The British Are Coming

Part 2: The Soldier's Soup

Several days passed while you worked on mending the wounded soldier. You took great care of him, dressing his wounds, bathing him as best you could. Sadie helped, although reluctantly. She made her disapproval known through slamming bowls and stomping floors. Four years since they cut out her tongue, and no amount of shouting could compare to a single glare from that woman. Still, you understood her concern. Having the enemy under your roof meant potential trouble. You had a son to protect, a home to defend. But it's what he would have done. There would be no second thought on the matter. He would have tended to and cared for and done no harm, even to his worst enemy. Because that's the kind of man your husband was. He was a healer,not a fighter like so many in this wretched war. That is, until the war took him too.

"You must eat, soldier!" you growled frustratedly. Food and water proved to be difficult during his state. He was stubborn in his sickness, often clenching his jaw shut, his eyes flaring with fever. Once he knocked the bowl out of your hand. You immediately jumped from your seat, gasping, your dress drenched in broth.

"Blast!" you exclaimed, shaking your hands dry.
"I'm only trying to help you!" you shouted before storming to the basin. You grabbed a cloth and started wiping at your bodice, angrily. It was soaked to the bone and reeked of shellfish. You cursed silently about the mess, grumbling as you bent lower to work on the skirt. In your effort, the corset shifted some, lifting your bosom even higher. The exposed skin glistened with beads of soup, a few drops trickled in between your breasts. You stuck the cloth deep into your corset, wiping away. It was in that moment that you caught his stare. Those once feverish eyes had a different fire behind them, one lit by impulse and not infirmity.

You dropped your hands in shame, wringing the cloth in front of you. He blinked and suddenly looked away, as if he was wrenched from some dream. You gracelessly turned back to the basin and exhaled shakily, closing your eyes. The breath seemed caught in your lungs, unable to escape fully. You remained there for a moment, quietly composing yourself when he spoke.

"I'll take another," he sighed. There was an air of privilege in his tone, something that struck a nerve inside you. You turned to face him, praying the blush on your cheeks wouldn't betray you.

"Oh, will you?" you replied dryly, crossing your arms. You did your best to bristle your exterior. He mustn't see you falter.

He attempted to sit up some, but that handsome face stiffened in pain and a laboring grunt escaped his parted lips. You hurried to him, gently maneuvering him by the arms. A sturdy cord of muscle moved beneath your fingers as you aided him. You recognized his strength early on when he struggled with you during his pain. The way he was fighting you off - you remember thinking those arms could carry you to bed and easily be rid of your garments. But you succumbed to the guilt of even thinking of such a thing. Such a thing with another man. Another man who was the enemy.

You made him comfortable with pillows, noting that his skin was much cooler than before. His fever must be waning, thank Heaven.

"Is that better?" you asked formally. He nodded curtly, not looking at you, only at the wall straight ahead. He swallowed slowly. The click of his throat seemed to echo in the silence. You watched it intently, not even realizing your stare until his eyes darted to yours.

"I'll...um, I'll get more soup," you said quietly, dropping your gaze. Your nerves were buzzing like bees inside of you. Maybe Sadie was right: having him here would bring trouble, and maybe not the kind you initially thought.

"I'm sorry," he said suddenly. He turned his head and looked at you fully for the first time. His eyes penetrated you so intensely, you felt the urge to flee. A warning stirred deep inside of you, telling you to retreat. It was loud and commanding, reaching out from every corner of your heart. That heart that did it's damnedest to fend off any feelings. Your soldier wasn't the only thing in this house that needed healing.

"You're sorry for what?" you asked with trepidation. Your voice somehow managed to be steadier than you expected. Perhaps you had a better hold on yourself than you first thought.

His expression changed, turning from pinched and pompous to something more alluring, more intriguing. More trouble, you thought to yourself.

The corner of his mouth turned up slightly and his head cocked confidently in reply.

"For making you wet."