The Soldier's Tale Page 5

  Great, now he really was trapped somewhere with someone who thought he was an idiot.

  Well, he wasn't. He wasn't an idiot. He had his reasons for what he was doing.

  Chapter Five

  The jeans were butter soft and baggy, a little long in the leg, but they did actually slide over his knee without causing too much pain. He pulled on a borrowed shirt and grabbed the dagger, pushing it into the belt loop of the denim and pulling the shirt down to hide it. There was some commotion in the kitchen after he'd left, and from what he gleaned of hurriedly exchanged conversation, apparently a guy had been hurt in an argument with a barbed wire fence. He tried not to focus on Sean's low modulated tones, on the calm in his voice and the words he was stating as fact. He tried not to sit and listen, but it wasn't working.

  "Bloody idiot, wouldn't sodding listen to me. Climbed the gate, got caught in the barbed wire, and went head-first into the ditch." The first voice was male. He sounded impatient, angry, and worried.

  "Mark, it was an accident, these things happen. It wasn't like we could see it coming." The second was calmer, and he had just labelled the first as Mark.

  "Speak for yourself," Mark retorted instantly, and then the weirdest thing happened. All three men—the doc, this Mark and the injured man—just started to laugh. It had been a long time since Daniel had sat and listened to men laughing together. In Afghanistan, laughter was rarer than rocking-horse shit, except when it wasn't. Gallows humour they called it, the ability to mask the fear with professionalism and jokes that spoke of death and mayhem, seeing humour in the blackest things. He was an expert at it and had joked in the hospital that his entry in the next Olympics would need to be cancelled. It's what soldiers did. He sat back on the sofa that he'd pulled up to make a place to sit again as opposed to the frankly awful bed it had been for him. Common decency and grudging respect for anyone in the medical arena stopped him from leaving through the main door. He needed to thank the doc.

  "There… the cut doesn't need stitching, but the bandage on the wrist needs to stay, and I would like to see it remain elevated for a week."

  "A week? Doc—" The third man, the injured one and unidentified voice, was whining.

  "Jack, you know I love you, but if you don't do what the doc says then I may have to gag you." Ahhh, Jack was the third man, and Mark loved Jack. Interesting. Brothers maybe?

  "But what about sex?" Jack was back to whining.

  "I'll still put out," Mark replied, and then there was the sound of laughing. Maybe not brothers after all…

  "Phil brought over the video." The doc was changing the subject, and Daniel crossed to the door. Clearly the patient had been seen to, and he could leave. "It scared the hell out of me thinking that Belvedere was in the solar with you."

  Belvedere? That name sounded familiar… Daniel wracked his brains for where he'd heard that name. Not the Army… It seemed as if maybe it was someone he had heard of, not actually met. Then just as suddenly, it hit him between the eyes. Belvedere. The man in his dreams. The one who was a murderer. A shiver ran down his spine. He needed air, and he needed it now. The damn morphine was screwing with his head.

  Jack's voice drifted into the room. "Not as much as it scared me. Mark was in some kind of fugue, not in the room, and the noise, it was… unearthly."

  "Is his ghost still there?"

  Ghost? What the hell? Without hesitation he pushed into the kitchen, startling all three men. Sean stood at the sink with mugs and the kettle. One man sat at the table, nursing a bandaged wrist, clearly the injured man—Jack. He had shoulder-length black hair, pale grey eyes. He was handsome in a gypsy kind of way. Another man sat by him, looking much like a harassed but sexy librarian with curly untidy hair, holding Jack's free hand and smiling.

  They all turned to focus on his dramatic entrance as he stumbled over uneven flagstone floor and groaned in pain. Then there was an awkward silence as no one seemed to know what to say. The only one who showed any reaction was Mark, who dropped Jack's hand and stood abruptly.

  "Aah, Daniel, meet Jack Faulkner and Mark Renfrew." Daniel, out of courtesy, shook hands with Jack and then extended his hand to Mark, who didn't respond. Mark, not quite as tall as Sean and slim built, just stood there, his eyes narrowed and his gaze verging on unfriendly, or was that shock? Daniel couldn't tell.

