His mind−always cautious−ushered a warning about the vulnerable position he suddenly found himself in. His heart, however, objected, again and again conjuring the soft brush of her fingertips against his skin.
Closing his eyes, Frederick fell asleep.
Chapter Twenty-Five – To Live or Die
Unable to stay away, Ellie slipped into her husband’s bedchamber. The sun had long since disappeared behind the horizon, and the house lay silent. She knew she ought to get some rest. She knew he would ring if he needed anything. And yet, she could not stay away.
Closing the door behind her, Ellie tiptoed her way across the dark floor until her bare feet touched the soft Persian rug leading up to his bed. In the dim light of a single candle burning on the desk in the corner, his features looked almost haggard and pale as though a life-threatening disease was about to claim him. For a short moment, the breath caught in Ellie’s throat, and unable to move, she stared at his chest, willing it to rise and fall.
When it did, she almost fainted with relief.
What are you doing here? An obnoxious voice whispered. There is nothing you can do for him.
Ellie knew that, and yet, she couldn’t leave.
Despite the slight chill in the air that drifted through her nightgown, she stayed. Silently, she lifted up the chair Dr. Madison had used to relocate Frederick’s shoulder and carefully carried it to his bedside. Fortunately, the slight exertion served to warm her chilled muscles.
Sitting down beside him, Ellie’s heart rejoiced.
For the first time, she had the opportunity to look at him openly without the need to avert her eyes as soon as he felt her gaze on him.
In the dim light, his dark hair looked almost black on the white linen pillow while the tone of his skin appeared to have a touch of silver. His eyes were closed, and his breath came in even intervals. He was a handsome man. Ellie had always thought so; however, these days, his rugged features were often contorted by the pain that had claimed his heart.
As he continued to sleep peacefully, Ellie inched forward.
The cut on his forehead had closed, and she reached out a tentative hand, brushing the back of it over his cheek and forehead. Relieved to see that no infection had set in−at least not yet−, she watched him sleep.
For once, the tortured expression his face bore on most days had vanished. The muscles along his forehead and around his mouth seemed relaxed, and the corners of his mouth even curled up into a soft smile every now and then.
Seeing it, Ellie smiled in answer. What was he dreaming about? She wondered. What had made him smile?
Leaning onto the bed, Ellie soon rested her head on her folded arms. As her eyes continued to gaze at her husband, she noticed that her eyelids began to grow heavy. At first, Ellie fought the warming blanket of approaching sleep with all her might. Too much did she enjoy this moment of peaceful silence with her husband. However, before the clock in the hall downstairs struck twelve, Ellie was fast asleep.
Inspired by the rare smile that had played on her husband’s lips, Ellie slept peacefully, her own dreams continuing in the direction her heart desired until tortured moans drifted to her ears and found their way into her dreams.
Coming awake, Ellie squinted her eyes, trying to shake off the last remnants of sleep. The room was still dark, and the candle in the corner had almost burned down, its dying light casting eerie shadows across the bed.
Still asleep, Frederick began to stir. His head jerked from side to side. However, his eyes were squeezed shut. Occasionally, a pained moan would rise from his throat, and his hands were balled into fists, tearing at the bed sheet.
“Frederick?” Ellie whispered, carefully touching his arm. “Everything is all right. You are safe.” Staring at her husband, Ellie was at a loss. She could see the dark memories that tortured his dreams plainly on his face, and yet, it was evident that he did not hear her.
She shook him a little, but to no effect. How could she wake him? Should she wake him?
Touching his bare skin was strangely exhilarating, and yet, Ellie felt her own inhibitions stir below the surface. Would he object to her touch? Would he rather she call someone else?
To hell with what he wanted! Ellie thought as another agonised moan rose from his lips. There was no time. He needed her now. She had to wake him.
Climbing onto the bed next to him, Ellie leaned forward and gave his uninjured shoulder a rough shake.
Frederick didn’t even flinch. Instead, his body tensed, and the muscles in his arm felt as though they were about to snap. Then his mouth opened. “Kenneth! NO!”
