First of all, if you are also reading Spotted Horse's story Vanilla?, then I need to make it clear that the Dennison in my story is a good guy.
Secondly, many apologies for the delay in posting. The next one might be longer because of RL and my mother-in-law's probate (translation: law stuff to do with bereavement). Anyway, I hope you enjoy this.
...
Edith raised tear-filled eyes to him as he emerged from the bathroom.
"Sweetheart!?" he asked as he came over to her, instantly concerned. "What's the matter?"
She turned her head away. "It's nothing."
"It most certainly is not 'nothing' if it makes my dearest darling weep."
"You're tired. I'm tired. We can talk about it in the morning" she said.
"We will talk about it now, however briefly, before it can get to you. What is it?"
In answer, Edith placed her hand on the sheaf of papers on the table.
"That?" Anthony's face was blank with confusion. "Why should that upset you, darling? I suspect it's only the Foreign Secretary trying to make political capital out of of being connected with what happened to us."
"How can you be so blasé? You've been given a George Cross, Anthony! The highest decoration a civilian can be given! And it wasn't the Foreign Secretary who nominated you, it was Richard Clarkson. But that wasn't what upset me."
Anthony was struggling to keep up. "Dr Clarkson? Why?"
"For rescuing me and for ridding the world of those ghouls before they could carry out the atrocities they were planning against their own country."
"That's...that's very good of him. That makes a difference." He thought to himself for a moment before focusing on Edith fully once more. "If that is not the matter...?"
"The letter" Edith pointed out "is addressed to you with all your titles...and present honours. Major Sir Anthony Strallan MC. I told you that after the wedding no one mentioned anything about you to me. I didn't know. I'm sorry."
"Oh, that" whispered Anthony as he realised what she was on about. He was upset and embarrassed himself now. "I only did what anyone else would have done in the same position."
"They don't give out Military Crosses just for being caught in an ambush, Anthony. There has to be more to it."
"I suppose there is. Can I at least get into bed before I tell you? It would help to be able to hold you."
How changed he was from earlier. His shoulders were hunched and his eyes trained on the floor. She regretted her upset and her need for an explanation.
"You don't have to tell me now."
"There's no good time, and you're right, you deserve to know. It might as well be now."
Edith got ready as quickly as she could and joined Anthony in the big, soft bed. He put the main light out leaving one bedside lamp burning, and put his good arm around her as she nuzzled close to him.
"I told you my unit was caught in an ambush. It wasn't quite as simple as that. Intelligence officers were embedded in twos with normal infantry units. We'd found that was the best and safest way to patrol to gather data on the shifting positions of the insurgents. That was why I was with them that day.
"The insurgents had used the oldest trick in the book: they had buried themselves under the sand and were invisible. The first we knew of it was gunfire coming out of the ground to one side of the armoured vehicle, which was the same side I was walking. I caught the full force of the first burst but, thank god, they weren't able to see well enough under the sand to aim. I went down with what turned out to be four bullets in my shoulder, and several more deflected by my body armour which saved my life. I hadn't even had time to return fire.
"Well, my colleagues in the vehicle, and on the other side, soon made short work of the gunmen near us from the ground, but we were still coming under fire from positions further away. I could see that the men on my side were in a worse state than me and we were all sitting ducks. So I carried them to cover, one by one."
"Despite your wounds?" Edith gasped.
"I think I was running on adrenaline to be honest. I was hit again on my last foray which wasn't surprising since by then I was their only target." He was silent for a moment. "Out of the six men I rescued two died before we got back-up, one died later, and one lost a leg. And I lost the use of my arm. Dennison was one of the other men. He had been the other intelligence officer.
"The PTSD started soon after I was got to hospital back at base. I...I dreamt of bullets whizzing around me, or I was not able to get to the men and had to listen to their screams, or a hundred other horrid things. I was flown back to the UK, but there was nothing they could do for my arm. The wounds healed but my mind did not. I was terrified of all sorts of things and situations. I had tremors at the most awkward moments. Then my Colonel recommended a counsellor who specialised in treating PTSD, caused by all sorts of disasters from rape to warfare, and she got me through it and more or less back to normal. I would very much like you to see her too. She really is marvellous."
