Chapter 4 The Relapse

Cecily shifted to her back, smiling with pleasure as Caleb drew the blanket up to their waists. Her body still tingled from his touch, and she closed her eyes to savor the feeling. Feeling his arm slide across her ribs to rest beneath her breasts, she turned her head and blindly met his possessive kiss, wondering if he was about to begin all over again. Loving the changes in her body as the added bulk from her pregnancy was dwindling away, she stretched her arms overhead and snuggled against him, shivering with pleasure as he pressed against her side and settled back into his pillow. Curling against him, she lowered her arm to draw his head into her embrace and sighed contentedly.

"You look like the cat that just ate a mouse," he teased, purring into her ear and making gooseflesh rise all along her skin.

"I'm happy, darling," she whispered, clasping his hand to her stomach and holding it in place. He stretched it wide over her newly flattened abdomen.

"As am I," he said huskily, turning her to her side and holding her back against his length. "I love coming home after a trip, when I can be sure you missed me."

She turned her head and gazed at his teasing smile. "You know how much I miss you when you're away!" she gasped, careful not to talk too loudly and awaken Matthew.

"Then come with me," he urged, hugging her close. "You know how much I need you to distract me from the tedium of my work, especially with the wealthier clients."

"Maybe next time," she sighed. "I haven't because Matthew is still too young—"

"The change will do you both well," he reassured her. "And we won't have so much loving to make up for when we return."

"Oh really?" she breathed, laughing softly. "And how do you expect to carry on if we are all cramped into one hotel room?"

He frowned. "I hadn't thought of that…perhaps we can reserve a suite, instead."

"Why don't we discuss it in the morning?" she suggested with a yawn, pulling up the blankets.

"Good idea—try to get some rest, at least until he wakes up for his next feeding."

She stretched her head back against his neck as he cradled it with his chin. "Tis a pleasure to feed him," she breathed, closing her eyes.

"Tis more of a pleasure to watch," he chuckled, grunting when she jabbed her elbow into his side. This only made him tighten his arm around her and nibble her neck.

"You are an insufferable lecher!" she giggled softly, pulling his hand up and holding it in hers.

"I am only a normal man, my dear," he breathed into her ear. "And I did not only refer to the luscious sight of you feeding him."

"Caleb!"

"No, truly—it warms my heart to see you two together: my little country girl of a wife, nursing our handsome son. What more could a man want?"

She sighed and ran her fingers over his forearm. "I cannot think of anything else in the world…"

"There is perhaps one thing…"

Nearly asleep, she realized he had spoken to her. "Hmmm? And what is that?"

He yawned dramatically and relaxed along her length. "To see your sister quickly married off…"

She nodded, yawning herself and patting his arm. "We will, darling…we will…"

Her Thursday shift was nearly over when Ceara heard the noise. Glancing up from inventory to check the time, she frowned and turned her head toward the direction of Aaron's room. He was a restless sleeper, she knew by now, but another dull thud brought her out of her chair and sent her rushing to his door, where she halted in stunned shock. He met her glare of disapproval with pain and solid determination in his own, despite the face that he stood slumped against the wall, one arm curled about his waist. He was breathing heavily and she could see perspiration dotting his brow. The grim set of his lips relaxed as he attempted a grin.

"Guess I lost my balance," he croaked, slowly straightening but leaning heavily against the wall.

Recovering from her shock, she rushed to duck beneath his arm. "What are you doing?" she gasped, placing a steadying hand at his waist. She felt him stiffen in response and noted the heat of his skin through his thin, half buttoned nightshirt. "You are in no condition to be getting up without help—"

"I'm leaving," he announced, lifting his arm from her shoulders and wincing in response.

"You cannot be serious—" she warned, moving with him toward the wardrobe. She was afraid that if she did not he would fall facedown.

