The Lost Love of a Soldier: A timeless Historical romance for fans of War and Peace. Jane Lark

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      He pulled away, kneeling first and then getting up, before offering her his hand. Once he’d pulled her up he began dusting snow from her cloak.

      It had been good to laugh. She’d needed laughter, and perhaps he’d known. Perhaps he’d needed laughter too. This beautiful, young, elemental, warrior was not invincible. He felt pain and hurt over the loss of life. He must be weighed down by memories. He needed her. She would protect him too, love him and comfort him, and she would make him happy.

      “We’d better be on our way,” he prompted, his voice implying the threat which still hung over them, of being caught by her father.

      She nodded, taking his offered hand.

      “Things will be good between us, Ellen. I promise. I know last night was abhorrent to you. Death is a terrible thing, no matter that a man is your enemy, and even if he is trying to kill you. I hope you will not have to face it often, and I will do everything I can to protect you. I love you.”

      “I know.”

      She could face living on the edge of a battlefield, as long as he had to endure fighting on one, and when he came back she would help him fight the ghosts.

      “You will endure, Ellen, and we will be happy. I swear it to you.”

      ~

      It had turned to dusk as the carriage dashed the last few miles towards Gretna, and Paul urged it on mentally, as he could not give physical encouragement. But it felt far too slow, and he would have gladly given anything to be up on the box shouting at the horses and flicking a whip. There had been no more snow, thank God, and no thaw to make the roads turn to a quagmire of muddy slush but even so the weather hindered their pace. The tracks they travelled over were hard yet slippery, so they could not race at full tilt.

      Hurry. Hurry. He still had no idea if her father followed. But they’d lost time last night and it would be the worst thing to be caught just before Gretna.

       Come on. Faster.

      He wanted to jump out and pull the damned horses. Come on.

      Ellen sat beside him, and his hand held hers, probably too tightly. He relaxed his grip, but he knew she was anxious too. They both sat forward looking from opposite windows, listening for the noise of a carriage or riders in pursuit. But surely no one could gain any ground on them; their carriage had been forced to go slower but it was not slow.

       Come on.

      Ellen glanced across at him. He smiled at her, trying to reassure her, though he doubted he succeeded, he did not feel assured himself.

       Hurry up.

      They could not be far from the border, but night had begun to creep across the sky, turning the vista eerie and he was not sure they’d find a witness if they crossed after dark. Would anyone rise from their bed at night to perform the favour, and confirm the ceremony? For enough money, maybe; but he would be spending the precious funds he needed to cloth Ellen. Heaven knew he had spent enough years penniless during the Peninsular War. He’d only received his accrued arrears of wages a few weeks back. He’d also had a small inheritance from a deceased aunt. Still he was not rich.

       Come on.

      The sky became darker and bleak; they’d passed Carlisle hours ago. In the deep blue light of sundown, he recognised his first sight of the sea on the horizon, and then the inlet of a river mouth; the estuary which marked the Scottish border. He looked at Ellen, the tension inside him spinning in a sudden eddy, disorientation tumbling over him for a moment. Ellen leaned across him and looked out the window on his side.

      The driver slid the hatch open. “We’ve crossed the border, Captain.”

      Thank God. “Hurry then. Stop at the first place you think we will find a witness."

      Anyone could bear witness to a wedding under Scottish law. As long as the bride was older than five and ten. If he and Ellen stood before a Scotsman and said they wished to marry, then the deed was done, and English law had to recognise it. They had no need for parental consent or a priest. That was why they’d come.

      The carriage hurried on, travelling past the estuary, where a few small boats rested on the sand, left stranded by the low tide.

      Paul let go of Ellen’s hand and drew the window down, to look ahead. They passed over the bridge beneath which the river ran out to sea. He saw nothing as the chill night air rushed into the carriage.

      Behind him, he heard Ellen slide down the opposite window. A harsh cold draft swirled through the carriage penetrating his clothing.

      Come on. He leaned out the window and looked back along the track, but no carriage, or horses, pursued them.

      “I see something!” Ellen called. “A little forge beside the road.”

      He looked ahead and saw nothing on his side. Looking up at the box he yelled, “Driver. We will stop at the forge!”

      Slipping back into the carriage he turned to Ellen.

      She smiled broadly, her fingers gripping the sill of the open window as the breeze swept a few loose strands of hair off her face. She’d taken her bonnet off. It rested on the carriage seat opposite.

      She glanced at him, her pale blue eyes engaging with the last eerie blue light of early evening. She was magnificent; he’d never seen a woman as beautiful as she. Every man in his regiment would envy him, and when he went into battle he would have this beauty to come back to, to refresh his battered soul.

      He gripped her hand again as they travelled the last few yards in silence, in the freezing cold carriage.

      A few moments only and they would be safe. Married.

      The carriage slowed and pulled up, sliding a little, and Paul braced his hand on the side, holding himself steady. It was a squat, whitewashed building, little bigger than a stable, with a thatched roof. “Stay here,” he said as he let go of her hand, and moved to open the door.

      He climbed out onto the road but shut the door, leaving Ellen inside until the arrangements were made. As he walked about the carriage, the blacksmith came out, wiping his hands on a rag. His face and hands were dirt stained, dusted with dark smut, and he wore an old leather apron.

      “Ye looking to get y’urself hitched?” The question was bluntly put, implying this man had done the deed a thousand times.

      “Yes. Will you bear witness?”

      “For a price… What will ye give me?”

      What Paul offered first the man rejected. Paul’s uniform marked him as an officer, and the man assumed he’d pay more. But unwilling to throw money away Paul haggled until they reached a price he was prepared to agree.

      “Bring your woman,” the blacksmith said as they shook hands, “and let’s get it done.”

      After handing over the payment, Paul turned to the carriage. His heart jolted and a tight sensation gripped in his chest. She watched from the open window. He smiled. Her smile rose like sunshine in answer, cutting through the dusk. She was not only beautiful СКАЧАТЬ