Weathering Captain Storm Read online

  Weathering Captain Storm

  Jane Charles

  Contents

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Epilogue

  About Jane Charles

  Also by Jane Charles

  Copyright © 2016 by Jane Charles

  Cover Design by Covers By Lily

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  Dedication

  For:

  My father, Virgil (Army)

  My husband, Michael (Marines)

  My cousin, Barry (Marines)

  My nephew, Nicholas (Marines)

  My nephew, Michael (Air Force)

  My nephew, David (Air Force)

  My son, Lucas (Army)

  They all served, three still do, and one gave his life.

  And, for all of those who serve – Thank you!

  ~ Jane

  Chapter 1

  Brussels, May 1815

  “Lieutenant Storm, get back in that bed right now.”

  Nate jerked his head toward the voice, convinced he was only hearing what he wanted, but there she was, Isabella Valentine, striding down the aisle of cots, those lovely red lips fixed in a frown.

  He grinned.

  He’d happily get back in his bed if she’d join him.

  Those were his thoughts today, just as they had been the first time she’d said those very same words to him. The first time they’d ever spoken. Nate had stayed away from Isabella. Not that he hadn’t noticed her moving among the injured and sick, but he’d assumed she was married to Dr. Orlando Valentine and had followed the drum. A married woman was always off limits, no matter how beautiful or desirable, and he’d envied the good doctor. It was only after he took a bayonet to the side that left him laid up, waiting for the blasted thing to heal, that he learned that Isabella was the good doctor’s sister, and an unmarried miss.

  She’d chastised him them for moving too much and ripping a few of his stitches, and it was Isabella who repaired them because the doctors and surgeons were busy with the more seriously wounded men.

  Nate could still remember her soft fingers pressed against his side as she cleaned his wound then tried to gently stitch the ones that’d been torn. Nate had felt none of the pain as the needle pricked his inflamed and irritated skin. How could he when her kind grey eyes were so full of compassion and she smelled like heaven, as if she’d bathed in moonlight?

  Perhaps it was because Isabella was one of the few women who were respectable. Or, maybe it was because she was the only miss who wasn’t a camp follower, or maybe it was because she was simply Isabella, but Nate began to fall in love with her that very day.

  However, as much as he’d tried to occupy all of her time then, she gave him no more attention than she did the others, much to his irritation.

  Once he was free from the sickbed, he’d visited and talked with her in the evenings, but many soldiers also wished for her companionship, and he was constantly fighting to be noticed. It was no different from being one of many bachelors at a ball, vying for a dance with the prettiest and sweetest debutante.

  After the Battle of Toulouse, Nate had even less time to spend with her because he began to divide his free time between Isabella Valentine and Mary Soares.

  Dear Mary Soares, who had been injured and then rejected by her husband. Of course, her husband had already been unfaithful more times than Nate could count, but at least Soares tried to be discreet about it in the beginning. It became much worse after his wife was struck down, leaving a scar on the side of her cheek and neck.

  Nate had carried Mary from the battlefield, sat by her when she was ignored by her husband, and then took her walking in the evenings so she wasn’t near her tent when the major brought a light skirt back for personal entertainment. Isabella occasionally joined them on these walks, but not nearly as often as Nate would’ve liked. He was always torn between trying to protect Mary from the shame her husband brought, and wanting to be with Isabella, hoping she’d see him more favorably than the others under Major Soares’ command.

  Nate hadn’t laid eyes on Isabella for nearly a year, and he had missed her; but he hadn’t realized how very much until she leaned over a patient and checked the man for a fever. It shouldn’t be a surprise, many of his nights were filled with dreams of Isabella in his arms and in his bed, her soft voice in his ear, the tenderness of her touch against his skin.

  He should have courted her back then and expressed his feelings, but he held himself back. War was not the place to begin a courtship, and he was never certain where her emotions lay in regard to him. She was kind and caring to every soldier, never once indicating she saw him any differently than the dozens of others who conversed with her daily.

  Frankly, he was afraid he’d profess the truth of his heart, and she’d tell him that she thought of him only as a dear friend. As it was nearly impossible to avoid one another, Nate had kept his feelings to himself so as not to cause an uncomfortable and awkward situation between the two of them.

  However, they were both here now, and he was going to make the best of it. This war would end, eventually, and he’d return home. If he learned nothing in the year away from Isabella, he did know that he wanted her with him, and this time he wouldn’t hold back. He would claim her as he should have before.

  The only drawback to being in Brussels and this close to Isabella meant that he’d be near Major Soares, the ass. If Nate hadn’t punched the man, he wouldn’t have been transferred to a different regiment, and then he wouldn’t have been separated from Isabella in the first place.

  Isabella stopped beside his bed and placed the back of her hand against his forehead. “You are feverish.”

