Before she had time to catch her breath, Rhys reappeared through the trees and the next man in the corps took his place, sending Mae back down the hill. Resisting the urge to cover her ears, the smoke still stinging her senses, she flinched as more rifle fire burst from above. The immensity of war settled around her with an almost crushing weight.
Rhys had seen her. Looked straight at her, his cocked hat pulled low. But a private moment with him as she’d hoped was not to be had. She almost tripped in her haste, her veil billowing as she made for the wagon, hoping James was on her heels and they could depart. She drew up short and looked back, trying to catch her breath as she waited for him.
Over the rise came Rhys, not James. He overtook her before shecould go another step. They faced off, his concern obvious. She put a hand atop her hat that the wind seemed determined to pick free, making her equally determined to stay veiled.
“I owe you an apology.” She swallowed, feeling as fragile as when she’d dragged herself to her dressing table. “For refusing you when you last came to Chatham. I behaved abominably because I was ashamed to be seen.”
“No apology needed.”
“But—”
“I understand, Mae.”
His use of her forename tore a rent in the wall she’d built between them.Mae.He said it so gruffly but with such feeling it turned her heart over.
“I-I couldn’t be seen that day.” Her voice warbled. She hated her weakness. “I still can’t.”
His reply was lost to her. The incessant firing on the hill continued and drowned out their voices. He reached out and took her hand. Her eyes went wide at the strength of his grip.
He led her inside a crude, unfinished cabin that was clearly his. Wind whistled through the cracks in a less than merry tune. The lap desk she remembered sat atop a rough-hewn table, papers scattered hither and yon. Inkpots and quills stood like sentinels alongside books piled high. How did he keep the ink from freezing? A fire burned in the rock hearth but held little warmth.
Her attention swiveled back to him. “This is your headquarters?”
“Such as it is, aye, when I’m not at Arnold Tavern.” He regarded her as if he wanted to remove her hat.
She took a step back. “I’m ... unsightly. I can’t even bear to look at myself. That’s why I came here today—to tell you I won’t see you again after this.”
“Mae.” He took a step toward her, and she fought the urge to flee. The man she wanted to be beautiful for stared back at her, only she couldn’t fully see him. Her tears and her veil saw to that.
She shook her head, her scant hold on her composure crumbling. “You don’t understand.”
“But I do. All of us have wounds. Some scarring you simply don’t see.”
He removed his coat. After draping it across the back of a chair, he unbuttoned the collar of his shirt. Her pulse picked up as he pulled the shirt over his head and the garment lifted to reveal his bare chest, as well-muscled as all the rest of him. And then he turned his back to her.
Her gasp was heard in the sudden lull of firing on the hill. Despite her veil she could see the savage welts that crisscrossed him from shoulders to waist. His back resembled a freshly plowed field, dark ridges and furrows of flesh in varying shades of reddish-brown, a strange sheen over all that told her they’d healed but still caused pain.
Forgetting herself, she stood behind him and lay a tentative hand on his bare skin. Tears coursed to her chin as she leaned in and pressed her lips to the worst of his scarring, the veil between them. Slowly he turned, taking her hands in his. She stayed still as he released her long enough to lift her veil, then encircled her with his embrace.
She met his eyes. “What happened to you?”
“I had some choice words for a British officer when a prisoner in Canada.”
“You were whipped—brutally.” She was crying openly now, her cheek against his smooth chest, which bore no resemblance to his torn back.
“It’s over now.” He stroked her hair. “It’s over now for you too. Yours are simply beauty marks. I prayed God would spare you when I sat by your bed.”
“I felt you, heard you. I was too weak to speak, but I knew the moment you left my side.”
“I didn’t want to leave. I would have stayed on if I could have. At the very least, I didn’t return to camp till Aaron said you wereno longer in danger.” He looked toward a window as if he heard a passerby before letting go of her and pulling on his shirt.
When he’d buttoned the collar and shrugged on his coat, he gestured to the door, then followed her out. James waited a bit farther downhill by the wagon. Their disappearance inside what was little more than a shack might raise more than her brother’s brows. But in light of what she’d just seen, she didn’t care. All else paled.
“What brings you to camp, Major?” Rhys looked to James as if holding him responsible for taking Mae out when she was recovering.
“Delivery of goods, General.” James turned deferential. “All have been distributed.”
Rhys smiled his thanks at Mae, his eyes holding hers for a telling moment longer than necessary. She could hardly look away.
