Page 35 of Dawn's Untrodden Green

He forced open his eyes as a dark shape hovered high above him.

“Forgive me, sir, but I daren’t come any closer.”

“The floor,” he mumbled.

“The floor is broken. I’ll be back in just a moment.”

“Don’t leave.” He wanted, needed, his angel to return. Trying to negotiate this pain without the angel might be more than he could bear.

Somewhere inside his head, a voice mocked him. How strange that he could endure all he had on the battlefield, but a few months home in England had softened him to such a state. He truly was undeserving of the medal King George had pinned on his breast if he couldn’t withstand a little pain.

From far away he heard a low exchange of voices, then there came a sound of creaking, a scattering of rubble, and he opened his eyes to see a dark shape draw near. He forced himself to focus, and as the edges of his vision sharpened, he recognized the person as the pretty miss who had cared for his niece. Not that he could remember either of their names.

“You.”

“Hello, Captain Balfour.” She drew near. “You seem to have had a tumble.”

“Floor.”

“Yes, the floor collapsed. I am here, and Robert Brigham too, though he daren’t venture down the rickety stairs, as they might give way under his weight.”

“You’re brave.”

“Well, not as brave as some,” she countered, with an upward tweak of lips.

Warmth bloomed across his chest. He liked her voice. He liked her smile. It seemed to illuminate her face. Or perhaps that was simply the effect of the lantern she held.

Her gaze left his and ventured down his body, her breath catching as she saw his leg. “Oh my!”

“Hurts like the blazes.”

“I’m sure it does.” She moved as if to touch his arm, then seemed to think better of it and shifted away.

“Don’t go,” he begged, stretching his fingers toward her. “Need you.”

“The person I think you need is the doctor,” she admonished, clasping his hand. “Please, sir, I will do all I can, but you need to be brought out of here, and I dare not try because I fear I have neither the strength nor the manner of doing so that would not provoke you to even greater levels of pain.”

“Fetch the doctor,” he muttered.

“I will send Robert to do so at once. Please excuse me for a moment.”

“You’ll return?”

“I assure you I will.”

He heard her move away and shut his eyes, wishing he might shut out the pain as well. Heat swept over him in a thousand prickles. Was it a return to the fever which had first struck in Walcheren? He’d been lucky to only suffer a mild case, unlike poor Adam Edgerton, who had suffered far more devastating consequences of the insidious disease.

Noise drew his attention and he opened his eyes again.

Her face was very pale, and her hair, having escaped its chignon and silly cap, clung damply to her skin. From this angle, with the lantern spilling light, he could see her eyes, could see the gold flecks in the dark-green depths. Fairy eyes, his mother used to say.

“You’re very pretty,” he said, eliciting her wry smile.

“And you’ve obviously bumped your head to be saying such things.”

“Why not? ’Tis true. And better than focusing on my leg.”

She bent closer and gently wiped his brow with a white handkerchief. “Do you remember when this happened?”

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