Previously:

Downton Abbey, England, October 1918

"Go to sleep," she smiled. "You can show me your stamina another night."

"Promise?" Matthew mumbled.

"Promise," Mary said, kissing his forehead.

"Can you stay?" Matthew asked, his eyes closed.

"I have to go ring for Anna and change," Mary said patiently.

"Then come back when you're ready for bed," he said thickly.

"Go to sleep," Mary smiled. "I promise I'll be here when you wake."

"Mmm," Matthew smirked. "I love you, Mary. You know that, don't you?"

"Yes, Matthew," Mary smiled as she heard his breathing slow down. "I know you do."

Chapter 10: The Cat That Walks By Himself

Downton Abbey, England, October 1918

"I…I don't…I don't know if I can, Sir…" William gasped.

"Stay awake, Mason!" Matthew slapped him on the face. "Stay with me."

Matthew resumed clearing the rocks and debris from William's legs. His right arm was throbbing and he could not seem to get any strength into it. When he tried to lift his right arm, pain would shoot forward and make him wince. So he kept it stuck to his side. He threw himself against each rock and awkwardly pushed them away with his left arm and chest.

After several agonizing moments, he finished his work and William's legs were free. There were ugly blood stains on his pants and his legs were splayed at odd angles. Matthew sat back and let out an exhausted breath.

"When we're missed, they'll circle back and discover us. We just need to hang on a bit longer," Matthew sighed.

William did not respond.

Matthew turned and his eyes widened as he saw the footman's head lolled to one side, his eyes shut.

"Mason!" Matthew yelled, reaching over and slapping him soundly. "For God's sake, man! Stay with me!"

Matthew slapped him again and again. He grabbed his uniform and shook him. William's head rolled across his shoulders, but his eyes stayed closed, and his chest did not rise.

"Mason!" Matthew screamed.

Matthew shot up in bed, his breathing ragged and choked. He blinked several times, gulping in lungfuls of air, his eyes darting all around wildly. The warm blanket across his body and the familiar surroundings of his bedroom came into focus. He shut his eyes hard and shook his head, trying to will the dark images out of his mind through sheer force of will.

He groaned as he turned over on his side, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and sitting up. He reached out with his left hand and found the pitcher on his nightstand. He poured water into the nearby glass and fumbled with it as he brought it to his lips with his left hand, draining the glass with loud swallows.

Matthew placed the glass back on the nightstand and fell back on to the pillows. His breathing calmed and he closed his eyes carefully. He was in England, not France. And Mason was alive. He would be arriving at Downton shortly, according to Robert. Mason was alive. Mason was recovering. Matthew had saved him.

He repeated the words in his mind over and over until he fell into a dreamless sleep.

"Now, raise your right arm in front of you, slowly," Sybil ordered, watching Matthew intently.

Matthew swallowed and brought his right arm up, raising it in front of him at a small angle, before he winced and dropped it back to his side.

"Again," Sybil nodded.

Matthew repeated the movement, barely moving his arm away from his waist, then letting it fall back again. He shook his head and sighed in frustration.

"Again," Sybil said plainly, ignoring his exasperation.

Back and forth they went, going through exercises to increase Matthew's range of motion with his right arm and shoulder. She had him push and pull his arm this way and that, sometimes using a wall for support, other times while holding a book in his hand, each task designed to increase the flexibility in his right side and build back his strength.

"Perhaps it's time for a break," Mary declared, looking on from her chair. "Can you feel an improvement, darling?"

"A little," Matthew nodded quietly. "But I still feel rather useless with it. Not being able to raise my arm more than a little is preposterous."

"It's going to take a while," Sybil said. "But don't worry, Cousin Matthew. You'll be back in fighting shape in no time, if I have any say in it. Now, give it another go this afternoon and I'll be back to check on you later."

Matthew nodded and smirked at his young cousin. Sybil winked at Mary then left to go back to her patients in the wards.

"I think you're coming along quite well," Mary said, rising and walking over to him. She picked up his jacket and helped him into it. Matthew rolled his eyes at her, then leaned forward and kissed her softly.

"Shall we go for our walk?" he asked.

"Of course. It is part of my treatment plan for you," Mary smiled. "And we've been quite lucky with the warm weather so far. It's rather balmy outside."

