THE NIGHT
I'm really alright,” Patrick said to her that night as she sat on the ground by his cot. “You don't have to worry so.”
“You could have died,” she said. “And then what? What would I do?”
“I'm sure you would have found another way to convince your father,” he answered softly, and her eyes shot up.
“That's not quite what I meant,” she replied. He tried to smile.
“Death is a part of life, lass. And for a long while, I did wish for it; hope for it.”
“So you could be with her again?”
“Yes,” he said. “But these past few days....it's not as strong.”
“Death is a part of life,” she agreed. “But we cannot wish away our breath. And when I thought you were going to leave me...”
“When I lay there, and the world dimmed, I thought about how easy it was to leave. But then I heard your cries...” He took a deep breath. “And suddenly it wasn't so easy anymore.”
“Don't leave,” she cried, in a rare show of emotion.
“I'm not trying to,” he reassured her. “I'm not trying to anymore.”
“Did you know that you were allergic to raspberries?” she asked.
“No,” he promised her. “Strawberries, red peppers, apples...”
“Creator,” she put her face in her hands for a moment. “You should have told me. I could assure everything was safe.”
“Didn't want to cause you any more trouble than you've already been through,” he replied. “It's you who is sticking your neck out.”
“At least we are going to war now,” she said as she leaned against the foot of his cot, looking up at him. “It has not been in vain.”
“Yes, I vaguely heard your father mention that,” he replied.
“Did you mean what you said today?” she asked, after a quiet moment.
“When?” He cocked his head, confused.
“In the sweat lodge?” she asked. “And in the tent, with my father?”
“I did,” he said, squeezing her shoulder. “I've never found it very easy to lie.”
“Neither have I,” she admitted. “I mean, I have lied, I've gone undercover before...but I've always felt a tearing in my soul when it happens, as if I'm going against the very balance of Nature itself.”
He chuckled. “Nothing quite that bad. I'm just not as good as the actress.”
“Oh,” Enola cocked her head. “I never thought about it like that; that acting is lying.”
“Not quite what I meant,” he replied. “I was more referring to her defiance over her marriage. The two of them, life is short, there's no reason to act like that.”
“Aren't you a romantic?” she teased and he shifted, getting more comfortable.
“If you are insisting in staying here, the least I can do is give you the cot. Or we can share it.”
She froze. “Patrick, I....”
“Nothing will happen,” he promised her. “I will be a perfect gentleman. We are married, though, Enola, so there's no harm in lying beside me if it will make you feel more comfortable.”
She hesitated and then stood up as he shifted over. “Only because I am concerned about you,” she said. “In case it happens again.”
“Hopefully word of this doesn't get out,” he said, as her head rested on the pillow beside his. “Major Holde can be brought down by simple forest items, forget highly trained assassins or gunshot wounds.”
“Don't think like that,” she answered. “All of us are human with weaknesses. And most humans are allergic to gunshot wounds.”
He smirked, at that, rolling over. There was enough room for them not to touch on the small sleep cot, but only just barely. If he shifted only an inch, his arm would be around her. Enola stared at the tent ceiling on her back, her hands folded on her stomach.
“Have you thought about...after this?” she asked bravely, after a moment.
“After?” he asked.
“We gain the Native warriors, we march, we win...or we don't,” she said, realistically. “And then you and I....”
“Oh, lass,” he shook his head, rolling over. That seemed to be a topic that still caused too much pain. “Let's just think about tomorrow, hmm?”
That was enough for her, and she closed her eyes. Both of them soon found the darkness of sleep taking them, and they drifted off, shoulders touching and breathing in sync.
Outside the tent, Aaron and Harold stood by the river, listening more than watching in the darkness. The river rushed past them, sprinkling onto the rocks. Every once in awhile, they could hear a fish jump or a frog croak.
“Are you sure you're alright?” Harold asked. Aaron smiled.
“You see someone else have a health issue and you ask me if I'm alright straight on? I'm fine, really.”
“It was a hard day, was all,” Harold said, not wanting to admit that was exactly what he was doing. “Both of us should be asleep.”
“We should be,” Aaron replied. “Instead, we are standing here, speaking about nothing.”
“There were days when we would stand here, speaking about nothing until dawn,” Harold pointed out. “Do you remember that? Nights on the ship where we'd discuss everything under the sun and no one could breach the world we created?”
