink?”
His vision cleared, as did his mind. He grabbed Adeline around the waist and tumbled them back to the mattress. “You’re alive.” He kissed her lips, soft and warm, and knew this wasn’t a fevered dream. Frantically, he kissed along her jaw and up to her temple, breathing in her scent. She was real, and alive.
