Among the Poppies by J'nell Ciesielski

Author:J'nell Ciesielski [Ciesielski, J'nell]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Smitten Historical Romance
Published: 2018-06-10T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 15

An odorous wall of soiled clothes, unwashed men, and mold hit William in the face as soon as the basement door swung open. His stomach churned, the back of his throat longing to gag. And this was where they kept her.

“Next time keep your mouth shut, Will.” Roland grumbled behind him as they eased their way down the rotting stairs. “As officers, they may have kept us upstairs. With fresh air.”

“They’ve already got one lieutenant and a woman down here. We’re nothing special.”

Wet coughing sounded in the dim space below. Shuffling and hushed voices. And scampering clawed feet.

“Captain Crawford?”

Gwyn.

His foot touched the stone ground. Dim morning rays peered in from a window cut high in the wall, highlighting the lounging figures on the floor. All eyes fixed on him, but he sought only one pair. A small shape moved from the corner, dwarfed by a hulking shadow.

“Welcome to our quarters, Captain,” Gwyn said.

William checked himself before rushing forward to gather her in his arms and assure himself that she was well. Only with his arms around her would the fear of the past few hours be put to rest, and once he’d felt her warm and safe against his chest, he would shake the ever living daylights out of her for not staying by the ambulance as ordered. But all that would have to wait until the dozen pairs of eyes weren’t trained on him.

Gwyn turned her attention to Roland. “Captain Morrison, I see your leg is well enough to stand on.”

“Hurts like the dickens,” Roland muttered.

A snicker came from the shadow hovering behind Gwyn.

Roland’s lips pinched. “Is there something funny, Sergeant?”

The shadow stepped forward, revealing a bear of a man with shaggy red hair dressed in a filthy Highlander’s kilt and tunic. “I was just thinking you should swap injury stories with Duncan over there. He gets lonely with the only leg wound.”

“Why don’t you take a load off next to Duncan, Roland?” William gave his attention to the Scotsman. “What’s your name, soldier?”

“Lieutenant MacDonald of the Second Battalion Royal Scots Fusiliers.” He shrugged at the lack of stars on his shoulder. “I got a wee promotion when all my officers were killed the first day.”

“And you’re the man in charge now.”

“No, sir. That’s you.”

“Oh. Oh, yes.” Tension wrapped around William’s neck. The cold, musty floor looked as inviting as a feathered quilt and pillows. Perhaps someday he could take that rest and let someone else hold the reins.

“William, come and sit down.” Gwyn curled a hand around his arm. “Let me take a look at the scrape. It’s been hours since I bandaged it.”

William shook his head despite the pull of her warm touch. “I’d like to meet the men first. Take stock of the wounds and—”

“And wake them all when they haven’t had a proper night’s sleep? I’ll make introductions for you later.”

He allowed her to lead him to an unoccupied spot along the wall and sank wearily to the floor. As Gwyn prodded his cheek, he plied MacDonald with questions about his capture and their captors.

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