Recognising his friend’s name, Ellie knew what memories held him trapped. Determined to loosen their hold, she grabbed her husband’s face with both hands. “Frederick, wake up!” Again and again, she called his name, her fingers almost digging into his scalp.
Seconds ticked by. Seconds that felt like a small eternity as Ellie desperately tried to make him hear her.
Frederick, however, was lost in his own past, once again battling the demons that haunted him day in and day out. His head still jerked from side to side when his hands suddenly flew up and tightened around Ellie’s arms.
Before she knew what was happening, he rolled over, taking her with him. Pinned into the mattress, she stared up at his unseeing face.
His eyes snapped open then, and a growl rose from his throat.
“Frederick!” Ellie called, feeling her skin crawl as his weight pushed down on her. “Wake up!” When he still didn’t react, she lifted her hand and slapped him across the face as hard as she could with her arms still held tight in his iron grip. “Frederick! Wake up!”
He blinked then, and Ellie felt relief flood her heart. Again, she spoke his name. Softer this time and with less force, but this time he heard her.
As his eyes focused on her, she smiled up at him, suddenly acutely aware of his naked chest resting on hers, his face only a breath’s length away from her own. Even in the dim light, she could see a golden glimmer in his dark eyes.
His gaze narrowed then, and a hint of shock came to his eyes as he realised that she lay pinned under him. Rising, he almost fell off the bed as he stumbled backwards.
Sitting up, Ellie grabbed his hand and pulled him back. “Are you all right?”
Still staring at her, he glanced about the room, and she could see the memory of the past day resurface. He cleared his throat then and slid off the bed, his eyes not meeting hers. “I apologise, my lady, I−” He winced, and his right hand went to his injured shoulder.
In the dim light, touches of blue and purple decorated his skin.
“There is no need to apologise,” Ellie assured him. Sliding off the bed herself, she stepped toward him.
He drew in a sharp breath that Ellie doubted was due to the pain in his shoulder. For some reason, he was terrified of her touch, and despite her own doubts, Ellie thought that her scars were not the reason. “You should return to bed. Your shoulder will need time to heal.” When he didn’t move, she placed a hand on his arm.
He flinched and drew in a deep breath. Eyes looking at everything but her, he stepped around her. “I suppose you are right. I am sorry I woke you, my lady. Please, return to your own bed. You, too, need rest.”
“I am fine.”
As he carefully eased himself back under the blanket, his eyes fell on the chair by his bed before they looked up at her, a question resting in them.
“I was watching over you,” Ellie admitted, sitting back down in the chair she had only abandoned a few minutes ago. To her, it seemed like hours had passed since then.
“There is no need…”
She smiled at him, and his voice trailed off. “Did I not promise to look after you?” she asked, her tone lightly, hoping to banish the darkness in his eyes back to where it had come from. “Be it in sickness or in health?”
The ghost of a smile flitted across his features, and for a moment, he averted his eyes. “I am most grateful for your k
indness, my lady.”
“You are welcome,” Ellie whispered, willing this moment to last forever. Never before had he looked at her the way he did now. His eyes held hers openly, and a gleam of honest appreciation and maybe even affection shone in them as a tentative smile curled up his lips.
“You must be cold, though,” he said, his eyes shifting to her bare feet. “I assure you I am fine. Please, return to your own bed. I do not wish for you to catch a cold.”
Unwilling to leave, Ellie grasped at the one straw he had offered her. “Who is Kenneth?”
Instantly, his smile vanished, and he stared at her in shock. “How…?”
“You said his name in your sleep.”
Closing his eyes, he nodded. “I see.” Then he looked at her, and for a moment, Ellie thought he would demand that she leave. Instead, his eyes softened, and a resigned expression came to his face. “You will not go, will you?”
An apologetic smile on her lips, Ellie shook her head.
“All right.” Gritting his teeth, he carefully moved backward to the other side of the bed, then gestured to the spot he had just vacated. “If you don’t mind, my lady.”
Touched by his thoughtfulness, Ellie slid into the bed, welcoming the warmth his body had left behind. Her cold feet began to tingle, and her heart hammered in her chest. “Thank you.”
