A Rose in No-Man's Land (33 page)

“What are you doing up?”

“Not exactly up. I’m in a wheelchair. Too weak to walk. Loss of blood, the doctors tell me.”

“It was awful. I thought I’d murdered Louise.”

“Yes, stupid damn nurse, blurting out about Louise’s death. She should have had more sense.”

He picked up Amy’s hand and drew it to his lips. “I’ve spoken to the hospital chaplain, and he’s prepared to marry us in a few days, if you feel up to it.”

“But, Mark…”

“What is it? Don’t you want to marry me after what’s happened?”

“I do want to marry you. I’ve loved you from the first time we met.”

“Then what’s wrong?”

“I haven’t got anything to wear.”

He threw back his head and roared with laughter.

She pouted. “It isn’t funny.”

“It is, after all we’ve been through. After we’re married I’ll buy you as many dresses as you want. Please, Amy, borrow a uniform from one of the girls here.”

“All right, if you want me to, but why?”

“You were an army nurse when I first met and fell in love with you. Through the blood and carnage of the trenches when I wanted to go mad with the horror and brutality of it all, you were the only thing of beauty I could hold on to. You were truly my Rose in No-Man’s Land.”

****

They were married two weeks later in the hospital chapel. Mark wore full uniform and carried his arm in a sling. Although he still appeared pale and drawn, Amy thought him the handsomest man in the world.

She did as he asked, borrowing a spare uniform from one of the nurses. Charlie gave her away, while Olive sniffed and sobbed all the way through the ceremony. When Mark slipped a plain gold wedding band onto her trembling finger, tears of relief and joy filled her eyes.

“Oh, my darling girl, don’t cry.” His lips were hot against hers, but he pulled back quickly so they might receive the congratulations of the hospital staff gathered for the ceremony.

Matron and Olive put on a reception for them. Charlie managed to overcome the rationing and provide Champagne for the toasts. “Ask me no questions, and you’ll get no lies,” he told Amy with a wink when she asked where he got it from. Darkness was falling by the time they left their guests.

Someone drove them to the pub where they had spent the afternoon on that fateful day when Louise tried to kill Mark. She still found it hard to believe anyone could be so evil, whose hatred and thirst for revenge could torment an innocent man for so many years. He was gray with pain and fatigue as she helped him out of his uniform and into bed.

“What a wretched wedding night this is going to be. I can’t even make love to my wife,” he grumbled.

“Say it again.”

“What a wretched…”

“No, no, the wife bit. I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of hearing it.”

“Come and lie down with me,” he invited, pulling the bedclothes aside. “I want to go to sleep feeling your naked body next to mine.”

“Mark, please.” She felt herself blushing.

“Don’t be embarrassed. I still remember what you did to me in this very room.”

“Ah, but I was your mistress, then. I’m your wife now,” she teased.

“It had better not make any difference,” he warned with a strained grin. “I want a repeat performance when I’m up to it.”

He loved it when embarrassed color swamped her cheeks, and she shyly lowered her head. Taking pity on her embarrassment, he closed his eyes and didn’t open them again until she slid in beside him.

He tried reaching for her, groaning in agony as pain stabbed into his shoulder. What a hell of a wedding night. He had to content himself with fondling her breasts.

****

When Mark woke up, the throbbing in his shoulder had subsided to a dull ache. At the hospital they had given him morphine for the pain, but over the last couple of days he’d weaned himself off it. How many times had he heard of soldiers who came to rely on it so much they could not cope without it?

Amy slept soundly beside him. He angled his head so he could gaze upon her lovely face. In the dim room, the fire cast enough light for him to see how pale and fragile she looked.

She had been through hell over the last few weeks; he hated himself for having been responsible for most of it. She hadn’t complained, not once, in all that time, and had given generously of herself. Selfishly he took what she offered but still wanted more.

In the depths of an English winter, the cold bleakness would sap her strength even more, and break her spirit. He knew this as surely as night followed day. She needed the wide-open spaces, the warmth of an Australian sun, to flourish. He didn’t want their child caught up in the bitterness and sadness the war was inflicting upon the English people.

I must get her away from all this suffering
. Too much delay, and she wouldn’t be fit to travel.

He ran the flat of his hand across her stomach, and it wasn’t his imagination—he could feel a slight thickening there already.

The doctors at the military hospital said his days as an infantry officer were finished. Sick of war with its death and destruction, he prayed they were right. He would have to present himself to an Army Medical Board, and perhaps there might still be a place in the military for him, but he wanted it to be in Australia.