"And when do you think I'll be ready for more strenuous exercise, Nurse Crawley?" Matthew teased.

"If you can barely raise your arm as it is, you aren't ready for that just yet," Mary said pointedly.

Matthew shook his head and escorted her out to the Great Hall and towards the front door.

"Captain! Captain!" the shouts rang out all around him. Matthew bolted up from his cot, automatically scrambling for his helmet.

"We need you, Captain!" Wakefield shouted. "We're under attack! The Major has ordered us to cover the retreat."

Matthew leaped from bed, then groaned as pain shot across his chest. He looked down. His right arm was in a sling.

"But, I can't fight," Matthew said with a bewildered expression. "I can't hold my rifle."

"Let's go, Captain!" Wakefield screamed. He took off into the darkness.

Matthew reached up to buckle the strap of his helmet with his left hand. He fumbled with it several times, then gave up, the straps dangling uselessly. He grabbed his rifle and stumbled out of the tent.

The screams of battle cries and fallen soldiers were all around him as he ran through the trench after his men. He reached them and they all looked to him frantically, awaiting his orders as artillery boomed overhead and shots continued to ring out.

"Sir! How should we deploy?" William asked him.

Matthew looked at the footman and recoiled in shock.

"Mason?" Matthew asked in confusion.

William was sitting on the ground, propping himself up with his arms. His legs were splayed in front of him.

"Captain! Your orders, Sir!" another man called.

Matthew turned back to the men, noticing now for the first time that they all had injuries of some kind. There were some with heavy bandages around their arms and legs, others with patches over their eyes, and more still with crutches. One man was in a wheelchair.

"What's going on?" Matthew whispered.

"Matthew!" Alex shouted from close by. "We need your men to advance! Cover us while we pull back!"

Matthew turned and looked over at his friend. "But, Major! My men are in no condition to fight!" he called back.

"Advance, Matthew!" Alex snarled. "That's an order! Until every last one of you is dead, we fight!"

Matthew turned back to his legion of injured and crippled soldiers, his mind reeling.

"We fight!" they called.

Matthew shut his eyes.

"We fight!"

Matthew shook his head violently side to side. "No, this can't be," he cried desperately.

"We fight!"

"No!"

Matthew's eyes shot open and he gasped, looking up at the ceiling of his bedroom, the blankets strewn about the bed. He took several deep breaths, his pulse racing and a pounding in his head shaking him to the core. He slowly turned to confirm he was in his room, that his arm was still intact, the sling hanging loosely at his side. He sat up slowly and turned, reaching out a shaking hand for the pitcher of water.

Mary took a small bite of her toast, nibbling on it lightly before taking a sip of tea. She stole a quick glance across the table at Matthew, who was busy cutting into a poached egg.

In the weeks since his return, he had regained a great deal of the weight he lost at the Front, and his skin was showing more colour. He was still using a sling for his injured arm and shoulder, but it was more a precaution than anything else. This morning, a casual observer would see him as an ordinary man, sitting at the breakfast table with his family, enjoying a leisurely meal. He wore a day suit, dressed as though he were leaving for the office momentarily, every sign that he was a Captain in the British Army carefully removed and covered up.

But Lady Mary Crawley was hardly a casual observer. Not when it came to him. Every so often, she would notice Matthew's left hand shake as he reached for his tea cup or jabbed his fork into his food. From time to time, she would catch him staring off into space as though his mind was far away. And she knew very well the scars he carried.

She was very mindful of his shoulder, even though he tried desperately to act as though he was hardly affected by it. For a man so used to being independent and who abhorred even such normal routines such as having Molesley or Bates dress him in the morning and evening, not being able to use one of his arms was crushing to Matthew. He would stubbornly use his left hand to fetch books from the shelves in the library instead of asking for assistance, or when they went out walking he would throw his coat over his right side awkwardly, sometimes having to start over several times before getting it to catch properly across his shoulders. Mary sometimes wondered if Matthew could almost more easily bear having a broken leg like William. At least then he would be in a wheelchair and would be forced to accept her aid. The fact that he was able to do most things as easily as always made the few tasks he could not perform all the more frustrating.