Frederick lay back, his eyes focused on the ceiling. “What did I say?”
Resting on her side, Ellie watched him. “Not much. All you did was call his name in a way that…”
“I see.” He cleared his throat. “Kenneth was my friend,” he finally said. “He died in the war.”
“You saw it happen?”
His eyes closed, and for a moment, Ellie thought he would send her from his bed. “I did.” His voice sounded hoarse when he finally spoke. “He broke his neck as a cannon ball cut down his horse.”
***
Lying in the almost dark, Frederick waited for his wife to express her sympathy. People generally did. They would say that he was lucky to be alive. That at least his friend hadn’t suffered. That they were both heroes now. That he should take comfort in knowing his friend died for a greater cause.
However, when his wife finally spoke, the words that left her lips were evidence of a perception few people possessed. “There is no glory in dying young, is there?”
For a moment, Frederick remained silent, unprepared for the understanding that rang in her voice. “Dying is always ugly and always a tragedy.” He knew that he sounded bitter, but how could he not?
“Few people think of dying when they speak of war,” his wife pointed out. “They speak of causes and victories, of enemies and defeat. They think of banners blowing in the wind. Of glory and parades.”
Frederick turned his head to look at her and winced at the slight pain the movement brought to his shoulder. Ignoring his discomfort, his eyes searched hers in the semi-dark, wondering how she knew the thoughts that echoed within his own heart as well. “You sound like a war-weary soldier,” he observed and was touched by the soft curl that came to her lips.
For a long time, she simply lay beside him, her eyes distant as though she was collecting her thoughts. “I have never been on a field of battle like the one that your friend died on,” she stated the simple truth, “but I know the meaning of pain and fear. I know what it is like to feel death reaching out its hands for you.” She shook her head, and a single tear rolled down her cheek. “I remember how scared I was, how terrified. And yet, a part of me welcomed the nearing end.”
Frederick’s breath caught in his throat, and he closed his eyes, remembering the feeling she spoke of.
“I wanted it to end,” she admitted, a slight catch in her voice as she spoke. “I didn’t want to bear the pain any longer. I didn’t think I could. If death means an end to your suffering, then there is no shame in welcoming it.” For a moment, Frederick’s heart stopped before a sigh of relief left his lips. Ever since Kenneth had died, he had wished for death, and he had always felt guilty to be so willing to throw away something that others valued so highly. “Who would choose pain if there was another way?”
Again, he looked at her, and again, he saw the honesty of her words in her eyes. “Most people would disagree.”
A sad smile on her face, she met his eyes. “I suppose it is always difficult to judge something that you have never experienced yourself. People simply assume what something feels like, how they would feel, but they don’t know.” She took a deep breath. “When they look at me, they think they know how I feel. They think I ought to sit at home in the dark and mourn my fate because they cannot imagine that life could ever look beautiful again. I do not deny that what happened that day was horrible and that I mind the scars that I now bear. But does that mean my life is over?”
Inhaling deeply, she closed her eyes, and Frederick realised that he did not know beyond the common gossip what had happened to her. “I have thought about this a lot. For wherever I turn, people make me feel as though I have no right to be enjoying my life.” She raised her head a little. “It is the same with you, is it not? Your scars are not visible, and, therefore, people assume you have none.”
“Unfortunately, the visible scars I have are generally hidden under layers of clothing,” Frederick observed, suddenly feeling the need to lighten the mood. Seeing the pain that crossed her face at the memories she shared with him, Frederick felt the almost desperate need to shield her from them. After everything she had suffered, she deserved happiness, peace of mind.
At his words, her eyes travelled to his left shoulder, and even in the dark, he could see a slight flush come to her cheeks.
As he felt the heavy weight of her gaze on him, a new surge of guilt flooded his heart, and he swallowed.
Somewhere under the blue and purple bruises, an ugly scar rested; a scar that would always remind him of Kenneth. A scar that would always remind him that he had failed his friend. All his life, Frederick had looked out for Kenneth, and when his friend had needed him most, Frederick had simply watched him die. It had been Kenneth who had come to his aid, not allowing the bayonet to take his life but merely to mark him for the betrayer he was.