  He hadn’t been until he heard her voice, though he wouldn’t explain the sudden rise in his body temperature.

  “I feel well.”

  “You’re a soldier with a fever. Not to be taken lightly.” She glanced around the small medical tent. There wasn’t an empty cot and each patient suffered from either dysentery, typhoid, typhus or pneumonia. Luckily it was only a small percentage of the men who had arrived in Brussels after following Wellington. “It’s better to keep the ill from the others. We’ve both seen the devastation disease can cause to an army.”

  An unchecked illness could bring an entire regiment to their knees, unable to fight and dead soon after. Begrudgingly, Nate had to admit Isabella was correct. “But, I’m not ill,” he pointed out. “My head ached a few days ago and I did have a fever. If I remain here, I will become ill.”

  “You will remain as long as you are flushed and warm.” Isabella pushed on his shoulder. “Now lie back and rest.”

  “Perhaps illness is
n’t the cause of my condition.” Nate grinned and winked at her, and the soldier beside him chuckled.

  “I’m not letting you leave this bed until I’m convinced you’re better, and then I will inform the doctor.”

  “Isabella,” Nate began to plead.

  “Nathaniel!” She lifted an auburn eyebrow and her grey eyes bore into his. Her tone was no different than he’d heard too often from his nursery maid, housekeeper, and even his sister’s governess.

  “Do you know our lovely nurse, Captain?” the man beside him asked in surprise.

  “Captain?” Isabella questioned with a smile. “Congratulations on your promotion.”

  “All the more reason why I should not be wasting time in this sickbed when I’m not sick at all.”

  “You will rest, and you will get well. You can’t lead your men if you’re dead.”

  With that, she turned and marched away, having delivered her orders, and all Nate could do was watch the gentle sway of her backside beneath her dark skirts.

  He would get well and quick. Then, he would pursue her as he should have done a year ago. For now, he had time. During the day, he and his men would continue to train and prepare for the eventual confrontation with Napoleon. At night, she would be his.

  * * *

  Isabella exited the hospital tent and went directly to her brother’s tent. She was not allotted one for herself, but Orlando made room for her in his, both giving each other privacy when needed.

  It was all she could do not to run from the hospital, and she ignored everyone who called out to her, not stopping until she sank down onto her cot.

  Nate Storm had returned!

  She never thought she’d see him again. He was the man she dreamed about. The only man she’d ever loved. They were friends, and she cherished the memories of the short time they were in the same regiment, before he was transferred. Of course, she knew he’d never be hers. While she might love him, Nate loved Mary, a woman he could never have because she was married to Major Soares. Not that Nate had ever behaved inappropriately toward Mary, but a man does not spend so much time with a woman without caring deeply for her.

  It used to pain Isabella to see them together. Their heads close in conversation. And even though Nate always asked Isabella to join him and Mary when they walked in the evening, she declined when it was too painful to have to witness the closeness they shared. Other times, she went along because it was her chance to have a bit of Nate, even if only for a short time.

  Now, he was here. Her heart sang for joy, her stomach twisted in knots, her hand shook when she pressed it against his brow, and her blood heated when he winked at her. Thankfully he didn’t seem to notice. As much as she wanted to remain by his side, Isabella knew she could not. If she lingered but a moment longer, she might not have ever left, and that would never do.

  Besides, Mary was in camp. As soon as Nate realized his love was near, his attention would be for her friend, and Isabella wasn’t sure she could stand to watch the man she loved, pine after another. Both of them wanting what neither could have.

  Chapter 2

  There she was! He’d looked among the ill when he was finally allowed to leave the sick tent, but Isabella hadn’t been with the patients. Instead, she was with a handful of soldiers and women doing laundry. He’d hurried back to his tent, gathered up his dirty clothing, tossed them in a bag and returned. A large pot of water was suspended above a hot fire and Isabella stood near, scrubbing linens in another tub, then passing the material to Mary, who rinsed away the soap before the two of them suspended it on a long clothesline for drying. Soldiers assigned to this task were doing the same. He placed his clothing to the side and approached the women.

  The major’s wife should not be doing the hospital laundry. Given her husband’s rank, Mary had privileges, and this was beneath her, at least in Nate’s opinion. Not that Mary ever let anything stop her from doing work that needed to be done. He’d learned early on that she’d rather be helping and working than visiting with the few officers’ wives. But that was then, when there were battles and they were often away from civilization. Not like now, where they were camped just outside of Brussels. She could be shopping or taking tea or any number of things that didn’t require she participate in backbreaking work.

  As Isabella was the sister of a doctor, she often saw to many of the hospital-related tasks, though laundry should not be one of them. There were soldiers for this job. She should be reading or writing letters, not standing over hot tubs of water and rubbing lye soap into garments.

