Chapter 28

John felt better after telling Anna about the firing squad. Not better about anything in particular, just better. Lighter. Less troubled. He hadn't wanted Anna to know about his experiences in Africa, not only because he wanted to shield her from the reality of war, but also, deep down, he was afraid she would reject him if she knew. He knew she meant what she said, what she had said repeatedly about nothing changing her opinion of him, but he knew she didn't know how bad the truth was. He shouldn't have doubted her. After his confession, and for the next few nights, she sat with him, usually in silence, often holding his hand in hers. She didn't ask any questions, she didn't say anything about what he had done, other than she couldn't imagine how horrible it had been and it was over now. One evening, as they sat together in the courtyard, she remarked that his experiences were part of who he was. She didn't elaborate, and he didn't ask her to. When talk was inevitably of the escalation of the war during meals, she would place her hand on his knee under the table. Sometimes he spoke, but usually he let the talk drift around him.

The evening before they left for London, they found themselves in their temple overlooking the lake. John loved the view of the estate from the height of the temple. One direction was the lake, another the wood, another still the gardens and house. The evening was warm, and breezy, and starlit. John had read about a gruesome loss of life on the continent, but he didn't think about it more than he had to. He thought about other things. This would be the last chance to be properly alone with Anna for some time, and he wanted to make the most of it.

While John appreciated the privacy the room in the temple afforded, it was such a pleasant night, he wanted to remain in the air. He tugged Anna's hand to sit next to him on the stairs. She had looked surprised that they had walked this way at all, and now that they weren't entering, John noticed she looked disappointed. He couldn't have that. He smiled at her, looking deeply into her eyes. She nestled into his arms.

"I hate that we're leaving tomorrow. I wish the season were in winter, when it is cold and miserable here." Anna sounded a little peevish.

John unpinned her hair. She had removed that infernal ruffle. "Me too. I'm surprised we're going at all, all things considered."

Anna leaned into him, grasping his left hand in hers. "I think it more desperation to get the girls settled while…while that's still an option." Her voiced trailed, but she rubbed her face against John's neck.

John closes his eyes. Anna mustn't be afraid to mention the war to him. "I thought we were showing the Germans by keeping up appearances." He looked at her. She giggled. And sighed. And relaxed.

"You sound like Mr. Carson."

"Heaven forbid I should ever look like him." Anna shook with laughter as John pulled her closer.

Anna turned to him. "Heaven forbid indeed." Her voice had lowered. Her lips were against his neck, his ear. His ear was in her mouth, her tongue was passing over the lobe. She was back to the soft spot behind his ear. Her hands were in his hair. John wondered what he had done to deserve this. His hands moved to the front of her dress and undid the row of buttons, slipping a hand inside and passing over the tops of her breasts where they peeked out of her corset. She murmured something. She smelled like roses and Lady Mary's new powder. She was turning so she was suspended almost between his legs and the steps. John let his hand rest on top of a breast. She sighed. Her skin was so soft. If he pushed slightly, ever so slightly, he could feel more of them. The filmy bits of cloth between Anna and the corset would give way and he would find smooth, soft, milky skin. He needed to do this. If he had the patience and if he could get his thick fingers to work properly he could unhook her corset. Anna was shifting again. His fingers grazed between the layers. He felt a nipple change. Anna ran her teeth down his neck. She started on his collar and tie as she shifted. John realized she intended to be astride him. Now that was an intriguing idea. He moved his knees together to help. She swung her left leg across John's lap, settling so she was facing him. John put his arms behind her waist to draw her near. Anna raised up to arrange her skirt. She pulled it up as far as it would go. A very intriguing idea. As Anna leaned forward to re-settle herself, her knee dug into his thigh. He swallowed a scream, and gasped instead. John reared in pain, curling around his leg, as Anna fell to the ground.

It felt like fire. He grabbed it and rubbed his hand over the scar. He took some deep breaths. Anna was still on the ground.

"What? What did I do? What's wrong?" She sound concerned, confused, cross. She pulled herself up.

"I…my leg…I'm so sorry." She had hit right where the shrapnel was lodged. Why was so much of his life punctuated with cold sweats and nausea? At least it was passing quickly.

"Oh…No, John, I'm sorry. I didn't even think…" She looked away. Her voice sounded small. "I didn't know."

John took her hand. "It wasn't your fault. Sometimes it just has a mind of its own. That's all."

Anna looked unconvinced. "No, I know that it bothers you more than you say, and I usually don't think about it, but I should know to be careful. I…well, I wasn't thinking."

John chuckled. They wouldn't be able to see the stars like this in London. "My leg was the last thing on my mind as well. And it does usually make its presence known, but sometimes it suddenly hurts, especially when touched the wrong way."

Anna's eyes grew large. "But I don't want you to think about it. You've found the scar, and that's hopefully the end of it. I don't want you to think about it anymore. It won't be a problem again." John closed his eyes. He didn't want to think about it. He didn't want Anna to think about. The admission of constant pain was enough.

"How were you wounded?"

John's eyes snapped open.

"I think you should tell me. I'd like to know."

John didn't answer. Lord Grantham was the only person who knew how he was injured. John hadn't told his mother, and he certainly hadn't told Vera. His mother knew not to ask; Vera had never bothered.

"It's just that I keep hearing how you saved Lord Grantham's life, and everyone but me seems to know what happened." Anna inched towards him again. "I'd like to know too. I think I should know."