“You blame yourself for what happened to your friend,” his wife observed, her eyes resting on his face.
Lost in contemplation, Frederick’s eyes snapped up, staring at her across the short distance separating them. By now, he knew her eyes so well. Even in the dark, the soft blue shone like sapphires, delicate and gentle, and yet, their depth spoke of an unyielding character, one that had been tested time and time again but could not be broken. What did she see when she looked at him? What did his own eyes reveal about him?
Her simple statement spoke to his heart in a way nothing before ever had. She had not asked; yet, somehow she had known. Gently her eyes moved across his face as though she could read the truth where others had failed.
The truth was that he did not know what to say. His heart ached in his chest, and yet, he knew not how to put the pain he felt into words. His mind knew that he blamed himself for Kenneth’s death, and yet, the pain in his heart went much deeper. How could he even begin to explain something he did not understand himself?
Searching for the words that eluded him, Frederick saw a slight curl come to her lips as her gentle eyes looked into his and her words took the burden to answer from his shoulders. “The day of the fire started like any other,” she began, and a shiver went down Frederick’s back. Somehow he knew that what she was about to tell him she had never before shared with another. “In retrospect, I often thought that there should have been something to mark this day as different, as life-altering, as dangerous. Maybe there had been. Maybe I simply didn’t notice.”
Taking a deep breath, she licked her lips. “The first thing I heard were the servants’ screams. I will always remember that sound. It chilled me to my bones, and from one second to the next, a perfectly pleasant day turned into a nightmare. I rushed upstairs as my heart hamme
red in my chest and the pain radiated through my whole body. I never thought the beating of my own heart could ever hurt.”
For a moment, she closed her eyes, and Frederick knew the strength it took for her to go on. “When I hurried down the corridor, smoke hung in the air, growing thicker with each step. When the coughing started, I held a handkerchief before my face to keep the smoke from my lungs. Servants rushed by me, pointing down the way they had come, their faces contorted in horror. Fire had broken out in my little brother’s room, and he was trapped inside.” A single tear spilled over and was instantly absorbed by the pillow underneath. “Fear gripped my heart at their words, and I rushed on. As I turned the corner, I found his nursemaid, Agnes, standing just outside his door. Tears streamed down her face as a coughing fit shook her body, her pale face illuminated by the dancing flames inside the room.”
She took a deep breath, and for a second, Frederick thought she would not go on. “I re-member that I wanted to turn and run. I didn’t want this to be happening. I knew what it meant, and I wasn’t ready to handle something so horrible.” Her eyes met his, and Frederick understood that the only reason she was reliving the moment of her greatest pain was to help him with his own. “But I stayed. As much as I wanted to, I couldn’t run. Instead, I stepped up to the door and looked inside. The bed was aflame as were the curtains and the rugs and everything else that can be consumed by fire. My brother lay on the floor in the corner. His eyes were closed, and through the flames, I could not tell if he was still breathing. My heart stopped, and the absence of the pain was even worse than the pain itself.”
Was she right? Frederick wondered. Could there be anything worse than pain? Ever since he had returned from the continent, Frederick had done his utmost to gather his pain and guilt and hopelessness in one place and lock it away. He had schooled himself not to feel, and the absence of his emotions had brought him peace. Hadn’t it?
“For a long time, I just stood there,” she whispered, and her own guilt shone in her eyes openly. “I could not bring myself to save him. I just stood there, hoping someone would come and help. But time passed, and nothing happened. Only the fire continued to dance, and the smoke grew denser. Then the flames touched him.” She swallowed and took a deep breath. “His pant leg caught fire, and yet, he didn’t move. His failure to react scared me more than anything else in my life. Something snapped then. It was as though something else took over. I heard myself scream his name, and then I rushed through the flames into the room. I remember the heat on my skin as it grew from warm to hot and then became painful and ultimately unbearable. But my body still moved. I put out the small flame on his leg, picked him up and cradled him close to my body, trying my best to shield him from the fire. My hands and arms wrapped around him, I stared at the wall of fire that stood between us and the door. I closed my eyes then…and ran.”