mumbled.
“Are Captains Tremayne and Webster all right?” She tried not to sound frantic.
“I think so. Most of the officers were on horseback.”
“Rest now. You’ll feel better in a little while.” She held his hand between her own, drawing comfort from his courage.
“Sister Smithfield.” She swung around when Ella spoke, jerking her head back under the acid bite of the Senior Sister’s tongue. “There are other patients needing attention as well.”
“All right, I’m coming.” She rubbed her forehead wearily. In the stifling heat, the high white collar and cuffs chafed, starched to Ella’s exacting standard, and she could feel the material of her ward dress clinging damply to her back. Damn stupid uniforms.
The stories all sounded the same: soldiers forced to march in full kit while officers barked orders from horseback. How could breaking men’s spirits and bodies toughen them up for battle? Anxiously she asked those patients able to speak whether they knew anything about Guy or Mark.
One young soldier told her how he fell over several times until finally he could not rise at all. Guy had mounted him on his own horse and they rode double.
“Captain Tremayne saved dozens of men,” said a swarthy sergeant who came in with a large batch of patients.
She tried to keep the tremor out of her voice and hide the agony of not knowing whether he was safe. “Is he back yet?”
“I think so, Sister. The Captain rigged up shelter for the worst cases until the New Zealanders came out for them. Two boys were in a real bad way. He put them both on his own horse and led it, then commandeered mounts from some of the other officers who didn’t volunteer theirs. He was one of only a few officers who came out of this episode in a good light.”
“What about Captain Webster?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know anything about him.”
“Sister.” Major Vincent bustled over. “There’s someone asking for you outside. Five minutes, and then I’ll need you back here again.” He wiped his red, perspiring face on his sleeve.
She hurried outside and saw a dusty, sweat-stained Mark slumped against a wall. Oh, thank you, God, for keeping him safe. Relief swept over her, and she swallowed down a sob of gratitude.
Dashing up to him, she skidded to a halt when a couple of feet separated them. “Are you all right?”
His eyes lit up, chasing away the shadows of exhaustion.
“I am, now I’ve seen my beautiful Amy.”
His teeth gleamed a vivid white in his deeply tanned face, and his vivid blue eyes burned. Lines of strain gouged deep clefts along the sides of his mouth, and dark stubble covered his jaw and chin.
“Where’s Guy?” she asked, suddenly remembering her cousin.
“He’s fine, resting in his quarters.” Mark ran a trembling hand across his forehead. “A little sunburned, absolutely worn out. He did well. You should be proud of him.”
“I know. I heard what you did, too.” Pride welled up in her heart. She wanted to fling herself into his arms. Kiss all his cares away. Lay her cheek against his chest and feel the rhythm of his heart. Mark was the love of her life, yet she had to treat him like a mere acquaintance. “A sergeant told me you saved dozens of men.”
Mark dared not stand too close to Amy because it was improper for them to be seen together like this. Rubbing his hand across the stubble on his chin, he felt in desperate need of a bath and a shave. He had wanted to see her first, though, to allay the worry he knew would darken her eyes to the gray of a wintry English sky. Proud, beautiful Amy. If only he had met her years ago, before his life became enmeshed in Maryanne’s evil web.
He wanted to drag her into his arms, kiss her tiredness and distress away, but dared not. Shoving his hands deep into his pockets, he vowed to keep them there. Her skin looked as white as the apron covering her gray dress. Pristine white, the nurse’s veil hid all of her hair except for a few
“Are Captains Tremayne and Webster all right?” She tried not to sound frantic.
“I think so. Most of the officers were on horseback.”
“Rest now. You’ll feel better in a little while.” She held his hand between her own, drawing comfort from his courage.
“Sister Smithfield.” She swung around when Ella spoke, jerking her head back under the acid bite of the Senior Sister’s tongue. “There are other patients needing attention as well.”
“All right, I’m coming.” She rubbed her forehead wearily. In the stifling heat, the high white collar and cuffs chafed, starched to Ella’s exacting standard, and she could feel the material of her ward dress clinging damply to her back. Damn stupid uniforms.
The stories all sounded the same: soldiers forced to march in full kit while officers barked orders from horseback. How could breaking men’s spirits and bodies toughen them up for battle? Anxiously she asked those patients able to speak whether they knew anything about Guy or Mark.
One young soldier told her how he fell over several times until finally he could not rise at all. Guy had mounted him on his own horse and they rode double.
“Captain Tremayne saved dozens of men,” said a swarthy sergeant who came in with a large batch of patients.
She tried to keep the tremor out of her voice and hide the agony of not knowing whether he was safe. “Is he back yet?”
“I think so, Sister. The Captain rigged up shelter for the worst cases until the New Zealanders came out for them. Two boys were in a real bad way. He put them both on his own horse and led it, then commandeered mounts from some of the other officers who didn’t volunteer theirs. He was one of only a few officers who came out of this episode in a good light.”
“What about Captain Webster?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know anything about him.”
“Sister.” Major Vincent bustled over. “There’s someone asking for you outside. Five minutes, and then I’ll need you back here again.” He wiped his red, perspiring face on his sleeve.
She hurried outside and saw a dusty, sweat-stained Mark slumped against a wall. Oh, thank you, God, for keeping him safe. Relief swept over her, and she swallowed down a sob of gratitude.
Dashing up to him, she skidded to a halt when a couple of feet separated them. “Are you all right?”
His eyes lit up, chasing away the shadows of exhaustion.
“I am, now I’ve seen my beautiful Amy.”
His teeth gleamed a vivid white in his deeply tanned face, and his vivid blue eyes burned. Lines of strain gouged deep clefts along the sides of his mouth, and dark stubble covered his jaw and chin.
“Where’s Guy?” she asked, suddenly remembering her cousin.
“He’s fine, resting in his quarters.” Mark ran a trembling hand across his forehead. “A little sunburned, absolutely worn out. He did well. You should be proud of him.”
“I know. I heard what you did, too.” Pride welled up in her heart. She wanted to fling herself into his arms. Kiss all his cares away. Lay her cheek against his chest and feel the rhythm of his heart. Mark was the love of her life, yet she had to treat him like a mere acquaintance. “A sergeant told me you saved dozens of men.”
Mark dared not stand too close to Amy because it was improper for them to be seen together like this. Rubbing his hand across the stubble on his chin, he felt in desperate need of a bath and a shave. He had wanted to see her first, though, to allay the worry he knew would darken her eyes to the gray of a wintry English sky. Proud, beautiful Amy. If only he had met her years ago, before his life became enmeshed in Maryanne’s evil web.
He wanted to drag her into his arms, kiss her tiredness and distress away, but dared not. Shoving his hands deep into his pockets, he vowed to keep them there. Her skin looked as white as the apron covering her gray dress. Pristine white, the nurse’s veil hid all of her hair except for a few
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