Despite his assurances to the contrary, Mary also knew that their close proximity and the fact they were still sleeping under the same roof was not very helpful to his recovery. Matthew required rest and to keep his right side immobile to allow his body to heal properly. Unfortunately, rest and remaining still were hardly skills that Matthew had in abundance at the best of times. Mary learned over the years that he always needed to keep his hands occupied. He would often play with a pen while he read documents or the newspaper, flicking it between his fingers over and over. Lying or sitting still and not moving was hardly something he looked forward to.

It was all the more difficult for him given that they had not made love since he came back injured. If Mary's parents knew how often Matthew implored her to stay with him at night, they would probably consider banishing him back to Crawley House. Numerous times he had tried to seduce her following dinner, or even in the middle of the day when they were alone in some secluded part of the house. Mary was of course more than willing, and while she would never admit it, her care of Matthew during his convalescence was hardly professional. Truth be told, she was probably contributing to his somewhat ravenous state. Her hands lingered on his body for longer than necessary. Her tone when speaking to him often became teasing and flirtatious, and her eyes always lingered upon him more than was proper. She could not help it. They had been separated for far too long, and she could not very easily be distant and indifferent to the man she loved.

There was another reason Mary could not easily remain composed in his presence, though she would never admit it to anyone. Matthew had come back from the Front a changed man. In the early years of the War, he was gaunt and slightly pale, the result of lack of sleep and proper food. She noticed it the first time he returned to Downton with Lavinia and while he was as handsome as ever, it was shocking to see him in such a state. Over time however, the constant running, physical exertion and training exercises of life in the infantry, as well as being better fed and cared for once he was promoted to Captain had an entirely different effect. Matthew was trim and toned now. His shoulders were more broad, his chest more firm, his arms more…dare she say sculpted? These changes and details were not readily noticeable when concealed under his uniform or his suits, but of course, Mary had the advantage of having seen him fully uncovered, and the view was remarkable. Though truly, the feel of him was beyond description, and the very thought of his body against hers made her blush fiercely.

Still, she dissuaded him, not wanting to aggravate his injury by doing anything so risqué. Mary noticed how he would wince if she clutched him in the wrong spot, or if his weight shifted too far onto his right side. She would sometimes have him lie back to ease his discomfort, but this only made Matthew more uncomfortable, thinking she was taking pity on him by placing him on his back like an invalid, rather than permitting him the…ahem…positions that they preferred. More often than not, she would simply curl up against him and order him to stop his fidgeting and to just hold her, revelling in his scent and the warmth of his body, their closeness making up for the fact they could not do everything they wished. They would lie for hours like this, whispering to each other and touching each other soothingly, until she was sure that Matthew was asleep and she could steal away to her own room.

It was during one of their private afternoon naps that Mary first noticed his scars. He had several, most of them superficial, from a jagged rock brushing against him as he crawled on his front through the muck, or an unfortunately placed wire or piece of wood sticking out in the trenches that he dove through during a rush. In the dark, they were often concealed and unnoticeable, but in the daylight of the afternoon, Matthew could not hide all of them. Mary discovered them first with her fingers and then appraised them with a patient gaze despite his protests. She had seen far worse in the wards and would not back away in fear from seeing such wounds on her own fiancé. She knew that over time they would close and heal, and become almost invisible for the most part, not that it mattered to her. Matthew was beautiful, and no blemish on his skin would change that.

But Matthew had a deeper scar, an ugly, long and piercing mark that Mary knew could only be delivered by an enemy bayonet. She found it by accident while lying against his chest, her hand running idly up and down his stomach. Her touch was light and ticklish and Matthew chuckled at the contact. Realizing his weakness, she grinned and tickled him more deliberately, causing him to scold her in protest while laughing freely. Not wanting him to move his right arm to try and push her away, she stopped, but her hand came to rest against his ribs and that's when she felt it.

Matthew tried to stop her but she slapped his hand away. She leaned down and frowned as she saw the long crooked line running from his hip up across his ribs to just below his chest. He often covered it with his left arm, but now, with his wound bare before her, Mary's heart jumped.

