A Pitiful Remnant by Judith B. Glad

What a joke. Shot in the
arse. Wouldn't Rodney...
    No, Rodney wouldn't laugh his fool head off. Rodney was
dead. Along with so many more. Men he'd fought beside for four long
years, comrades he'd loved like brothers.
    "Are you in pain?"
    He kept his eyes closed. "No. Not more than usual. Just tired.
I don't seem to have the stamina I should."
    "Would you... Can you tell me about your wounds?"
    "I'd rather not. They are really quite tiresome."
    "My lord, I did not ask out of idle curiosity. I've long thought
that human wounds are little different from those suffered by
animals. For the past six years, I have treated our livestock and our
people when they were cut, broken, or shot."
    He opened his mouth, but before he could speak, she went
on.
    "Yes, my lord, shot. While we fought no battles at Ackerslea,
we did see our share of hunting accidents, particularly when we
opened the woods to hunting."
    "Huh."
    "Now, will you tell me about your injuries?"
    "I fell on my head. Concussion, the doctor said; it's all but
healed. I was struck on the wrist by something heavy--a club,
perhaps--and it apparently broke several small bones. At least that's
what the sawbones on the ship said. My left leg was broken in the
retreat and rebroken during the battle for the gates of
Coruña." He opened his eyes and watched her carefully as he
spoke the last sentence. "And I was shot in the...the right
buttock."
    She didn't smile, gave no indication she thought the location
of his wound was amusing. "Tell me about your treatment."
    "I hardly think--"
    "My lord, we have much work ahead of us, putting your
estate back in condition and seeing to the spring planting at
Ackerslea. You are no good to me flat on your back. If my healing
skills can help you, we would be abrogating our responsibilities if we
did not make use of them. I think you'd better let me have a look at
your injuries."
    "My lady!"
    "Oh, don't worry. I've seen a man's naked buttock
before."
    For some reason, all he could do was laugh. Clarence lay
back on the chaise, roaring with laughter. After a few moments, he
got it under control, reduced to occasional snorts. Until he opened
his eyes and saw the outraged expression on her face, and it sent him
off again.
    At last he was able to speak without chuckling. "This is not how I envisioned spending my honeymoon."
    Her sniff was eloquent. "I imagine not. It is, however, how we will spend our honeymoon, until we have you back on
your feet, without your needing anything more than a walking stick
to prop you up. Can you turn over on your own, or do you need
help?"
    "Can't this wait until we've retired? Just think how much
easier it will be to lift my nightshirt than to pull down my
britches."
    "Oh, stop laughing. There is nothing funny about this. Very
well, then. I will wait until tonight, but don't think I will forget."
    "No, ma'am." His attempt at meekness was spoiled by the
snickers he could not suppress.
    "And speaking of tonight... Do you actually expect me to
share your bed?"
    All urge to laughter vanished. "Of course. You are my wife.
Henceforth it is your bed as well."
    "And you expect to...to consummate our marriage tonight?
In your condition?"
    "To be honest, no. I'm not sure I am capable. And even if I
were, I'd prefer to wait until..." Unsure how to express his wishes, he
fell silent.
    "As would I. While you are healing, we can become
acquainted. I confess I had felt some trepidation at... Well, we are
strangers for all intents and purposes. I feel we should develop at
least a liking for one another before we--" All austerity had left her
expression and she had become what he'd forgotten she was, an
innocent young woman who'd married a total stranger.
    For the first time, Clarence felt hope for his marriage. Miss
Hi-- No, damn it all, my wife. Elizabeth? No, Lisbeth, or something
like that. I hope. --had cleaned up well, to his surprise, given his
first impression of her appearance. Now he was discovering that she
was outspoken,