"Help me find some proper clothing," he ordered, grasping the top edge of the sturdy piece. "I'll need a few supplies as well…"

Keeping a hand at his waist she watched him pull a shirt from the top drawer. "In case you haven't noticed it's the middle of the night, not to mention the approaching storm," she protested. "Have you considered the possibility of opening your wounds and disturbing Dr. Koch—"

"Who is shipping me off to prison at his earliest convenience," he said tightly, adding a vest and undershirt to the pile atop the bureau. Ignoring the hand she clamped around his arm, he turned to head back toward the bed, halting when she darted around him to block his path.

"He only thinks he is!" she whispered, gripping his upper arms. Regretting her decision to wait until morning to share her news, she looked up at him pleadingly. "When Mr. Masters escorts you away in three days' time it will be to escort you instead to a place where we can hide you."

He gently eased her aside. "I'm leaving tonight to stay in Faith's abandoned barn, but I do appreciate all that you've done for me." But everything is in place—"

"Now I suggest you go back to your paperwork," he warned, one hand poised at his waistband, "unless you wish to witness me changing my trousers."

She snatched the pile of clothing up and held it to her chest. "If you leave before the 29th you will miss Captain Burke—"

"Burke, coming here?" he gasped, glancing toward the door. She inadvertently glanced down at his half unfastened trousers. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"With Dr. Koch here every day there was no opportunity!" she hissed, coming closer. "We must not risk too many people knowing—"

"Including me?" he shot back, bending toward the bed with a grimace of pain. She watched him set a hand to his side and pause before he slowly withdrew it. They both stared dumbly at the blood which was staining his fingers.

"Now look what you've done!" she squeaked, tossing the clothing onto the bed as he slowly sat down. She knelt before him and lifted his shirt up. "I need to get some bandages."

"I'm fine—what about Burke?" he demanded, watching her rush to retrieve scissors and bandaging.

"You need tending first," she replied, searching for the antiseptic.

"Exactly what communication have you exchanged?"

"Later," she dismissed, sitting next to him and unfastening his nightshirt. "Lean back so I can see what you've done to yourself."

"This is more important," he insisted, obeying her orders nevertheless. When she pulled off the shirt he pulled in a sharp breath. "Now tell me how you contacted him—"

"Stop giving orders," she snapped, cutting away the blood soaked wrapping. "I'm not one of your foot soldiers, and I prefer to concentrate on your wound at this moment!"

He glanced up at her with narrowed gaze, and the heat of his glare shot shivers of forbidden excitement down her back. "Very well," he breathed, letting her take his hand and place it over the new bandaging to staunch the bleeding. "If that's the only way I'll get an explanation."

With a sigh of frustration she leaned past him to stand his pillows higher, guiding him to lean into them so that she could work. He leaned upon his good side and followed her silent instructions. From time to time she looked up to note the clench of his jaw and pale color. He was obviously in a lot of pain but she had to clean the wound and inspect its edges. Thankfully there was no sign of redness, drainage or swelling to indicate recurrent infection, but the top two stitches had broken and needed repairing. She got up and went to the table to find what she would need.

"Well?" he asked gruffly, "Report in, Commander."

Smiling despite her irritation with him, she avoided his gaze. "Patience, Lieutenant."

"I didn't realize you were that stubborn, sir."

"How gentlemanly of you to say so," she said sweetly, coming back toward him and perching on the edge of the bed. "Two of your stitches need to be replaced, so you will have to hold very still."

He waited for her glance and held it defiantly. "I appreciate the extra effort."

She turned to soak both needle and thread in antiseptic, noting the fact that he pulled the pillows beneath his ribs and prepared himself. Helping her as best he could, he braced himself as she touched his side. "We haven't time to wait for a draught of medication: would you like a shot of liquor to help?"

"No—I don't partake."

