That could be the only love that she had for him because anything beyond was wrong because she was married to someone who had discarded her nearly a month ago. Cast off and forgotten, yet she was tied to John in the eyes of the church and law.
Orlando used to leave as soon as they believed the other guests were asleep. That is, until now. Blythe had excused herself for a moment and when she returned, found that Orlando had fallen asleep on one side of the bed, across from where she had been, the cribbage board between them.
She nearly woke him, but Orlando had confessed that he did not get much sleep because of how late he retired, which left her overcome with guilt. She should have found an excuse for why he left earlier in the evening. He could have claimed that there were illnesses and he did not want to be so far away.
She could have insisted that it was not necessary for him to visit every evening but couldn’t force herself to say the words.
Blythe liked having him here, needed him here, but she also knew that he grew concerned with leaving his sister alone for too long, though he assured her that Isabella could take care of herself, and without her knowing, he had hired two men that he trusted completely to watch over her.
This only caused Blythe increased her guilt because it was costing Orlando more and more since he had purchased her. He’d sold her jewelry and gave her the funds, but he refused to accept reimbursement for what he had spent. A surgeon in Wellington’s Army cannot be so well off and she did not want him to return to England with barely a penny to his name.
Yet, she was not sorry that he was here, now, asleep beside her. It was comforting and she wished that she could lay in his arms, her head on his chest, yet she did not dare.
No matter how much she longed to be held by him, to be closer, it was impossible.
They were friends and he had rescued her, and she was married to someone else.
He was also the strongest reason she remained in Brussels and she ached with the very idea of leaving here, knowing that nothing could ever become of what they shared.
She loved Orlando and he was forbidden.
Their association would also likely soon end.
Orlando had told her this evening that there were rumors that Napoleon was close, but they’d heard those same rumors for weeks. That still didn’t relieve the tension that had been building in him over the last few days, however. It wasn’t the battle that he feared it was the wounded that would be brought to him and he hated knowing that he would not be able to save everyone.
This was a burden he carried, confessions and fears he shared with her in whispers before he left for the night. She wanted to ease his concerns, but there was nothing that she could say or do because England would soon be at war.
Canons shook the ground, metal upon metal rang through the air as swords clashed against the background of blasts of muskets and rifles, quickly followed by cries of agony and groans of pain. Blood soaked the ground already littered with bodies and limbs while smoke filled the air, nearly choking him. Men called out to Orlando to save them. Gaping stomach wounds—an impossibility. They would die. A missing foot, that he could salvage. Not the foot, but the life. Blinded, burned and maimed men called out. Hundreds in every direction. Orlando didn’t know where to start or who to help first yet still more came.
He reached a soldier, one that he knew that he could save, only to look down and not know what to do.
A quiet ‘help’ escaped between his lips and then the soldier was gone.
Orlando rushed to another, but he had no tools and no way to stop the bleeding. A hand grabbed his arm. He turned to help, but the arm was no longer attached to a soldier yet it still gripped him.
There were too many wounded and no way to treat them. They would all die. Every one of them and it would be his fault.
Orlando’s eyes flew open and he sat up, heart pounding, pulse hammering, unable to breathe. As his eyes adjusted, he realized that he was in Blythe’s chamber.
“Orlando?”
He turned to find Blythe with her blue eyes full of concern.
He wanted to assure her all was well, but the images were still too vivid in his mind and the panic lingered.
“What is wrong?”
All he could do was blink. He did not dare tell her. Nobody should be subjected to the horrors that revisited him in nightmares.
When her fingers pushed the hair from his forehead, Orlando closed his eyes and savored her touch. It took everything in his power not to pull Blythe close and cling to her softness and goodness.
“Do you want to talk about your dream?”
Orlando managed to shake his head.
Her response was to scoot to the middle of the bed then pull him down so that his head rested on her bosom as she gently combed her fingers through his hair. He needed the gentleness of her touch, softness of her body, and with each beat of her heart in his ear, the anxiousness that accompanied him from the nightmare began to ease.
Orlando did not know how long he lay there in the comfort of her arms and he did not want to leave or even move. And even though he willed himself to stay awake and savor her touch and comfort, knowing that he might never be held by Blythe again, he drifted off and woke to a sun-filled room, his head still on her breast, a place he wanted to remain.
