The Soldier's Dark Secret

The urge to flee was very strong. Whatever it was that propelled her to such dizzying heights would also be the end of her if she let it. She would be powerless in its sway. She would be incapable of doing other than its bidding. It might make her wildly happy, but she was pretty certain it would also eventually make her deeply miserable.

Celeste began to ease herself free of Jack’s embrace. His arms tightened around her. He opened his eyes. He smiled at her, a sated, satisfied smile that squeezed her heart and destroyed all her resolution. She smiled back. Then his smile faded. He let her go gently, but he let her go.

* * *

Jack sat up, pushing his hair back from his forehead. Ought he to feel guilty? He looked at the woman lying on the bed beside him, and felt nothing save this fierce need to hold her, keep her, always. She touched him to the core. The strength of his feelings almost overwhelmed him, but it was the sheer force of them that made him realise he had to make sure that it ended here. In another life, if he was another man, he could allow himself to care. In another life, she would love him back. In another life, he would deserve that love. But he had only this life, and he must endure its vagaries. He could never be happy, while Celeste deserved every happiness. He had to make sure that she understood now, before it was too late, how hopeless it was. He had to save them both from the pain of dashed hope, and there was one sure-fire way of doing that.

‘Celeste, there is something we must discuss.’

Her hair trailed over her shoulders, pale against the warmth of her skin. ‘There is no need,’ she said dully. ‘You were right. We should not have— It was a mistake.’

‘A mistake we can’t repeat,’ he said. ‘Must not. I need to explain why.’

But even though he knew he had to speak, he found it almost impossible. Nothing to do with the embargo which the army had placed on the subject, everything to do with what he was about to destroy. Jack closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the headboard. ‘It was my fault,’ he said. ‘That’s the most important point to understand.’ He opened his eyes. ‘It was my fault, and nothing I can do will ever change that.’

He sat up, pushing a pillow behind his back. Celeste curled her legs around her, angling herself in the bed to face him. She looked as grim as he felt. ‘You heard the gist of it from Carruthers.’ He frowned, forcing himself to think back, though he had gone over it so many times, there was really no need. ‘We were marching north, aiming for Burgos in Castile. Wellington—he was Wellesley then—wanted to move our supply base from Lisbon to Santander. I got wind that a band of elite French soldiers were hiding out in a small hilltop village. We had been monitoring them for a while. They were responsible for all sorts of surprise attacks on our flanks, a real thorn in our side. We suspected a leak from one of our own informants. There were a hundred very good reasons for us wanting to rid ourselves of them, and I was under a great deal of pressure—but that is no excuse.’

Jack pushed his hair back from his brow again. He was damp with sweat. ‘I shouldn’t have let on. I should have kept it to myself until it was verified, but I didn’t and once it was out, action followed quickly. They were like ghosts in the night. We’d lost them a few times. It was deemed too risky to wait. I should have protested more forcefully. I should have demanded that we wait so that I could check, cross-check, as I always did.’

‘Jack, you did protest though?’

‘Not enough. No one listened.’

‘But you did...’

‘Celeste, it doesn’t matter what I tried to do, what matters is what happened. We sent our men into that village thinking it was a fortress, based on information I provided. Carruthers was the commanding officer. He took no chances. He went in hard, all guns blazing.’ He was cold now. He clenched his teeth together to stop himself shivering, clenched every muscle in his body to stop himself shaking.

‘Jack, this is too painful for you. Please stop.’ Concern was etched on Celeste’s face.

He managed a weak smile. ‘Not so long ago, you’d have been prodding me in the chest and demanding that I go on.’

She took his hand. ‘I couldn’t imagine then what ailed you. I didn’t know then quite how much pain you were in.’

‘My pain is nothing. I need to tell you. I need you to know what no one else does. I owe you that much.’

* * *

I owe you that much. And then it would be over, whether she wanted it or not—and she was a good deal more ambivalent about that than she’d realised. But what she felt didn’t matter at the moment. What mattered was Jack. She was terrified of what he would tell her, and terrified of what his telling her would do to him, but she knew, with utter certainty, that he had to get it off his chest. Celeste felt for his hand. Her own was icy. ‘Very well. Go on.’