"What's her name?" asked Edith.
"Anna Bates. She's a good Yorkshire lass, like you."
Edith smiled at that.
"How long did you suffer from the PTSD, Anthony?"
"The best part of a year, and it would have been longer if it hadn't been for Anna. Now it's a bit like a broken leg that's mended: there's a weakness there that I have to be aware of, it hurts from time to time, but I can walk on it."
"I think seeing her is a good idea. Thank you, and thank you for telling me what happened."
"Dennison left the army and joined the FO. The rest who survived stayed with their regiment. One of the men who died was married with small children. The other two had steady partners. I couldn't understand why they died and not me. I'd left you only a few months before, and to be truthful, I had nothing to live for. I felt so guilty for not being able to save them, for surviving."
"I thank god that you lived through it, my darling" she murmured. "What would I have done without you?"
"Elsie thought that perhaps I was suffering a delayed PTSD from leaving you as well as battle trauma. I think she may have been right." He turned to her earnestly. "You won't have to go through it alone, sweet one. I promise I will be there whenever you need or want me."
She put her hand on the side of his cheek, stroking his stubble from the very long day.
"Thank you. Shall we go to sleep now?"
"Yes, we'd better. I love you Edith." He kissed her and put out the light.
"I love you too."
...
Anthony woke to the hushed sound of the breakfast tray being left outside the door to their suite. It wasn't quite light yet, but he knew he wouldn't sleep anymore. He snuggled down further into the bed and admired his sleeping fiancée for some time before quietly getting out, fighting against the pain of his side. He brought the coffee and croissants in then nipped into the shower to clean himself up properly after the strains of the previous night. When he emerged the room telephone was ringing, Edith had stirred, and was answering it. She expected it to be an alarm call. It wasn't.
"I have an urgent call for Sir Anthony Strallan. May I put it through?" The receptionist sounded as though she had just lost an argument about what was the appropriate time of day for a phone call.
"It's for you" Edith mumbled, passing over the handset.
"Hello. Hello, Anthony? Are you there?"
"Hello John. What is it?"
"Look, I'm sorry for calling so early but I thought you should know that The Sketch appears to be trying to brazen it out. Despite the to-do with us a couple of days ago concerning publishing the story about Gregson, there's a photo of you and Lady Edith arriving at the airport on the front page with a story about her rescue some of which is correct, most of which has been fabricated by some drunk journalists in the pub by the look of it. I just want you to know that we'll be onto them and the paper's owner this morning" said Dennison.
"It certainly won't make things easier for us. Thank you for telling me."
Anthony said goodbye and stared into space for a few seconds.
"What was so important it merited getting us up early on the first peaceful morning we've had for days?"
"Weeks, really. It was Dennison on the phone. We've made the front page of your paper" Anthony said in that very controlled manner that Edith had come to recognise as indicating he was deep in thought about implications and possible responses.
"What? Oh no! The airport. With the interviews and everything I'd forgotten about that" she said, thinking how her family would take this new revelation that Anthony was involved.
"You will be able to get through this, my dearest, because I will be with you. You don't have to face anything you don't want to alone."
His words sank into her body like balm, calming and exhilarating simultaneously. It wasn't exactly peace, rather it felt like Anthony was a suit of armour protecting her. She relaxed.
"My hero!" she said, and she meant it.
...
After her shower, they ate breakfast together deciding to return to Yorkshire that day. They had little in the way of luggage so packing took very little time. They were almost ready to leave when there was a knock at the door. Anthony looked at Edith, whispered to her to stay where she was, and answered.
"Ah," regaled a voice dripping with confidence and command, "I thought I might find you here, Sir Anthony. Ever the White Knight!"
"I'm sorry, who..."
"Come in, Sir Richard." Edith sounded so weary and resigned, it broke Anthony's heart.
Sir Richard Carlisle, owner of The Sketch and several other newspapers, stood in the main room of the suite as though he owned that as well.
