wanted to be here, to nurse you back to health, but then your letter arrived, the one telling me not to come. Telling me you would send for me when the time was right. And I waited.'
Owen frowned. 'What letter? I never said that.'
'Yes, Owen, you did.' Her hands came away from her face and she looked up. 'In that first letter, in her hand, you told me not to come.'
He shook his head. 'I never said that.'
'It was there, Owen.' Her tears began anew. 'I would show you the letter, but, oh, I am such a silly girl. I carried it with me and was reading it on the ship. The wind tore it from my grasp. I thought God was giving me a sign that you had been torn from me. I was inconsolable. I did not leave my cabin for days.'
Owen went to his knees and took her in his arms. 'Hush, Catherine. You have not lost me. I am yours, and yours alone.' He stroked her hair and kissed her cheek. Bethany wouldn't have added that, would she?
'Oh, Owen.' She pressed her forehead to his. 'When you did not mention her to me, or introduce me to her, when she was not present when her parents had us to dinner, what was I to think? Have I been silly, Owen? Please tell me I have been silly.'
He took her face in both hands and kissed her. 'You have been silly, Catherine, but that is no vice.'
She sniffed. 'Then the reason you want me to remain in Temperance is not because she is going off on campaign?'
'What? No.' Owen shook his head. 'If she is going-and I do not believe she is at all-I know nothing of it and want nothing to do with her.'
'Then why don't you want me to go with you? You let me come to war on the Continent.'
Owen rose and scooped her in his arms, then deposited her on the bed. 'On the Continent, my lovely wife, there were comforts like this bed; and other women to organize balls and social events. On this campaign all those things shall be here, in Temperance.'
'What about this Hattersburg?'
He snorted. 'You would hate it. Social life is a tavern and if you can find a bed, you're sleeping three or four to it.'
She rested a hand on his hip. 'I would endure it gladly, Owen, to be close to you.'
'And I would not put you through that.'
She sat up, the sheet falling away, and licked his stomach. 'Come, Owen, be my husband one more time. One more time before you are away. Show me how much you love me, and give me reason to believe you will return.'
Owen took leave of Catherine privately, in their rooms. She had insisted on dressing him while remaining naked. She said it was a duty she owed him as his wife. Then she kissed him and clung to him, finally letting him go, her hand in his until he descended the stairs.
He made his way to the green before Government House, where the Fourth Foot was assembling. Because he was not a member of the Regiment, he found himself in a curious position. His rank entitled him to command a battalion, but the Regiment had no need for him. Ostensibly he was attached to the unit's command company as a liaison with the Colonial forces, but he and Rivendell wanted little to do with each other. Rivendell had made this apparent by denying him a horse. Rivendell likewise showed his disdain for the Colonials by refusing to allow Owen to march with them.
He found Lieutenant Palmerston and picked up his pack and musket. The Lieutenant gave him a wink, and Owen smiled. Despite having had a new uniform created for him, Owen had arranged that his Altashee kit would be packed for his use in the field.
'Gone native, have you, Nephew?'
Owen turned. 'What, sir?'
Deathridge pointed to the tomahawk hanging from his pack. 'Not standard issue.'
'No, sir, but useful.' Owen smiled. 'There are a lot of things that we consider standard that won't be here.'
Deathridge nodded solemnly. 'I am aware of that, and aware that Rivendell will studiously avoid anything that requires thought. He really has no idea what he will find out there.'
'Agreed.'
'Owen, I need to ask a favor.'
He'd never heard that tone in his uncle's voice before. 'Yes, sir.'
'I need you to refrain from doing more than requested.'
'I am not sure I understand.'
'It's really rather simple. I've told Prince Vladimir the same thing. Our best outcome here is for Rivendell to realize conquering the Fortress of Death just is not possible. I would prefer he build Fort Hope and go no further. I hope just getting to Anvil Lake will take the fire out of his belly. If this happens, please, let it be so.'
Owen nodded. This was one of his uncle's political games. Owen loathed that sort of thing, but agreed with the goal. 'Yes, Uncle, I understand.'
'Good.' Deathridge embraced Owen. 'Go with God. Fight with honor and return home safely.'
Owen, quite thrown off guard, retreated from the embrace, then tossed his uncle a crisp salute. The older man returned it, added a quick nod, and made his way off toward where Rivendell was speaking with his officers.
Owen shook his head. Before seeing his uncle, he had been feeling isolated. He did not fit in with the Regiment. Wearing a Norillian uniform, he no longer felt as if he fit with Mystria. People did not look at his face, just his coat, and based their reaction to him on it alone.
And now he asks me to work against the wishes of the Crown.
'Captain Strake.'
Owen turned and smiled. 'Doctor Frost, good to see you, sir.'
'And you, looking very fierce in your uniform.'
'Thank you.' Owen looked past him for any sign of his wife or daughter. 'And thank you for seeing me off.'
'Had to. My wife wished to be here, but seeing Caleb off yesterday…'
'I understand, sir.'
The older man smiled. 'And Bethany, I think she would have been here, but she is a very stubborn girl. She's made her mind up about you and is unbending.'
'Please remember me to her.'
'I shall. Were she here, she would wish you Godspeed and safety, as do I.' The man dug into his pocket and produced a small book. 'It is a journal. I hope you will keep it as you did the others. I should be happy to read of your expedition.'
'Very thoughtful, sir.'
Frost laughed. 'Not me, sir. I had thought to give you another copy of Haste's A Continent's Calling. My daughter took my coat for a brushing, and I found this in my pocket instead. I suspect I shall not be alone in reading about your adventures.'
'I shall be happy to share them.' Owen tucked the book in his coat pocket. 'If I might impose on you, sir. My wife, she will be remaining here in Temperance. She knows no one save…'
'Say no more, my boy. I will arrange introductions.' Doctor Frost offered his hand. 'Godspeed, sir, there and back again.'
'Good health to you and yours, sir.'
Up and down the line, whistles blew. Owen shook Dr. Frost's hand, then found his position in the rear of the formation. A drummer set a pace, and the Fourth Regiment of Foot set out for the Fortress of Death.
Deathridge found Rivendell in a gaggle of officers and caught his eye. The mission's commander excused himself and drew back into an alley. The man made an elaborate charade of being cautious which guaranteed that he, being clad in red satin, would draw attention.
Idiot. Deathridge followed and hissed at him. 'My lord! Discretion, if you please.'
'Of course, Dick, of course. Are things set?'
'Completely. I've issued the necessary orders.' Deathridge smiled. 'Provided these Colonials can do anything at all correctly, you will have what you need to complete your mission.'
'Oh, I shall, and return showered in glory.' Rivendell raised his face to the sky, stretching his throat, and Deathridge imagined the satisfaction of drawing a razor across it. 'New Tharyngia shall be a thing of the past.'
'Very good. I have instructed my nephew to do nothing helpful on this expedition. I expect you will give him the
