*
Pain seared throughhim as his body slammed to the ground, the rearing, wounded horse looming above him. He screamed as another explosion sounded, the compression throwing the horse off balance, its hooves skidding as its body fell toward Mark, the ominous shadow of its bulk growing ever larger as it fell towards him. He flinched, then stilled, unable to move away from the collapsing beast.
A solid weight suddenly covered him—but not the horse, which fell to his left, shrieking in pain but alive and struggling to regain its feet. It writhed ever nearer, but the weight over him held him down. He pushed against it, but his arms felt clamped to his side.
Then he heard his name.
Distant. From within a thick fog of smoke.
Again.
Then the confinement around him tightened. Firm but soft. Not a weight of war, of danger.
Comforting. Safety.
“Mark.”
His body shuddered as darkness overwhelmed him. The fight left him, and he relented, going limp. Surrender.
“Mark.”
He opened his eyes.
*
Judith watched himcarefully. He had come to himself, awake, but she could see in his eyes the confusion and uncertainty of what he saw. Her, on top of him, having wrapped him in the thick blanket, mounting him and encircling him with her arms and legs, holding on as if he were one of her wild ponies, bucking to throw her off.
But he did not.
She had called his name, quiet but persistent, until he had gone limp beneath her.
They stared at each other. As his breathing eased, Judith slipped off his side of the bed, her feet cushioned by the thick carpet of the room. She peeled the heavy blanket away and draped it over the bench at the end of the bed. Mark watched every move, silent. Judith looked around and, spotting a glass and pitcher of water on the shaving stand, filled the glass and bought it to him.
“You should try to sit.” She held out the glass. “Water will help with the dry mouth.”
His eyes still on her, Mark pushed up in the bed, bracing his back against the headboard, sweat coating his face and neck. He reached for the glass, drinking as if he had been a week without. She brought him another.
“What did you do to me?” His words, low and hoarse, held more curiosity than accusation.
She crossed her arms, hugging herself against the sharp memories. “Edmund. He had those nightmares. The flailing fits. The doctor suggested that heavy bedclothes had helped some of his other patients—also veterans of war—something they had discovered by accident during one particularly cold winter. I had my maid sew two quilted blankets together, filling several of the quilted pockets with buckshot. It took a bit of experimentationto get the distribution and weight correct—so that he didn’t roll out of bed or suffocate—but we finally found a combination that worked.” She shrugged. “It helped most nights. He slept under it in the winter and kept it handy during the summer. It was not a solution—the nightmares persisted to the end—but it was... an aid.”
“You got on top of me. You held onto me.”
Judith gestured toward the foot of the bed. “I did not believe that blanket would be enough.” A sudden thought occurred to her. “I did not hurt you, did I?”
He shook his head, still looking somewhat stunned. “You were not afraid?”
The question puzzled her. “Why would I be? Afraid of what?”
He blinked, his mouth tightening. “I can be... violent.”
She shrugged. “Fighting demons usually is. But you were not fighting me.” She smiled. “And, if you remember, I can be rather quick on my feet.”
That smirk flitted across his face but did not linger. “Judith—”
She stepped closer, understanding. “This is why you did not want me to stay.”
He nodded, a touch of normalcy returning to his face. “I did not intend to sleep, but sometimes, I drift off. I have no desire to hurt you. Or frighten you.”
