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The Rakehell Regency Romance Collection Volume 2(14)

By:Sorcha MacMurrough




She shook her head, breaking off her reverie at last. She resumed her playing once more. All this speculation was getting her nowhere. She would just have to wait until the poor man was feeling better to get the answers to some if not every question teeming in her brain. Like who was his family, was he married....



She started when she sensed a presence in the room, and glanced up to find Caleb standing patiently, but not looking at her.



"What is it, Caleb? What's upset you so much? You look as though you've seen a ghost."



The older man shook his head. "I think I have. I know he's a soldier and everything. But I can't understand how anyone could have survived what he has. His back. He must be in pain all the time."



She frowned. "What about his back?"



"I looked all over while I was washing him. He has a couple of nicks and cuts on his arms and legs, but nothing serious. No, all of his injuries are on his back. It is almost like he's been flogged and then stripped of his flesh or something."



Sarah's mouth went dry. "Stripped?" she repeated, horror-stricken.



Caleb nodded. "Sorry to distress you, Miss. But you need to know the truth. Regular soldiers are flogged in the army all the time, but not gents like him."



"Who on earth would do such a thing?"



He shrugged. "Dunno, Miss, and I hope to Christ I never meet up with them. One thing's for sure, though. Whoever tried to kill him beat and tortured him first, and attacked him from behind."





Chapter Three



Sarah could maintain no pretense of concentrating on the pianoforte after the information Caleb had just imparted. The handsome stranger who had come to call had been tortured and attacked from behind. She supposed many dreadful injuries happened in war, but most of the time it would be a single wound, or a cannon ball or piece of searing shrapnel. She forced herself to remember her brother Jonathan's description of what had befallen his friends at the siege of Cuidad Rodrigo in January 1812.



"Clifford and Thomas were dead," her sandy-haired brother had said. "As sure as I'm sitting here, they were dead. We had been ordered to go into the breach, even knowing how dangerous it was. The three of us were handpicked to go in first, though many others had volunteered. But we were led like lambs to the slaughter. There was a huge trench, with evil spikes at the bottom of it. Clifford went first, fell in and was impaled through the back and stomach.



"They had two small cannon firing down on us, and set fire to a powder bag as well. As Thomas stepped into the breach and leapt down into the ditch, the bag went off, peppering him with shrapnel. His legs were both mangled messes. I knew even if he lived, they would both have to be amputated.



"I dropped down into the trench, all thought of fighting gone. Thomas said goodbye to me, and I could see the blood spurting out of both legs. His pulse grew fainter, and I could feel him slipping away.



"Clifford was no better. I could see, well, all of his innards. He was gritting his teeth in agony as he clasped my hand and gave me messages for his loved ones. I felt the pulse at his wrist getting weaker.



"I put my hands on Thomas's legs to try to stop the bleeding, and prayed as I never had before. I asked God to spare them both, to take me instead. I told the Lord I would make any bargain he liked, devote myself to the sick and the poor and the helpless, so long as he spared the two men who were like brothers to me.



"I don't know how long I knelt there praying, but when I finally looked at my surroundings once more, I saw something I never thought I would see.



"It was a miracle. Clifford groaned and stirred, and sat up. The blade was gone, and he had only a ragged tear in his coat to show where he had been pierced, and two jagged scars. He was in fierce pain, but his body was whole.



"Thomas's recovery was even more miraculous. His breeches were completely shredded, but when he finally came to at the field hospital, they said he would be fine. They washed his legs. They were peppered with little piercing wounds, which have left small scars. He could hardly bend his legs at first, and was in severe pain, but they improved over time. But he was dead, I tell you. He had bled to death right before my eyes.



"It was a miracle, I'm sure of it. After that, I did the only thing I could do. I served for a time longer, until I could sell my commission and be discharged honorably, which I did after I was slightly wounded at the siege at Badajoz in April. We all got sent home together after that. I kept my promise to God, and became a minister. Clifford and Thomas were both invalided out of the war, and have dedicated themselves to all the causes they've espoused ever since."