She asked him no questions. He offered her no explanations. Brown eyes met blue and she smiled at him in understanding and acceptance. It was enough that he was back. It was enough that he was alive. Mary kissed his chest, then his stomach and moved across his side to kiss his scar, her lips dancing across his skin and causing him to groan in pleasure. As she attended to him, she realized that Matthew had been touched by the War far more profoundly than she originally feared.

"What are your plans today?" Robert asked, glancing at his newspaper and interrupting Mary's thoughts.

She looked up from her plate. "Matthew has exercises to do this morning and Mama has me looking at place settings and flower arrangements."

Robert laughed to himself. "Better you than me. Well, I shall leave you both to such ambitious pursuits."

The Earl rose from his chair and left the Morning room. Matthew looked across the table at Mary and smirked.

"I'll come by once I'm done with Mama," Mary smiled. "Make sure you do everything Sybil tells you. She'll tell me if you cheat."

"Yes, mother," Matthew rolled his eyes.

"I can always call her to come over and supervise, you know," Mary warned, coming around the table and kissing him lightly.

"You wouldn't dare, Mary Crawley," Matthew joked.

"Try me," Mary smiled, raising her eyebrows at him in challenge.

Matthew smiled and shook his head as she left the room. He raised himself out of his chair and turned for the door, a frown crossing his face as he sighed and headed for the solarium to meet Sybil.

"Lady Mary, he's here."

Mary closed her book and rose from the sofa.

"Thank you, Mrs. Hughes. And where is Mr. Crawley?" she asked.

"He's in the solarium with Lady Sybil, doing his exercises," Mrs. Hughes replied.

"Excellent," Mary smiled.

She walked quickly through the halls and reached the wards. She nodded and smiled politely to some of the patients she recognized as she came through. She walked deliberately towards the back of the large room, stepping around a curtain and smiling fondly at the new patient.

Daisy rose from her chair and bowed to her. Edith stood at the foot of the bed and met Mary's eyes. She nodded in encouragement and Mary stepped forward.

"It's all right, Daisy," Mary smiled. "Please, sit."

Daisy sat back down and Mary stood to the side of the bed. William turned his head and looked at her.

"Milady," he greeted her.

"Mason," Mary smiled. "Welcome home."

William glanced over at Daisy. The kitchen maid looked away and bit her lower lip in a smile. William turned back to Mary.

"Thank you, Milady. It's much better to be here than in Leeds, or…elsewhere," William replied.

"I'm going to check on your father's arrival," Edith declared. "Daisy, why don't you come along? You should be out front when Mason's father gets here."

"Yes, Lady Edith," Daisy nodded. She rose from her chair and glanced over at William.

"I'll be here when you get back. Tell me Dad that I'm all right. You know how he worries," William said.

Daisy nodded and left as Edith pulled the curtain back for her. Mary met Edith's eyes and gave her a silent thanks. Edith smiled at her in understanding and left them.

Mary sat down in Daisy's chair. She weighed her words carefully.

"How is Mr. Matthew doing?" William asked.

"Quite well, thank you," Mary nodded. "He was very lucky of course. They reset his shoulder and he just trying to get his strength back now."

"I'm glad," William nodded.

"What about you?" Mary asked.

"They say I'm lucky, meself," William said. "Me leg's broken but they saved it, and I'll be in this cast for a while but the doctors say I should be able to walk when it's all healed up."

"That's wonderful, Mason," Mary said. She hesitated and looked away, unsure on how to proceed.

"You want to know what I remember, do you? Milady?" William asked quietly.

Mary turned to him with wide eyes. "Yes, if you're up for it," she replied.

"I kept coming in and out, so I don't remember everything. It's kind of like flashes here and there," William said. "But I do know that Captain Crawley kept me awake. He kept yelling at me, hit me a few times real solid like, and he got me back to base."

"Do you remember how you got hurt?" Mary asked.

"We were following the French," William nodded, looking away vacantly. "It was actually pretty easy, as far as charges go. Captain Crawley was right next to me and we were following the tank tracks ahead of us. There wasn't much artillery or gun fire. The French had 'em on the run."

Mary remained quiet, not wanting to interrupt him as William focused on his memories.

"There was a rise that we came over, then I just felt me legs give out. I thought I had tripped at first on something on the ground but then I was falling, and I was expecting to just fall down on the grass or the mud or something but I just kept falling, and then the next thing I remember was waking up in some kind of cave and Captain Crawley talking to me," William continued.