John was quiet another minute. Six weeks until he could again breath clean, pure air.

"That I saved his life would be an example of Lord Grantham's truth." Anna turned to him. She looked as surprised as he felt. Now he'd have to tell her. He'd never told anyone. Anna nestled close. John cleared his throat and looked at the sky.

"Well, His Lordship and I were walking across the veld to our encampment with some other men." It had been a beautiful day, early morning, with birds.

"With the wide open spaces it was difficult for the enemy to attack, but the Boers knew the land so well, it was possible." John sighed as he remembered joking with another man about the rhinoceros that was eyeing them as they passed.

"A Boer sharpshooter was in a tree. I saw him. By the time I'd given the warning and aimed, he had already fired." There had been a pleasant breeze that morning. The sky was bright blue, and the roughness of the veld was oddly attractive.

"He was aiming for Lord Grantham. British officers had a high bounty, and are easy to pick out in a crowd of men. We all started firing in the direction of the tree, but the shooter must have had a second in a different direction." With the breeze it had been hard to tell.

"One of our men went down. I heard a rifle discharge and I wasn't sure where it was coming from. We fired in every direction while I threw Lord Grantham to the ground. I used to be very quick. The other men and I covered him. The bullet got me as I went down. I got the shooter before I passed out." Lord Grantham had panicked when he realized there were two shooters, pissed himself, and passed out.

"When I awoke a day later, I was told had it not been for me and my quick reflexes, we all would have been killed. And that it was safer to leave the shrapnel in my leg." John had been treated in a field hospital by medics. They'd kept him for a week, but he didn't see an actual doctor until the war had ended and by then it was safer to leave the shrapnel where it was. Lord Grantham had visited daily, promising his eternal gratitude. John had told him it was nothing; he had done what he hoped any man would have done. Lord Grantham had seen to it that John received every citation possible for his act of bravery under enemy fire. The pain had been so fierce he screamed in the night.

Anna remained quiet. It had been easier to tell her than he had thought. John smiled into her hair.

"So you see, it wasn't exactly an act of bravery. I was just in the wrong place at the right time."

Anna looked up at him. "No, you did save him, and it was brave. But they left the shrapnel in your leg? Is that what I hit?"

"Yes." And it had felt like it was burrowing further into the layers of muscle.

Anna placed her hand over the scar. "May I see it?"

John blinked fast. He looked at her. She was starring at him, unblinking. See it? He blinked again. It was jagged and red and swollen and he'd have to lower his trousers. Vera had been repulsed by it. Anna didn't understand how ugly it was, how broken and ripped his leg was. She didn't want to see it.

"I…no….why? It's very…large and red…and….why would you want to see it?"

"Well, it would help me to know what to avoid." She grinned. "And I'm not sure why, but I'd like to see it, if you'll let me." She ran her hand over it again. "I think, if I'm going to be a part of your life, I have a right to see it. I might be able to help, in some way."

John took a deep breath. It had not occurred to him that anyone would ever ask to see his scar. It was large. It was hideous. Disfiguring. Vera had made that clear. Anna would be appalled by it.

"Anna…I don't…there's no reason for you to see it." He placed his hand over hers. "You know where it is. That's enough."

Anna raised an eyebrow. "You're afraid to show me."

John blinked. He wasn't afraid. But it was so disgusting. She shouldn't see it. She couldn't understand what she was asking.

"Anna…please…you see…Vera…"

Vera had made it abundantly clear that the scar was repellant. It made him less than a man, no matter how it was earned.

"Vera did what?"

John knew there was no escape now. Curse the woman. Vera, not Anna.

"Well, I was sent back to action about a week after I was shot, so the wound never had time to properly heal. By the time the war was over and I was home again, it was a mess. I didn't need the cane then, but I had a limp, and sometimes it would open." John closed his eyes as he remembered the pain and the stink.

"Vera…well you see…our marriage was based…well…we were never like this, like you and me." John looked away. How could he tell Anna it wasn't about love?

"You mean the physical relationship was more important than anything else?" She was frank and unblinking.

"Yes. And one night in bed my leg just gave out, and the wound still oozed from time to time, and Vera…Vera made it clear if it got in the way of my…performance…again she had no more need of me. Soon after that I learned she had taken a lover." John looked at the stars. He thought he saw a bat. "She mentioned his legs were intact and he was able to support himself until things…reached their natural conclusion."

Anna was quiet. John knew she was regretting asking. Somewhere a dog was barking.

"Let me see it. Please John." Her eyes were the color of forget- me- nots. They were starting to bloom.

"Anna….you…"

"Mr. Bates, please. You need to have more faith in me than that. It is a sorry state of affairs if you think I can be put off by a large red gash. I should probably be insulted, but I love you too much for that." If he was Mr. Bates again, she meant business. He'd need to lower his trousers. He sighed.

"I'm sorry, you're right. I do have more faith in you than that."

Anna smiled. "Thank you. Now, how do we get there?" She giggled.

John removed his jacket and helped her slip his braces off his shoulders. He wanted to move into the building, but Anna protested. It was late, and there was no one else about. They would be perfectly safe. He closed his eyes as she unfastened his trousers, and raised from his seat as she eased them carefully over his hips, stopped just above his knees.

Her soft hands gently, carefully caressed his scarred and gnarled flesh.

"Oh, John…"