  "Mark?" Jack sounded confused and a little wary. Join the club, Daniel thought to himself, and dropped his hand to his side. He wasn't here to make friends with these guys, so if Mark was going to be an arsehole then he could easily ignore him.

  "You… I'm…" Mark ran a hand through his hair, left it there to tangle, and then his hands clenched, seemingly involuntarily. He rubbed his thumbs over his fingers as though fortifying himself to touch something disgusting. Finally, visibly reluctantly, he offered his hand in return. Daniel hesitated for a split second because an unusual fear flickered through him, then steeling himself, he grabbed the man's hand before he could change his mind.

  He should have changed his mind. His body jerked as an invisible current rippled under his skin, travelling across his chest, over his shoulder and down his arm to explode from his fingertips. Mark must have felt something similar because his eyes widened just as a static charge snaked from their joined hands. Both of them lurched backwards. Daniel could do nothing but stare at Mark. He thought he might have stood there all day staring, but a sheepish smile finally skimmed Mark's face.

  Daniel rubbed his fingers with his thumb. "Sorry," he apologised, although why he was apologising for static electricity Daniel didn't know. Mark nodded almost imperceptibly.

  The other men didn't seem to notice anything unusual, but Daniel could still feel the static charge hovering in the air. He needed away from this man.

  "More tea?" Sean offered, but Daniel had seen and had enough human contact these last few days to last a lifetime, and all he wanted was his own house.

  "No. Thank you for your help, but I'm going to go now."

  "Okay, Daniel. Use your prescription." Sean's last words were faint as the kitchen door closed behind him, and he finally stood in the cold morning air. He glanced down at his hand, flexing it experimentally, and imagining he could still feel static travelling the length of his arm.

  Weird. Just plain weird.

  * * * *

  Jack cosied down under the blanket, milking the injury for all it was worth. So far Mark had made drinks, cooked food, and tidied up the small cottage that Jack had rented. His accident meant he wouldn't be pegging out boundaries on the dig site for the preliminary geophysical survey before the excavations started next summer. Given it was freezing cold, he didn't know whether to be pleased or annoyed at that. Well, he was always one to handle whatever cards life dealt him, and life had dealt him warm comforting thoughts of making love in front of the fire with his boyfriend.

  Finally he'd had enough of Mark bustling around him. He caught the belt loop of his jeans as he scurried past with a pile of archaeological tomes.

  "Come sit down," Jack encouraged, but Mark just shook his head, attempting to pull himself away. With a hard tug Jack managed to get his lover to topple sideways, his centre of balance off, and with a hmmmph, Mark was finally next to him.

  "I need to—" Mark began, but Jack twisted his body enough so he could straddle Mark's lap. With only the faintest reminder of pain from his wrist, he captured his lover's mouth in a heated kiss to stop him talking. They kissed leisurely for a long time until the spikiness of Mark's worries had dulled to soft whimpers of need.

  "Now. Will you tell me what's wrong?" Jack asked softly, frowning as Mark closed his eyes and pursed his lips. "Mark?"

  "That man, Daniel, the soldier… our soldier… Jack—"

  "What?"

  "He has the knife. God, do you remember I said…" His voice trailed off, and he tugged at his lower lip with his teeth. "When Curtess was in the flames, there was a knife thrown, and it killed him before he could suffer."

  "I remember."
<
br />   "That guy…" Mark paused. "He had the knife that was used under his shirt, in those jeans. I could sense the connection. Somehow he… God, the curse…"

  "The curse?"

  "When the warrior and the healer stand to swear a sacred bond… This Daniel guy, this soldier, he's connected."

  "He's the warrior?" Jack didn't doubt what Mark could see, not any more. "And the doc is what? He's the healer? Should we tell someone?"

  "No!" Mark sounded horrified. "They have to find their own path."

  "What if they don't?" He couldn't hide the worry inside him, this curse was playing on his mind more than he had realised. Mark huffed a small sigh, closing his eyes and nodding.

  "They will Jack. They have to if there is any chance for the Fitzwarren family."