"What did he say?" Mary asked.

"He was just yelling at me to stay awake, to stay with him. He told me to keep talking, to try and keep me from closing me eyes. We talked about…well, about a few things," William said quietly.

Mary nodded.

"When I got back to base, I could barely feel me legs. There was a lot of talking while the doctors was working on me. The Major was there. He and Captain Crawley were shouting at the doctors about something. They gave me something. Some kind of shot, and I didn't wake up again until we were on the train," William finished.

"That's enough for now, Mason," Mary smiled. "Lady Edith will bring your father through as soon as he arrives."

"Milady? If you could let the Captain know that I'm here," William asked.

"Of course. He'll be by to see you very soon," Mary nodded.

William nodded, then frowned slightly. "Milady? Do you know how long it will take me to get back on me feet?"

Mary sighed patiently. "It will be months, Mason, I'm afraid. Bones take a while to heal, and you'll need to learn to walk again properly once you're back standing again."

"They wouldn't send me back, would they? I won't be in…fighting shape…anytime soon will I?" William asked her pleadingly.

Mary's eyes widened in surprise. She gave the footman a brave smile. "I don't think they'll be calling upon you anytime soon, Mason. Just get better. That's what's important."

"Please don't tell Daisy I said so, Milady, but I think I'll take me time in getting better," William said quietly, then looked away.

"One step at a time, Mason," Mary suggested. He nodded back to her bravely. Mary rose and left the wards. She walked briskly towards the solarium, her expression pensive as she contemplated the footman's confession.

Crawley House, Downton Village, England, November 1918

"I was thinking of seating your relations here," Mary pointed to precise tables on the diagram. "That way they'll be close to each other and won't be forced to talk to any of Mama's friends if they don't want to."

Isobel chuckled and nodded. "Don't worry about them, Mary. If anything you'll want to keep them away from the rest of the guests. One thing that Reginald's side of the family always enjoyed was a good party."

Mary smiled.

"I am very much looking forward to meeting them all," she said. "Matthew says so little about his family, but I know he must love them all dearly the way he speaks about Dr. Crawley so reverently."

"Well it's not a very large family," Isobel nodded. "But what they do not have in numbers they tend to make up for in enthusiasm."

"They will be welcome," Mary nodded. "It wouldn't do to have any withering violets at a wedding reception."

"What do you think of Matthew's progress?" Mary asked, sipping her tea.

"It's been slow, which was to be expected," Isobel replied easily. "Sybil is doing a wonderful job of staying on him to do those exercises. But I expected him to be further along by now. He must have been more hurt than he let on."

"Yes," Mary nodded. "I sometimes think he's advancing in leaps and bounds. But other times, he seems so frustrated with not being able to manage more."

"Well, that's more him being stubborn than anything else," Isobel smiled. "Sometimes everything needs to happen immediately for him to be satisfied."

Mary smiled politely and sipped her tea.

"I'm sure he's putting in the required effort, but in those moments that he becomes frustrated with himself, it's important that you keep his spirits up, Mary," Isobel cautioned. "As you very well know, Matthew can become somewhat petulant and tend to wallow when he doesn't get his way."

Mary smirked in understanding. "We both share that failing, I'm afraid."

"Perhaps," Isobel smiled generously. "However I can assure you that Matthew will listen to you far more than he will to Sybil or me."

Mary blushed and looked away, contemplating Isobel's words as she looked at her tea cup.

Downton Abbey, England, November 1918

Matthew walked down the path away from the Big House. The sun was bright overhead and it was quite warm. He did not bother with a jacket and was glad for being able to roam the grounds in more comfortable clothing. If only he could get rid of the blasted sling, he thought.

He wandered around a grove of trees and smiled as he approached the Temple of Diana. He always found it strange that such a grand structure was built on the grounds, and yet served very little purpose. The Corinthian columns stood majestically before him, rising into the sky. The first time Matthew saw the Temple, he immediately thought of his father, and what Dr. Crawley would think of it. Matthew would explain that the Temple was an example of an architectural folly, constructed for decoration. Matthew could hear his father's immediate rejoinder upon looking at the Temple – that it certainly was a folly, but of a different kind.

