The kiss deepened, turned, flexed, flowed back and forth between them. She had missed kisses like this, she had missed this man’s touch.

Ben pulled away, his gaze sharpening as he examined her face. Then he kissed her again, the kiss she didn’t want, brotherly, chaste. He rolled over onto his back so that only their hands touched.

He said, “I felt the memory come back to you. Your whole body went cold.”

Hannah tried to gather the words that might make him understand. In the end she gave him the simplest truth.

“I am glad,” she said. “I’m glad that he never kissed me.”

Ben was very silent, his gaze fixed on the ceiling. Then he turned on his side toward her, and cupped her face with his hand.

“I’m glad, too,” he said. He let one hand rest on the plane of her belly, his fingers lightly curled. And: “When you are ready,” he said. “I am here. I will be here until you send me away.”

In the minutes it took her to fall asleep Hannah thought about that, about the idea of sending Ben Savard away. How such a thing might be done, and what the world would be without him.

Chapter 48

At first light, Hannah and Ben walked back to the city to be greeted at the clinic door with the news that Luke was in the little clinic.

“He left the battlefield without a scratch,” Hannah said, her alarm making her voice rise.

Paul Savard said, “Someone took a shot at him just as he was coming into the city. He never saw who it was.”

He exchanged a glance with his brother, one that wasn’t lost on Hannah but would have to be examined later.

“Tell me,” she said.

“He was lucky,” the doctor told her. “Either the gun misfired or it was poorly loaded, and the bullet deflected off a wagon before it struck him. He’s got a back full of splinters. Nothing life-threatening.” And: “Unless Jennet’s temper gets the best of her.”

Hannah took leave of Ben with a flutter of her hand and went to the surgery, where Luke lay prone on the table, his back bared for treatment. Julia stood at one side with tweezers and a scalpel, and Jennet on the other with a bowl of water. Julia said, “This isn’t as bad as it looks.”

Luke grunted.

“Or as it feels,” Julia added. “Would you like to take over?”

“Please no,” said Luke. “She’ll torture me to death.”

Jennet snorted. “Listen to him whinging like a babe in arms. For splinters and a wee bit of blood.”

Hannah cast Jennet a sidelong glance. Her fright had given way to anger, and now Luke must bear the brunt of it.

It took Hannah a moment to take full measure of the wounds, but when she was satisfied that Paul Savard hadn’t been minimizing the damage, she went to Jennet directly and put a hand on her shoulder.

“There will be scarring, but nothing here is very deep. If there’s another battle tomorrow he’ll probably insist on rushing off to join it. I will take over if you like, Julia.”

Julia left to see to other patients, and Hannah settled at Luke’s side with the tray of instruments.

“One of you should just hit me on the head with the hammer,” Luke said. “Get it over with.”

“What would be the fun in that?” Jennet asked.

There was silence while Hannah worked. A clink as a bit of shot was deposited in a basin, and then Jennet washed away the blood. Luke drew in a hissing breath, and the process repeated itself. Hannah pulled a half dozen long splinters that had dug into the muscle, and a few bits of shot. When she was almost finished, Luke roused himself.

“Not tomorrow.” His voice came muffled, because he had buried his head in his arms. “No battle tomorrow.”

“Is that so?” Jennet said dryly. “You made your wishes clear to both sides, then?”

He turned his head very slightly and shot her an aggravated look. “The English are still bringing in troops and artillery—”

“By all means, let’s wait for the Sassenach to get themselves organized,” Jennet said.

“—and our fortifications are weak. Jackson’s got every slave in a hundred-mile radius and most of the free men, too, militia and regular army, out there on the Rodriquez Canal.”

Jennet made a humming noise deep in her throat. Hannah dug for a splinter and Luke jerked.

To distract Jennet, Hannah asked her about the rest of the wounded. It turned out that there had been twenty-four killed in battle and just over a hundred wounded, only half of those seriously, and that the army surgeons and the city hospital had absorbed them all. Even the captured British—and there were many—had been easily accommodated, the officers taken in by the first families.

“There are many hundreds dead on the other side,” Jennet said. “The Carolina did serious damage. And then there are those who managed to survive the battles and come home wounded nonetheless.”

Luke pushed out a sigh that gave way to a low yip as Hannah got hold of the splinter and pulled. When she had finished he turned his head toward Jennet, reached out, and grabbed her by the wrist.

“Oi,” said Jennet, but she let herself be drawn down so she was face-to-face with her husband. Luke looked her directly in the eye for a long moment.

“Now listen to me,” he said in a soft and dangerous voice. “I am not badly wounded. I will not die. I’m not going to recount every step I took in battle so you can torture yourself with what might have happened, but didn’t. So stop asking.”