  Chapter Six

  Sean waited before visiting Daniel at home. He waited exactly ten minutes after Jack and Mark had left, and then he had his jacket and boots on and was tramping down the side roads between the surgery and his house and the Francis family's cottage. There was stuff unfinished between them, something indefinable that had sparked between them, and he wasn't sure why, but he wanted more and wanted to know more. There was only one way to do it. The cottage was neat and small, and beyond the wrought iron gate, the garden was a tumble and tangle of cottage flowers—chrysanthemums, nasturtiums and late roses, mingling with the scent of rosemary. Passing through the gate, he then walked the short path. The knock sounded loudly on the heavy oak door, and he glanced up at a thatched roof and tiny windows in the whitewashed house. Daniel's cottage was typical of the chocolate box dwellings that dotted the periphery of the village.

  He wondered as he waited for the door to be answered if it was Daniel who did the gardening.

  The door opened, and Daniel glared at him angrily. Sean didn't actually blame him, realising he couldn't really defend landing on the guy's doorstep for absolutely no reason.

  "I was waiting for you," Daniel finally offered, and turned to retreat into the cool interior, leaving the door wide open. Sean stepped in.

  "You were?" he asked curiously. Why would Daniel be expecting him?

  They ended up in the kitchen. Daniel leaned against the sink, staring out of the small crooked window, seemingly intent on gazing out over the similarly cottage-themed back garden.

  "In my experience doctors always want the whys. You didn't get them this morning, hence you followed me to the one safe place I have so you can criticise, poke, prod, force, and generally make a nuisance of yourself until you crack me open like a nut."

  Ouch, that was harsh. Clearly Daniel had had enough of it all and describing this cottage as his one safe place was telling. Sean bit his tongue from snapping back that he wouldn't be here if Daniel hadn't fucked up his medications.

  "How about… Jeez, look, I'm not your doctor, not officially, but I wanted to talk to you about some of the stuff you are taking."

  "I'm not taking advice from some kid who plays at doctors and nurses." Irritation and anger spiked in Daniel's voice, and he finally turned from gazing at the garden to face Sean. His features were composed into a mask of indifference.

  "My dad may have thirty years on me, but don't for one minute think I don't know my job," Sean snapped back with just as much anger and irritation in his own voice. It was hard enough being taken seriously in this village as the young Doctor Lester, let alone having that same crap shoved at him by someone he had bloody well helped.

  "I apologise," Daniel offered softly, "that was uncalled for. You clearly knew how to help me. I thank you for that. Now is that all?"

  "No. Your meds are contra-indicating." Shit. He hadn't meant for it to sound like he was countermanding his father's recommendations, but hey, it was out there now. "The prescription that helps you sleep, the pain killers, and the anti-inflammatory aren't working together properly. I think we could get together a better regime."

  Daniel looked at him suspiciously and raised a single eyebrow. "And my doctor didn't suggest changes because?"

  "Dad—Doctor Lester—inherited the prescription from when you were probably at your worst. No disrespect, but he's old school. Look, can I be frank with you here?"

  "Go on."

  "I have new evidence that I'm pulling from. For instance, I'm guessing that the meds you take make you lethargic?" He waited expectantly for an answer, tilting his head in question.

  "Like a mist around my mind," Daniel finally admitted with a small nod. "I feel like I can't make decisions or even make sense of what is going on around me. It's why…" His voice trailed off, and Sean saw the naked pain in Daniel's eyes.

  "It's why you don't take them all, because they make you feel out of control."

  "Like an addict, desperate for my next hit. No better than that kid in the surgery. I won't allow that; I'm not that person." Daniel's voice resonated with the strength of the words as though they'd been ripped from inside him, and Sean nodded gently.

  "Put the kettle on, Daniel. Let's talk."

  * * * *

  They sat opposite each other at the small kitchen table drinking tea, and Daniel listened carefully, as he always did, to what the doc was telling him. His head worked best when he knew every reason why things were happening. Sean explained about his pills. One was the "upper," one was a sedative, and the third contra-indicated both. It was no wonder he felt like a zombie. He hated them all.

  "It isn't a bad thing to be taking these, Daniel." Sean was so damned patient even as Daniel cringed inwardly. "PTSD is nothing to be ashamed of."

  "I don't have PTSD. The docs at the hospital signed me off. These are for anxiety." Daniel was lying to himself. He was damned sure that, whatever this nebulous PTSD was, he had it. He just wasn't ready to accept it.