Regardless of what happened to him, he would pull every string he could to ensure Amy got passage on the first decent ship leaving for Australia. Oh, God, how would he survive without her, if the military didn’t send them back together?

Guy would always take care of her, he didn’t need to worry on that score, but he wanted to be there when his child came into the world. Wanted to set up a home for them.

I’ve suffered enough over the years. I’ve done my share for the war effort. How much bloody more do they expect me to give?

****

They arrived in Melbourne on a sunny autumn day.

“Mark, I can’t believe we’re finally home. Are you sure Guy will be there to meet us?” Amy tugged at his arm.

“I’m sure. You know he wouldn’t let us down. I cabled him again from Western Australia, in case he didn’t get the first cable from England.”

“Feel the autumn sun? It’s quite warm. I know you’ll think I’m imagining it, but I can smell the gum trees,” she said, almost hanging over the ship’s railing. If she hadn’t been so heavily pregnant, he felt sure she would hurdle the rails and jump onto the wharf without waiting for the gangplank.

It pleased him to see the warm color glowing in her cheeks, see her eyes dancing with spirit, just the way she’d been when he first fell in love with her. Silvery strands of hair floated in loosened wisps about her face, and his heart constricted at her lovely smile. Although the birth of their child was only weeks away, she still looked beautiful.

Suddenly the light faded from her eyes, her smile faltered as a shadow passed across her face.

“What is it? Are you unwell?” Fear clawed at his insides.

“Scarlet poppies in France’s mud, nurtured by a soldier’s blood,”
she quoted softly. “I’m thinking of Millie, and Dick, and Billy, and all the others who won’t ever be coming home.”

“My God, Amy.” He stood behind her, his hands splayed out across her stomach, his chin resting on her bright hair. “Don’t be sad. Millie and the others wouldn’t want you to be. They would all be happy you made it home.”

The ship gave a shuddering groan, followed by a grating sound as it pulled in to the dock. Mark scanned the waiting people until he saw Guy, standing on a pile of crates and frantically waving.

“Guy, Guy!” Amy waved her arms and jigged up and down with excitement. He restrained her with difficulty from rushing down the gangplank like a crazy woman.

When they disembarked, Guy rushed at them, skidding to a halt just a foot or two in front of them.

“My God, Smithy, you’re a size, aren’t you?” He grinned, cheeky as a schoolboy, before engulfing her in a bear hug.

“Guy.” She kissed him several times in quick succession.

“Well, mate, what can I say?” Guy slapped Mark on the back so heartily he groaned with pain.

“Oops, sorry. I forgot about you being a wounded hero.” He laughed. “That will become sickening after a while. Take it from one who’s had personal experience of it.”

Amy glanced at his neatly pinned-back sleeve.

He followed her gaze. “Doesn’t bother me too much anymore. I’ve grown used to it. Come along. I got the car, like you said, and arranged for the army doctors to assess you in a couple of months. The baby will be born by then, in case the military want you back again.” He gave her another hug.

“You can rest in the car, Smithy, while we collect your luggage and do all the paperwork. If we don’t get home tonight, Sophie will kill me. She wanted to come but couldn’t, with two babies.”

He gabbled on. “She’s been cooking for days, nearly driven me crazy, she’s so excited.”

She wasn’t the only excited one. Mark watched Amy’s shining eyes and madly waving hands. She flung questions at Guy, barely waiting for an answer before asking him another one.

She’d become truly alive again. The spark had been re-ignited the moment she set foot on her native shore, and her happiness spread like a flame, engulfing everyone around her.

He wondered whether Amy would ever know how much she meant to him. Mere words could never describe the depth of his love for this beautiful rose of no-man’s land.

A word about the author…

Margaret Tanner is a multi-published Australian author. She loves delving into the pages of history as she carries out research for her historical romance novels, and prides herself on being historically accurate. No book is too old or tattered for her to trawl through, no museum too dusty, or cemetery too overgrown. Many of her novels have been inspired by true events, with one being written around the hardships and triumphs of her pioneering ancestors in frontier Australia.

As part of her research she has visited the World War I battlefields in France and Belgium, a truly poignant experience.

Margaret is a member of the Romance Writers of Australia, the Melbourne Romance Writers Group (MRWG), and EPIC. She won the 2007 and 2009 Author of the Year award at AussieAuthors.com. Her novel
Frontier Wife
won the Best Historical Romance Novel at the 2010 Readers Favorite Award, and another novel,
Wild Oats
, was a 2010 Finalist in the EPIC awards.

Margaret is married, with three grown-up sons and a gorgeous little granddaughter. Outside of her family and friends, writing is her passion.

You can connect with Margaret at her website:

http://www.margarettanner.com/

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