"Matthew, you received my message?" Mary smiled, stepping out from behind one of the columns.

"Yes, darling," Matthew answered, coming towards her. "I was somewhat surprised that you wanted to meet here."

"Well, it is a lovely walk," Mary mused. "And it's private and removed from the House. No one to disturb us."

Mary smiled as she motioned to a large blanket placed on the floor, with a picnic lunch set up for the two of them.

"Expecting someone?" Matthew teased as he escorted her over to the blanket and helped her sit down.

"My fiancé, actually," Mary replied easily. "Please be a dear and keep a lookout. You can let me know when he arrives."

Matthew laughed and sat down next to her on the blanket. They shared sandwiches, wine and strawberries. Matthew struggled slightly, having to use his left hand, and Mary assisted him, playfully feeding him the fruit and refusing to let him be distracted by being limited by his injury. Once lunch was over, they packed up the picnic items and set them aside. Taking him by the hand, Mary walked with Matthew around the Temple chamber, their steps echoing from the stone up to the vaulted ceiling above.

"Now tell me about our wedding plans," Matthew smiled. "You reserved the Village Church?"

"Yes," Mary nodded. "And despite my protests, Papa is having the Archbishop do the service."

"Really?" Matthew's eyes widened. "What about Reverend Travis?"

"He'll be there, but Papa wanted the Archbishop. I would have been fine with Travis. Now the poor man will probably do all the work while the Archbishop takes the glory," Mary smirked.

"Impossible," Matthew smiled, turning his face towards her. "When you become my wife, I am quite certain the glory shall all be mine."

Mary blushed and smirked at him.

"Sybil told me that you threw a bit of a tantrum yesterday," she said pointedly, deciding to broach the subject.

Matthew rolled his eyes. "I knew she couldn't be trusted to stay quiet. I am grateful for her help of course, but she is rather zealous sometimes."

"She just wants you to get better. We all do," Mary said.

"I know, darling, but sometimes it's just too much," Matthew retorted. "I'm doing everything I can."

"Are you?" Mary asked.

"What do you mean?" Matthew frowned.

"Well it seems to me that you are tolerating these exercises, rather than perhaps using them to get better as quickly as possible," she noted. "It's been over two months now, Matthew. You should be further along in your recovery."

"Now you sound like Sybil and Mother," Matthew huffed.

"Probably because we all have a point," Mary replied.

Matthew rolled his eyes again. Mary looked at him for several moments, then released his hand and stepped away.

"Do you want to know what I think?" she continued. "I think you haven't been applying yourself enough."

"That's ridiculous," Matthew spat, following her with his eyes as she walked towards one of the large columns. "How can you expect me to be enthusiastic about doing these exercises and such? Sybil can be a slave driver. It's hardly enjoyable."

"Maybe you need to find a way to enjoy it," Mary said firmly, turning and leaning back against the column.

"I can't see how that's possible. Enjoyment is hardly what I think of when doing those bloody exercises," Matthew grumbled.

"Then think of something else," Mary said, raising her eyebrow.

"Such as?" Matthew frowned.

Mary smiled at him. She raised her hands to her collar and slowly began unbuttoning her jacket.

Matthew's eyes widened. He took a step towards her and she shook her head.

"Stay right there, Matthew," she ordered. Matthew stopped and frowned.

"Remove your sling and leave your arm at your side," she said.

Matthew swallowed and slowly untied the sling with his left hand. He straightened his right arm at his side.

Mary smiled at him. "Now, you're going to do your exercises, properly this time. For every time you are able to raise your arm fully in front of you, you may take one step forward."

Matthew gulped audibly. He raised his arm, cringing a bit as his shoulder ached from the movement. He grunted and continued until his arm was parallel to the floor.

"Very good," Mary said flirtatiously.

Matthew took a deliberate step forward towards her.

"Again," Mary smirked.

Matthew's arm and shoulder shook in protest as he continued. He repeated the exercise, pushing through the pain as he moved his arm higher than he ever did during his sessions with Sybil. With each step, Mary coaxed him forward, unbuttoning the top of her chemise to reveal her alabaster throat and the rise of her chest. By the time he finally reached her, they were both breathing deeply and their skin was warm. Sunlight streamed into the temple and the stone of the column was hard and firm against her back.