"Lady Edith, may I say how glad I am to see you back home and unharmed, despite the despicable actions of our late Editor."
"Thank you, Sir Richard. Of course it would have been nicer to arrive home without the fanfare of paparazzi and front page headlines."
Carlisle batted away her complaint with his hand. "That's just business, as I'm sure you, as one of my best correspondents, will understand."
"I don't totally understand why the paper has continued to run this story when the Foreign Office told you not to only a few days ago after..." Carlisle interrupted her.
"They have to go through the motions, but it's really just a game we play. If they protest, the paper will claim freedom of speech and it will all blow over, but we need to publish your own account as quickly as possible."
Edith gaped at him. Anthony had walked round to stand behind her.
"Sweet, is this something you want to do? You could set the record straight" he said to Edith ignoring Carlisle.
"Well, I suppose I...but I think I need some time to..."
Again Sir Richard butted in. "No! It has to be this week or not at all, while there's still interest in the story, and before the next poor sod is kidnapped and beheaded." As he spoke, he stepped toward Edith and took her by the arms to impress the urgency of his words upon her. It triggered a memory of the kidnap, she froze, and then began to shake, the face in front of her not that of her employer but one of wide-eyed, maddened hate: the rabid preacher. Sir Richard didn't notice, and would not have understood if he had.
"You are still under contract to me, you know. I could make you do this."
Anthony's strong left hand took hold of Carlisle's right wrist and twisted it behind him in a swift and expertly executed move, pulling him away from Edith. He bent down to the level of Richard's ear, speaking quite calmly, but with dangerous undertones.
"Lady Edith will not be forced to do anything."
"And you're going to stop me, I suppose?" Richard hissed.
"In the last week, I have killed nine men. What makes you think I would hesitate even a moment to make it ten for Edith's sake?" He let go. Carlisle turned to him, rubbing his arm and visibly shaken.
"Are you threatening me, Sir Anthony?"
"Why ever would I want to do that, when you are such a considerate employer who would never force one of your journalists to work on a piece when they are not fit enough to do so? You will get your story when, and if, Lady Edith is able to tackle it, but only if she wishes to write it. And if that is sometime in the future when she and I have ceased to be news, my advice is to print it in a Sunday supplement. But what do I know about it? I'm not a newspaperman, I'm only a soldier, a trained killer."
Anthony's expression was emotionless, his blue eyes chillingly cold.
Sir Richard muttered a goodbye to Edith, then walked by Anthony who followed him to the door.
"Purely out of professional interest, how did you discover we were staying here? You didn't bribe the staff?"
Richard had recovered enough equilibrium to look Anthony in the eye.
"Good grief, no! I know from experience that the staff of Claridges are sea-green incorruptible. One of the photographers who met you at the airport followed you on a motorbike."
"Ah. Sometimes the simplest ways are the best. You know, we are not so different, Sir Richard. We are both in the business of finding out intelligence. We merely use that intelligence for different ends."
Carlisle gave Anthony a grudging nod and left.
Edith was sat down. Richard's appearance and demand had rattled her so much. Although the flashback had lasted only a second or two, it had scared her to the core. She was still shaking when Anthony took her hand.
"My dearest darling."
"Do we...do we have to leave today?"
"We don't have to leave now, but I think it would be easier to get to Locksley, where we can better control who sees us, today. Also I can get you to Anna more easily."
"Alright."
Anthony could see that it cost her a large chunk of bravery to agree.
"You are amazing, you know that? You really are. I will do everything in my power to make the journey as smooth and painless as possible."
He kissed her, made a few quick phone calls, then sat back down next to her.
"What now?" she asked.
"We wait a little while for our taxi who will take us as far as Finsbury Park, which I hope will be far enough out from central London for anyone following us to take fright and scurry back to civilisation. There we will take the train to Downton, and home." A shadow passed over his face. "That is, if you want to come to Locksley. I could take you over to the Abbey if you would prefer."
"Don't...just don't...of course I want to come to Locksley with you."
He smiled again.
"It's your home for as long as you want it to be, my sweet one."
The phone rang again, the taxi had arrived. They gathered themselves together and left.