Laird of Ballanclaire by Jackie Ivie

Author:Jackie Ivie [Ivie, Jackie]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Fiction, Romance, Historical, General
ISBN: 9781420132748
Google: TVLUAAAAQBAJ
Publisher: Zebra Books
Published: 2013-10-01T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seventeen

“Well? Anything to report, Lieutenant?”

The voice was as calmly authoritative as it had been all day and into the evening. Constant held her breath in order to listen through the half-open door.

“They’re trying to save the eye. He took a nasty blow there. He might not be able to see with it, if they can save it. The surgeons aren’t certain, sir.”

“Is Thornacre working on him?”

“Has been since he was brought in, sir. Exactly as you ordered.”

“Very good. You may go. Shut the door on your way out.”

“Yes, sir.”

The soldier came out, shutting the door behind him with a little click of the lock. He glanced toward Constant, perched on the long wooden bench, and then away.

He turned, as if on a lightly sanded dance floor, and walked past her, his footsteps echoing loudly on the wooden floor. She watched when he got to the end of the corridor and swiveled smartly to proceed down the next hall. And then she returned to contemplating her apron-and-skirt-covered knees.

The sound of the soldier’s footsteps slowly faded. Constant listened until she couldn’t hear them anymore. The entire building was filled with long corridors of plank-lined walls and floors. The space echoed loudly with every movement. It also had a strange quietude, so that when no one was about, it felt as if even the sound of her breathing was sucked from her. Constant blinked her eyes at the sight of her apron, felt the burn behind her eyelids before she reopened them, unable to rest even for that amount of time. She wasn’t tired. She was exhausted. There was a difference. If she was tired, she’d be able to nap. But her physical and emotional exhaustion left her unable to do more than sit, blink occasionally, and wait to eavesdrop on the next update of Kameron’s condition.

It had been the same since they’d brought her here. Constant had informed one of the soldiers that she was Kameron’s wife, but he’d only chuckled and continued to ignore her.

They’d assisted Kameron down from the horse at Middle Oak and eased him onto a makeshift stretcher. Constant hadn’t been able to see what they did from that point, for soldiers surrounded him. Nobody paid any attention to her. She was left to mount Kameron’s horse and follow. She didn’t know what else to do. She couldn’t go home. Despite how much she detested the members of the mob, she couldn’t betray her community. Soldiers were scouring the countryside for the perpetrators. And she was wed now. Her place was with her husband.

And that’s why she followed the line of men bearing Kameron’s injured body all the way to their garrison.

Constant traced the slight stain on her apron and brought it to her nose. She sniffed, and then remembered. She’d been peeling onions. For stew. To hide her sobs. It felt like a lifetime ago.

Footsteps started echoing in the hall again. Constant turned her head to watch the same adjutant perform the same forty-five-degree-angle turn at the end of the hall and then proceed to the door beside her.

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