Matthew leaned down and kissed her hard, his left hand snaking around her waist and his right hand bracing against the column behind her. Mary's hands played with his hair, she pressed herself against his chest, the thin material of her blouse and his shirt barely separating them.

"I've been studying the story of Diana. Do you know it?" Mary breathed, her eyes fluttering closed as he kissed her neck.

"I prefer to call her Artemis," Matthew whispered against her skin. "Which story are you referring to?"

"The tale of Diana and Actaeon," Mary answered, her hands going up his back. "He was a great hunter who stumbled upon Diana bathing. Seeing her naked, he attempts to take her, and she turns him into a stag."

"After which he is killed by his own hunting dogs," Matthew said, pulling her chemise to the side and kissing her shoulder.

"That's right," Mary smiled. "A rather severe punishment, don't you think?"

"I don't know," Matthew smirked, kissing her jaw, then moving back to her lips. "Perhaps he thought the prize of seeing Artemis naked was worth risking his life."

Mary kissed him back. She trailed her hand down his front, drawing a moan from his throat as she caressed him through his trousers.

"We should head back to the house," she hissed. "You don't want to risk hurting your shoulder."

"No," Matthew snarled. "The reward is well worth the risk."

Mary cried out in shock as he lifted her off the ground. Her arms wrapped around his neck and he pulled her leg around his waist with his left hand. His lips were on her neck insistently and his right hand dove between them, deftly undoing his trousers.

"Matthew!" Mary called desperately as he pushed against her and she felt his obvious arousal.

"It's all right," Matthew breathed.

He captured her mouth with his. He somehow bunched her skirt around her hips, and pulled the ties of her knickers, the thin garment sliding off of her and falling to the ground.

Mary's head spun as her senses were filled with him, his scent, his touch, the feel of him. The column was hard against her back as he pushed forward, and her legs held him close. His hands held her tight to him, supporting her weight easily. His lips caressed hers and she moaned as their bodies blended together, weeks of restraint obliterated in an embrace that they now knew so well.

Mary's release came quickly and strongly, and she cried out in pleasure and clutched him closer to her. She barely heard the sound of her name repeated over and over as he gasped with each thrust. She held on to him, her eyes shut tightly as the familiar stirring inside of her grew once more. She called his name and kissed his cheek as he sent her flying once more. At the height of her rapture, she felt him give in to the heat overcoming both of them and his release set her off once last time.

Finally, after what seemed an eternity, he slowed his movements and carefully eased them down to the floor. Sitting back against the column, he pulled her into his lap, her head naturally coming to rest on his shoulder. She smoothed out her skirt and he reached over and redid the buttons of her chemise, restoring her jacket afterward. She looked up at his sated expression and kissed him lightly.

"Are you all right?" Mary asked.

"I think your treatment plan is doing wonders for me, Mary," Matthew smiled.

Mary laughed, caressing his chest and carefully running her hand over his injured shoulder and arm.

"You're afraid, aren't you?" she asked quietly. "That's why you haven't been trying to recover as quickly as you should. You're afraid that once they declare you fit again, they'll send you back."

Matthew closed his eyes and exhaled, catching his breath and waiting for his racing pulse to slow.

"I know it's my duty to go," he whispered, opening his eyes and looking at her. "But I joined the Army years ago for a number of reasons, and none of those reasons hold anymore."

Mary nodded, sighing in regret. Knowing what they knew now, they knew Matthew would have been called to the Army eventually regardless, but the years they lost as a result of their own folly was painful to face.

"Darling," Mary said slowly, reaching up and caressing his face. "I don't want to send you back. But, you do need to get better."

"I know," Matthew nodded, leaning over and kissing her.

"And you aren't entirely recovered just yet," Mary smirked, raising her eyebrows at him.

"Perhaps you'll need to be convinced of my stamina?" Matthew suggested devilishly.

"Definitely," Mary nodded. "I shall need to do a very thorough physical examination to judge just how your recovery is going."

She smiled and sat back against him, his hand running up and down her back. They looked out from the Temple to the sunlit fields leading back to Downton Abbey and tried to enjoy the moment when nothing existed except them.