  "Have you thought of counselling? To lose your friends like you did—"

  "Been there done that. Look, Doc, guys who are on bomb squads have their own front lines. We only had each other to look to. Every move, every step, could be the last one. We were brothers, but we couldn't be. There had to be distance between us, 'cause we knew not all of us were going to make it home."

  "Your notes said you were one of only two to get out alive," Sean said quietly, and Daniel just found himself nodding, unconsciously replaying the last day in his head. "I can't, for one single minute, imagine what you went through. It's combat on such a personal level that it's almost impossible to understand."

  "Survivor's guilt they said at the counselling. I went there. Jesus, I still go even now, Salisbury general, every Wednesday and Friday. I don't know what else they can say."

  "How are you… feeling… now?"

  "I'm doing okay I guess." Daniel was surprised at what he was saying. He would never be okay, not in a million years. Smithy, Whitey, Marston, Emmet… all gone in the flash of a roadside bomb, seconds away from disabling it. Emmet had slipped a single millimetre as shells rained down on them from above, and there it was—over. "The only thing that saved me was Tommy," shit, "a good guy, not some single, gay guy like me, but married to Linda, with two gorgeous kids, Abby and Emily. A semi-detached house in the country, the whole perfect dream. The blast caught him sideways, and his body protected mine. They couldn't move us for two hours because enemy fire was too heavy. I was the only one left awake, and Tommy, his legs were gone. I had him… over me… on me… my… my friend."

  "Jesus." Sean sounded destroyed by what he was hearing, and suddenly Daniel wanted to make it better for his audience. It was what he did.

  "Yeah, a good man. A good soldier. Believe me, I want to deal with this, but I feel so damn fuzzy, as if my brain can't connect the dots."

  "Will you trust me?"

  "Can you really sit there and tell me you can help?"

  "Yes, Daniel, I know I can. I can talk to my dad and get some of these meds switched around."

  Daniel offered a small smile. "Then what are we waiting for?"

  Chapter Seven

  Sean drove Daniel to the pharmacy in Salisbury in D
aniel's small car, his own sadly broken, way past safe driving and he had left it with his mechanic, Geoff, at the Audi garage. He had spoken to his dad, and for the first time ever, the older man had actually sat and listened, but all the time Sean wondered if it had anything to do with his mom who hovered at their sides. She was always a calming influence between them. The prescription was entirely new, although Daniel would need to be weaned off his old meds and onto the new ones carefully. He planned to be the one to help… as a friend. He waited outside of the pharmacy with a good twenty minutes to contemplate what had happened, including the one phrase he couldn't get out of his head. "Not a single, gay guy…" It wasn't like he had a fully functioning gaydar, but it never failed to amaze him how badly he could misjudge people and their sexual proclivities. Being gay must have been hard for Daniel in the Army, on the front lines. There was definite attraction from his side; Daniel was mostly what he looked for in a man—tall, dark, brooding, messed in the head. It was his modus operandi to go for the needy ones. What was he thinking? He wasn't ready to get behind any of Daniel's walls. He wasn't equipped to deal with all the stuff he knew nothing about. He'd made the decision to not go there and was feeling very proud of himself.

  That's when the pharmacy door swung open, and Daniel limped out, concentrating on his footfalls, his dark eyebrows drawn together and his face creased in a frown, until he reached the car. Then he smiled. That smile was Sean's undoing. Suddenly this man wasn't damaged, or fragile, or needy. Suddenly he was strong and muscled and capable of holding his own. Suddenly he was the man who put himself between Sean and the knife and who ticked every one of Sean's boxes.

  Daniel climbed in, wincing a little as he used one hand to pull his leg into the car, and Sean rapidly looked away, locking his hands at ten and two on the wheel. This attraction to Daniel was wholly unexpected but not entirely unwelcome. It had been three months and counting since he'd seen anything approaching physical intimacy, and since he'd moved to Steeple Westford he'd had none. Apart from the new guys, that psychic and his friend, and Phil of course, it wasn't like there was a lot of tail to chase in this sleepy village. Of course there might be more than he knew, since he appeared to have a malfunctioning gaydar.