  No, she should be strolling the streets of Brussels with Mary, or enjoying some of the many entertainments offered since so many English had descended on Brussels in the wake of Wellington. They didn’t belong here but should be allowed to enjoy society as so many other young women were doing.

  After the blanket was secured to the lines, Isabella returned to the wash basin and started scrubbing. Nate paused beside her, and she glanced up. “They’ve released you from your bed, Captain Storm?” Her auburn eyebrow raised with the question.

  “Yes, so there is no reason to chase me back there.”

  A smile pulled at her lips. “I’m glad to see you’ve recovered.”

  “Good day, Captain Storm,” Mary greeted him with a smile.

  She was such a lovely woman. It was a shame her husband did not appreciate having her as his wife. Of course, many things may have changed over the past year, though Nate doubted that Major Soares had ceased his adulterous habits. “Good day, Mary. It’s good to see you again.”

  “And ye. I understand ye were recently ill.”

  He shot a look at Isabella. The only way Mary could know is if Isabella had told him. What else had the two discussed regarding him? Did he dare hope that Isabella might have confessed any feelings for him to her friend?

  Perhaps he should take a few moments to speak in private with Mary, when given the chance, to see what he could learn.

  However, now was not the time. He’d specifically come looking for Isabella and now that he’d found her, he wasn’t leaving. “It was a mild fever. Nothing to be concerned about.”

  “I’m glad ta hear,” she said as she began rinsing another blanket.

  Isabella stopped in her scrubbing to brush a stray hair from her face, and Nate grasped her hand before it could return to the hot, soapy water. Her hands were red, chapped, and rough. “You should not be seeing to this task. There are men assigned to do the laundry.” When this blasted war was over, he would take her from this, provide a home and servants, and her hands could recover. They should be soft and without callouses.

  “It’s women’s work,” she replied. “I wasn’t unfamiliar with laundry before I followed my brother, and I daresay, I’ll be familiar with it long after Napoleon has been dealt with.” She pulled her hand from his grasp and returned to scrubbing.

  After this bloody war was over, Isabella would have no reason to even wash a handkerchief. “Then I shall assist you.”

  “Don’t you have soldiers to attend to or train?”

  “I’ve been allowed to leave the medical tent, but not given permission to return to duty.”

  “Then I suggest you rest so you do not suffer a setback.”

  “I am well, Isabella. The doctors are being overly cautious because they can afford to be. Let me wash,” Nate offered. “You and Mary can rinse and hang.”

  “This is not your duty, Captain Storm.”

  “I have no duties, Isabella,” he reminded her as he took the bar of soap from her hand.

  * * *

  It was good to see Nate away from the sickbed. Oh, how she wished he was here for her, but that was what she’d wished for before and always knew it was Mary he sought. Her friend was beautiful and kind. Who wouldn’t love her? The soldiers were drawn to Mary, and always had been, and Nate wasn’t any different. He was always polite to Isabella, but if she slipped away, Nate would be just as happy to wash while Mary rinsed, just the two of them togeth
er.

  “How is your family?” Isabella finally asked, not sure if she should leave or remain. “Have you a chance to visit them?”

  After Napoleon was secured on Elba, many soldiers returned home and others resigned their commission because the largest threat to the Continent and England was no longer a concern. At least he wasn’t until he escaped.

  “I remained with my regiment,” he answered. “Did you return home?”

  “No.” Mary shook her head.

  “What of you, Isabella? Did you and your brothers take the opportunity to return to England?”

  She smiled at the Christmas memory. “Yes, I was able to be home for Christmas.” Her grin widened. “And, happy to be present to see my older sister wed.” Isabella almost hadn’t come back, not sure she could face the devastation and destruction the battles brought, but she knew she couldn’t remain home when she’d be needed here.

  “And Bertram?”

  “He’s still with the foot guards. They’re his life. I fully expect him to remain with the army until he is too old to carry a rifle.” Isabella nodded to the medical tents. “And, of course, Orlando is still here, or I wouldn’t be.”

  Nate handed her the blanket he’d just scrubbed. Their hands brushed, sending tingles up her arm. Goodness, what was it about him that caused the oddest sensations? It wasn’t as if being around a man was new to her. Since she’d followed her brother to the Continent, Isabella had been constantly surrounded by men. Ill men, wounded men, and very healthy men. None of them caused her pulse to race, her heart to pound, or her stomach to knot. Only Nate.

  “When ye write ta Uncle Osborn and Aunt Mary, give them my love,” Mary said.

  Nate frowned.

  “Dinna ye ken Isabella and I are related?” Mary laughed.

  Isabella had been very careful not to speak about her family. Though she wasn’t ashamed of her siblings, she wanted to keep questions at bay so as not to have to resort to lies if others asked details about her parents. Many questions came in the form of interest, while others simply liked to pry into the business of others.