“Aye,” Aaron said, with a smile. “I do think fondly of those days.”
“I've been thinking,” Harold said. “Of your...issue.”
“Which one?” the blond asked plainly.
“With Shauna and Kirsten being so far away. I know that you miss them so, and it's not right that I get to live this life, and you don't.”
“What do you propose?” Aaron asked. “Because as painful as it is, Harold, I knew what I was doing when I accepted this plan.”
“It's complicated,” Harold answered. “And I'm not quite sure it will work.”
“Just spit it out, man,” Aaron chuckled and gave him a grin.
“Wesley has absolutely no interest in returning to the life of an Earl,” Harold said. “Or letting Lola return to her life as his wife. Neither of them are ever home, and both of them are happier that way. Regardless, he has more houses than you do, settled into the countryside of Ireland. Both of them are happier in the city, though, to stay active, to be constantly immersed in life and moving.”
“Yes?” Aaron asked, not entirely sure where Harold was going with this. Harold was incredibly intelligent, and always figured out a solution for every problem. Occasionally, it was of such a high thought process that no one really followed. “All of these things are true.”
“Wouldn't it do us all better to switch?” Harold asked. Aaron choked.
“Sorry?”
“You want to be close to your family, to come and go without question, and that is what I want for you as well. If we switched houses...let Wesley and possibly Lola take up residence in Bamber Manor as keepers of the estate, and we did the same in one of his larger country manors? God knows there's enough room for everyone in either house. No one knows us in Ireland; not our faces, not our names. We could be whoever we wanted to be, come and go as we please. You wouldn't be able to regain your title, of course, but I would be happy to relinquish rights of head of the household to you.”
“Huh,” Aaron said. “That is an interesting suggestion. But the title...”
“The title would be protected,” Harold said. “When the children are grown and old enough to inherit and run a house, we could return to that life. But for now, this will give us years, possibly decades depending on how quiet we keep our story. We could live as we once did... just with slightly different names.”
“It is a brilliant idea,” Aaron replied. “Are you sure you want to propose this? It would mean moving your whole family to the middle of nowhere...”
“So that they could be together again,” Harold said. “I would have to go into London from time to time, but there are Navy officers in Ireland. I have a high enough rank that I could dictate where I go to work. A desk is a desk, so as long as I accept mail, it could be a desk in my own home.”
“I think Annabelle would prefer that,” Aaron said, and Harold looked to him.
“Moving?”
“Having you home,” the former Lord Bamber treaded carefully. “Don't speak to her about this...but she revealed to me that the reason she came here is because she wanted to spend time with you; have James know you. I know you are good to her, Harold, but she feels neglected, ignored, and Annabelle is a very loving, attentive person. She needs you by her side...even if it means putting herself in the danger that comes with being a soldier's wife.”
“What?” Harold was stunned by this. “But she...we spent years apart. We only saw each other twice a year at most.”
“That was then,” Aaron replied. “And unlike Lola and Wesley, my sister does not wish to maintain that independence. There are children to consider now, Harold, and no one wishes to spend their years alone.”
“Oh my,” Harold dropped his head. “I thought she just wanted an adventure; I thought she was bored. I had no idea...”
“It was probably the secondary cause,” Aaron tried to assure him. “Annabelle is always up for any kind of adventure. But...”
“I'm sorry,” Harold turned to him. “I didn't mean to be anything but kind to her.”
“I know, that's why I'm telling you,” Aaron answered. “There's still time to make it right though.”
“I agree,” Harold said. “And should we speak to Wesley?”
“Perhaps in the morning,” Aaron stifled again. “If he gets angry about it, it can fuel the march and later attack.”
“Mm,” Harold replied. “I'm not sure he needs any more anger to fuel him.”
“He's just...” Aaron sighed. “If there’s any suggestion in that brilliant brain of yours for how to get him and Lola reconciled, we'd all be open to it.”
“Short of her putting on a version of Hamlet where she apologizes to her lifelong scorned lover, I doubt it,” Harold said. “Come, we should turn in. And if Annabelle's waiting up for me, I don't want to keep her any longer.”
“You're a good man, Harold,” Aaron said as they headed back to the camp. Harold wanted to lavish praise on him as well; for Aaron had clarified everything. However, he fell silent; knowing words would never be enough to thank Aaron for what he had done.