Raising her brows in silence she began, working as quickly and expertly as she could, all the while admiring his fortitude. He had an unusually high tolerance for pain, she noted, much greater than in any other patient she had treated. Given this, she could not help but wonder what his life had been like before he had come here, how much he had suffered and borne. He endured with no more than a soft gasp, and once the new stitches were in place she cleaned the wound, applied liniment and finished with fresh dressings. Thankful for his wordless cooperation, she felt herself blush when he raised his arms to allow her to circle his waist with two layers of bandaging. This brought them into close and intimate contact, and unbidden thoughts of what it might feel like to be held in those arms rose up before her. For the first time in her life she found herself too aware of him as a man, not just a patient. It both frightened and thrilled her, making her wonder what it was about him that drew her.

When at last she helped him into a clean nightshirt and rested her hand upon his shoulder, she studied his paler complexion and worried over his quickened breaths. Getting up to prepare a draught of medication for his pain, she handed it over to him and tried to hide her surprise when he drank it quickly and wordlessly. He even let her guide him back further into the pillows and cover him up. When he glanced up at her looking spent and exhausted, she held her tongue and nodded in satisfaction at the slow transition of his taut neck veins back toward a more relaxed appearance.

"Now rest," she ordered, her eyes moving to the center of his chest where a sprinkling of dark hairs peeked out from his nightshirt. Snapping her eyes back up she met his fascinated regard, but he said nothing. More flustered that he had noticed the direction of her attention, she quickly gathered her supplies and carried them to the table.

"Your report?" he prompted, turning his head to watch her shaking hands as she set things back to order and stepped back, smoothing her damp palms down her white apron. Avoiding his gaze and feeling silly, she heard his much softer tone command her. "Please, Ceara, sit down," he asked, and she knew that he regretted his brusque manner.

She turned her head and eyed him suspiciously, but sighed out her frustration and pulled her chair closer to the bed. Sitting upon the edge, she gripped the arms and met his waiting gaze.

"Four days ago Masters met with Captain Burke at an undisclosed location," she began. "He had traveled under the guise of buying supplies at a specialty merchant over in the next county."

He nodded but said nothing, his eyes dropping to her hands.

"Upon returning he informed me of the prearranged meeting on the 29th," she continued. "He will come for you on Monday, retrieve your transfer documents and escort you presumably toward Boston. Instead you will be driven to a safe house and hid until your meeting."

"Who else knows about this?"

"Only the owner of the tavern," she said primly.

"Tavern?" he frowned, leaning his head back into the pillows. "Are you sure this owner can be trusted?"

"Of course—he and Masters are old friends."

"Patriot friends?"

"Yes, of course!" she huffed despite his steely gaze. "Don't you trust us?"

"Surely you realize what I risk in trusting anyone," he defended.

"Well unfortunately your present condition forces you to do so, despite the obvious fact you find the task so distasteful!"

"You've judged me correctly," he admitted, his gaze softening a bit. "Though for some odd reason I find myself trusting you…"

She loosened her grip on the arms of the chair. "Now I suppose I should feel honored, or perhaps flattered—"

"Hardly," he huffed, smiling unexpectedly. "It is I who am honored, flattered and sorry…and I did not realize I was giving you orders."

Amazed at the rapid changes displayed by this man, she was taken aback. "I am just as guilty of giving orders, but I apologize as well."

He nodded. "Apology accepted?"

"Of course."

He settled back, the tension in his face easing. "Since I am under your supervision, it is only natural that you should give the orders, having my best interests in mind."

She nodded. "I do, Lieutenant."

"Aaron."

Relaxing herself, she felt a bit exhilarated by winning what felt like a great battle. "Then please, indulge me one final order: you will not leave before our plan has a chance to be implemented, is that clear?"

He nodded. "Very…there is one problem, however—the two youngsters waiting for me in the stables."

She gasped, glancing toward the door. "Now?"

"No, I was to meet them at midnight."

She got up, glancing down at him. "I give them your regrets—perhaps tomorrow they could come here and listen to your explanation: I am the only one working then, at least until Betsy's shift."

"That would be fine, if you could deliver that message."

