"Escorting you has been a pleasure, not a burden. When Charles isn't available, I can take you both. I'll be the envy of every man in Brussels."
He covered a yawn and lapsed into silence. In spite of the noise of the children and the wagons rumbling along the road that ran through the Namur Gate, he dozed off, his breath becoming slow and steady. There was a precious intimacy to the situation.
Catherine, continued sewing. She was very good at concealing her feelings, and not even the most suspicious observer would suspect the quiet joy in her heart. Michael's presence fed a part of her soul that had been starving for years.
Perhaps she should feel guilty about her improper feelings, but she didn't. No one would be hurt, and soon then-paths would diverge, probably forever. But when that happened, she would have the memory of a few golden hours to carry in her heart.
She finished Amy's petticoat and folded it into her basket, then began darning Colin's socks. When she had done two, she allowed herself to study Michael's tanned right hand, which lay relaxed in the grass only two feet from her.
The fingers were long and capable. A thin, long-healed saber scar curved across his palm and up the wrist.
She experienced a nearly overpowering urge to lay her hand over his? To touch him, if only in the most superficial way. To feel the vivid life pulsing through his powerful body. What would it be like to lie alongside him, to feel his warm length against her?
Face heated, she readied for another sock. She hoped that when she met Saint Peter, her life would be judged by her deeds, not her thoughts.
After she finished her mending, she packed her scissors and thread away and leaned back against the trunk of the chestnut, watching Michael from under half-closed lids.
Peace was shattered by piercing screams from the children and an anguished howl from Clancy. Catherine sat bolt upright, recognizing that it was not the sound of normal play. Simultaneously, Michael's eyes snapped open.
Amy shouted, "Mama, come quickly!"
Michael leaped up and grabbed her hand to help her. As soon as she was on her feet, they raced across the garden, her heart pounding with fear at what they might find.
The children were by the stone fountain, where a dancing porpoise gushed water into a small pool. Catherine's heart spasmed as she saw the blood splashed across both girls. Blood was pouring.from a gash in Molly's scalp. Amy had taken off her sash and was valiantly trying to staunch the flow.
Jamie stood a few feet away, his face ashen under his red hair as he watched his sister's wild sobbing. Clancy jumped around anxiously,getting in the way-and adding to the confusion with his sharp yips.
Catherine dropped beside Molly and took over the job of trying to stop the bleeding. "Amy, what happened?"
"Jamie shoved Molly and she fell against the fountain."
"I didn't mean to!" Jamie gasped. His quick, shallow breaths began whistling eerily. Michael, who had "been calming the nervous dog, looked up sharply at the sound.
Catherine ordered, "Amy, go get Anne:" As Amy ran to obey, Molly asked with ghoulish curiosity, "Am I going to die?"
"Of course not," Catherine said briskly. "Head wounds bleed dreadfully, but this one isn't deep. You'll be fine in a few days. Any scar will be hidden by your hair."
"I didn't mean it!" Jamie cried with anguish. Suddenly he bolted away, his limbs flailing frantically.
Catherine's instinct was to follow, but she couldn't, not with Molly still bleeding in her arms. She gave Michael an agonized glance. To her relief, he was already going after the weeping child, but he was slowed by the necessity of untangling himself from Clancy and having to circle the fountain.
Jamie tripped and went sprawling on the turf. The walled garden echoed with the sound of his hideous wheezing.
Shocked out of thoughts of her own injury, Molly tried to stand up. "Jamie is having one of his attacks!"
Catherine held the little girl still. "Don't worry, Colonel Kenyon will take care of your brother." She prayed that her words were the truth, for she herself did not know what to do.
Before Michael could reach Jamie, the child regained enough breath to scramble to his feet. He began running again, his eyes wild with terror as he plunged through a thicket where an adult couldn't follow. He emerged on the other side and collapsed, struggling desperately for air. Even fifty yards away, Catherine could see that his face was a horrible bluish shade.
Jamie was feebly trying to clamber to his feet when Michael rounded the thicket and scooped the boy up in his arms. "It's all right, Jamie," he said soothingly. "Molly isn't badly hurt"
Though Michael's expression was grim, his voice was calm as he brought the child back to the fountain. "It was an accident. We know you didn't mean to injure your sister."
Supporting Jamie in a sitting position, Michael pulled out his handkerchief and soaked it in the fountain. Then he patted the child's contorted face with cool water, all the while keeping up a stream of reassuring words. "You can breathe, Jamie, you've just forgotten how for a minute," he said softly. "Look in my eyes and remember how to breathe. S-1-o-w-l-y in. Relax. Then s-1-o-w-l-y out. Spell the words with me. B-r-e-a-t-h-e, space, i-n… Come on, you can do it."
Catherine watched, mesmerized, as Jamie's lips began silently forming the letters along with Michael. Gradually his breathing evened out and color began to return to his face.
By the time Anne ran from the house with Amy, Catherine had a crude bandage on Molly's head and Jamie was almost back to normal. Anne's face was so pale that faint, ghostly freckles showed on her cheekbones as she said, "Goodness, you two certainly get into a quantity of trouble."
She knelt between her children and pulled them to her. Jamie burrowed against her side and wrapped his arms around her waist. Molly also snuggled as close as she could get.
In the sudden silence, hoofbeats sounded clearly. A moment later, Charles Mowbry called from outside the stable, "Trouble?"
"A little," Anne replied, relief on her face. "Molly cut her head and Jamie had an attack, but everything is fine now."
As Catherine got to her feet, she saw Charles and Colin coming toward them, their scarlet coats brilliant against the grass. They had had a regimental drill today, she recalled.
Charles arrived first, his expression under, control, except for his stark eyes. When he reached his family, he bent and lifted Jamie, hugging him tightly. "You all right, old man?"
"I couldn't breathe, but Colonel Kenyon reminded me how," his son offered. "Then it was easy."
"That was good of him," Charles said huskily. "Will you remember how to do it yourself next time?"
Jamie nodded vigorously.
Anne and Molly got to their feet. Charles smoothed his daughter's hair, careful not to disturb the blood-soaked bandage. "I know you don't like this dress, but wouldn't it be better to get rid of it by ripping rather than bleeding?"
A smile lit her teary face. "Oh, Papa, you're so silly."
Concealing a smile, Catherine wondered what the men in Charles's company would think if they heard that.
"Time to get you two inside and cleaned up." Anne gave Catherine and Michael a heartfelt glance. "Thank you both for being here."
As the Mowbrys headed to the house, Catherine put an arm around her daughter's shoulders. "Amy was splendid, Colin. She tended to Molly's injury, then went to get Anne."
"You're like me and your mother," he said approvingly.
"A good soldier and a good nurse." He glanced at Catherine. "Can I take Amy for an ice as a reward for bravery?"