Blue Bonnets by Marie Laval Read Free Book Online Page B

stand up?’
    â€˜Leave me. I told you… it’s too late… this time,’ he said in an exhausted whisper.
    â€˜No, I’ll help you.’
    She slipped her hands under his arms and pulled him up in a sitting position. He was so weak he sagged against her. Gritting her teeth, she slipped her hands under his arms again, pulled and pushed, panting with the effort. It took three attempts but he eventually managed to sit up.
    She then grabbed hold of his boots, slid her hands slowly along his calves, along his strong, muscular thighs, and she tried to fold his legs up. His body shuddered under her touch. He opened his eyes and shot her a stare as hot as molten lead.
    â€˜What the hell are you doing?’
    â€˜Helping you…’
    â€˜I said to leave me alone.’
    She curled her hands on her hips and smiled.
    â€˜I never thought I would say this, but I’m actually glad to hear your grumpy voice. If you have the strength to be cantankerous, then you can’t be feeling that bad. Anyway, whether you want it or not, I’m not leaving you on this cold, dirty floor.’
    She patted his knees and added an authoritative ‘Don’t move’, before slipping her hands under his armpits again.
    â€˜Now, push with your heels into the floor while I lift you up.’
    She heaved, pulled, pushed and panted until at last he was up on his feet. Then wrapping both arms around his waist to support him, she staggered with him towards the fireplace.
    â€˜Sit on that chair while I make some tea.’
    He flinched as he collapsed into the chair, and lifted his hand to his chest again.
    â€˜Is your chest hurting?’ she asked, kneeling down in front of him and gently brushing his hair back from his forehead.
    Her anger melted away at once, and she was shaken by a potent blend of compassion, helplessness and the inexplicable urge to stroke his face, his hair, and make him well again.
    He gave a weak nod. ‘My head too. Always my head.’
    â€˜And you’re sure it’s not because you drank too much whisky?’
    She cast a doubtful eye towards the flask and the tumbler on the table. She didn’t care what he’d say, the thing was vile and she would dispose of it at the earliest opportunity.
    He squeezed his eyes shut, took a few shallow breaths.
    â€˜It’s not the whisky. I’ve had these fits before, but they’re getting worse.’
    He paused. ‘I know what it is… It’s the curse.’
    â€˜What curse?’
    â€˜My curse. Here.’ He pointed to his chest and spoke in a strange language. ‘ Ahankar .’
    â€˜You mean – the tattoo?’ Her breath became short, her face warm, as she remembered the dark blue letters stencilled just above his heart. ‘What does it mean?’
    He closed his eyes and spoke barely unintelligible words.
    â€˜Pride. Mine. Ferozeshah. It’s because of me it happened… It’s my curse, my own bloody fault my men died.’
    His voice broke and he slumped against the back of the chair.
    He might be delirious but she had to keep him awake until he’d had a hot drink.
    â€˜What happened at Ferozeshah?’ she asked, even if she already knew about it. Cameron had told her about McGunn’s debacle in the Punjab. It was the reason he had been dismissed from the army.
    â€˜I didn’t know you were… interested in war and… battles.’ He spoke slowly, wincing with every word.
    â€˜Don’t forget my father was a colonel in Napoleon’s Cuirassiers. I grew up listening to his battle stories. He and my brother would discuss strategy and battle tactics. Actually, I think you might be interested in some of the accounts in his war diary…’
    The words died on her lips as a vague memory fluttered into her consciousness then fluttered right out again. She held her breath, closed her eyes. It was something about the diary, something important. She