"I will if you give me your word to stay right where you are."

"I promise."

"Good—now try to get some rest; I'll go tell them and come back to check on you afterward."

"I would appreciate that," he said, watching her get up and straighten the room. "What, no more orders?"

She glanced up from emptying the instrument pan. "I've had enough fighting for one night."

"How refreshing."

She smiled and presented herself for dismissal. "We might both manage better with a little less sarcasm. Now let me help you pull up your legs and get settled. It is good that you didn't get to your boots yet."

He complied, looking exhausted. She drew the blankets up to his waist and stood back. "Anything else before I leave?"

"No, thank you," he answered, and she noted the improvement in his colour.

Turning toward the door, she stopped when he called her name. "Ceara?"

Resting a hand on the door, she turned back. "Yes?"

He held her gaze a moment. "If you could talk some sense into those two, I would appreciate it."

She nodded. "I will see what I can do."

She watched him close his eyes and left him alone, going back to her desk to check the time. Putting away her books, she reached for her cloak and headed for the door which led toward the stables.

"Faith?" she called quietly, once again knocking softly upon the barn door as loud as she dared. Shivering in the cold air, she pulled her jacket tighter and heard a voice on the other side of the door.

"Where Is Mr. Aaron?"

She smiled with relief. "He's resting now—may I come in?"

After a moment the inside latch clicked and the door opened just enough for her to slip inside. Once she did the warmth of the barn wrapped her with welcoming arms. Her eyes took a moment to adjust to the darkness as she heard the door being latched before Faith came closer.

"What do ye mean 'now'?"

Ceara rested a hand upon her forearm. "He tried to come himself, but two of his stitches broke open when he got up," she said carefully. "I had to replace them in order to stop the bleeding."

"Oh no!" Faith gasped, covering her mouth. "We only wanted to help him escape!"

"But he's fine—"

"He won't be if he stays!" Faith squeaked. "I heard the doctor tell you he was going to turn him in—"

"How did you hear that?"

Faith glanced nervously behind her, moving away from the door. "Come with me first?"

Obeying without further objection, Ceara followed her to the far end of the stables and ducked behind the stairwell. There she saw the small living area they had arranged, where Paulie sat facing them dressed and obviously ready to leave. But his expectant look fell at the sight of them.

"He's not coming?" he breathed, his brow creased with worry.

Ceara tried not to stare at his sweet face, so reminiscent of her own lost brother's. Had he lived, he would be Paulie's age by now.

"He broke two stitches," Faith explained, nodding toward Ceara. "She had to sew them back up to stop the bleeding. We will just have to wait 'til he's better."

"Lieutenant Aaron sends his regrets," Ceara explained, coming closer at Paulie's beckoning. She sat upon the worn carpet stretched over the hay strewn floor, hiding her dismay at their poor living conditions. If Aaron saw them like this, he would leave with them anyway, she somehow knew. "He feels badly about not coming, but you mustn't blame him: as his nurse, I forbad him to get up."

"But if he stays he won't be safe," Faith whispered, sitting down and putting an arm around her brother's small shoulders. "We have to help him, for he helped us."

Paulie nodded, laying his head upon Faith's shoulder. Ceara was touched by their closeness, wondering what father would leave them all alone to fend for themselves, even though Faith must be at least 14 years of age.

"We will make sure he is not mistreated," she reassured them, though it was obvious from their expressions that they were hesitant to believe her. "But you must trust us that his wellbeing is our greatest concern."

"Why should we trust anyone?" Paulie wanted to know.

She leaned closer. "All I can say is that when he leaves here, there is no telling where he will truly go."

"You're going to hide him—I knew it!" Faith whispered happily, turning to Paulie. "Didn't I tell you she likes him?"

"I didn't say that, but you must believe that everything will be taken care of, so you don't have to worry," Ceara reassured them.

Paulie stared at her a moment, nodding slowly. "All right, but we will miss him."

Suddenly realizing the probability of never seeing Aaron again, she found herself overwhelmed with a sudden, deep sense of loss. "Tomorrow you may see him, if we are careful that no one sees or hears you, all right?"

They both nodded. "We'll make sure no one knows we're there."

"Come for dinner; but until then it's very late and I think we should all be getting some rest."

Paulie lay down immediately, pulling a coarse woolen blanket up to his chin. "I am tired all of a sudden, now that he's not coming."

"He hated to disappoint you," she replied, feeling somewhat guilty for elaborating on what little Aaron had said.

"We must be patient," Faith encouraged him, bending to kiss his forehead. "Now close your eyes while I walk Miss Ceara to the door, and then I'll be right back."

Ceara met Faith's hesitant smile as they both got to their feet. "Good night, Paulie," she said softly, "It was nice to meet you."

"G'night," he called, closing his eyes with a yawn.

Following Faith out into the main section of the barn, she walked close by Faith's side.

"We're very fond of Lieutenant Aaron," she explained, "even though we hardly know him. You can tell by his eyes that he has a good heart."

Ceara paused at the door, putting a hand on her arm. "One more thing, Faith—Lieutenant Aaron asked me to move you both to a nicer place, just so that he knows you'll be safe."

Her expression softened as she studied Ceara's face in the dim light. "He would do that, wouldn't he? But I don't know…we don't want to be any trouble."

"You would not be," Ceara agreed. "You don't have to stay if you don't like it."

"Maybe, just until our father comes back, looking for us."

"Let me see what I can find out—Betsy and I have plenty of room and could use your help."

"The other lady nurse?"

"Yes—we share her parents' house."

"So you'll have to ask them, too."

"That won't be necessary, Faith: they moved far away and soon Betsy will be going there to join them and her new husband."

"She's married?"

"Yes, her husband is building them a house. So you see, I will be all alone and would welcome the company."

"Do your parents live far away too?"

Ceara lifted the latch and rested her hand on the door. "My parents passed away, Faith."

"You are an orphan, with no family?"

"I do have a sister and one brother left—he is a soldier."

"Then you had other brothers, like Paulie?"

Ceara nodded. "Yes, and Jeffrey looked very much like Paulie."

"What happened to them?"

"My parents were killed in the fighting…my brothers died of fever later on. We tried to care for them, as you do for Paulie."

"So you don't want anything to happen to us, do you?" Faith asked gently.

"No, I don't…please, let me help you."

The girl studied her a moment, finally nodding. "If it is all right with Betsy, and with Paulie."

"Thank you, Faith. You'll give my mind some sorely needed peace if you do."

"Goodnight, Miss Ceara, and thank you."

Ceara smiled as she let herself out. "We will see you tomorrow…God be with you both."

Faith put a hand on her arm to stop her. "You do like him, don't you—Lieutenant Aaron?"

Ceara tried not to appear as surprised as she felt. "He's a fine man—"

"Because he likes you—I can tell by the way his eyes light up when he sees you. It reminds me of the way our papa used to look at Mama…"

"Faith! Whatever made you think such a thing?"

"And I think you like him, too!" she squeaked happily. "I knew it!"

"Please don't make a match of us, Faith—I have enough people trying to force me, when such things must come to be of their own accord."

Faith smiled and stepped back. "I would let you help me find a husband—I'm of age already."

"Don't rush things, Faith. You must pray about whom to marry—now get to bed, please!"

Faith nodded and watched Ceara walk away. When she turned back, the door was closed and she breathed a prayer of protection for the two children, remembering how she had felt in nearly the same position. It was no way for a child to grow up, she thought, going back inside.

Taking a moment to glance into his room, she was relieved to see that Aaron was sleeping soundly, judging by the slow rise and fall of his chest. Placing a hand to her head, she wearily made her way back to her desk, counting the hours when Betsy would come to relieve her.

c. 2008 by Christine Levitt