Lacy Williams (21 page)

Macready took another bite of stew. Then, assuming an
elaborately casual air, he asked, “How was Sunday service?”

James bit into the crusty loaf, closing his eyes in delight for
a moment as he savored it. Then he uttered his customary one-word response,
“Fine.”

“Hmm. Are you sure, Rowland? There’s an air about you, as
though something extraordinary happened to you. You even look different. There’s
more color in your person, as though you are warmer from the inside.” Macready
broke off another piece of bread, peering at James as he did so.

Blast Macready and his Irish gift of gab. He would never let
up—not until James had told him about his entire morning. True, his meeting with
Lucy Williams had given him hope—hope that he could move on from the past. She
was the first person he’d met in Bath who wasn’t a veteran of the war. And she
was the only person to offer her friendship. The difference between how he felt
before church this morning and now, sitting in the cozy kitchen, well, this was
the difference that a new friendship could make in a fellow’s life. She made
life seem just a little less bleak and unforgiving.

’Twas strange indeed how he could speak to only certain people
and stranger still how he could not speak to everyone else. His ability to speak
naturally had fled as he lay crouched, playing dead, at La Sainte Haye. Macready
was one of the only men to whom he could converse. And even though he could
speak to the lieutenant, he did so slowly and haltingly. Macready had long since
grown used to his stilted cadences, though, and waited with great patience to
listen whenever James chose to speak.

But how to describe Lucy? She was merely offering to help him
out of charity and friendship, surely. So it would be folly to describe her in
grand terms that would have Macready expecting a romance in the offing. No woman
wanted a poor, mute veteran for her own. Certainly not someone who was pretty
and clever, like Miss Williams. So it was much better to stick with the facts,
as a good soldier should.

“Met a g-girl,” he grumbled. His voice was rusty and
unpracticed, even to his own ears. He reached for the teapot and poured a
steaming cup. “She will work with the veterans’ group of Cantrill’s. Helping
out.” He took a long draught of burning tea to calm his ragged throat and hide
his emotions from Macready.

“Not Sophie Handley, surely? I don’t know much about the female
in question, but I believe she is destined to be Cantrill’s,” Macready replied,
a warning note to his voice.

“No. Miss Williams. She wants t-t-to read to me. T-to help
with...this.” He shrugged one shoulder. ’Twas terribly awkward to talk about his
strange affliction, even with Macready. After all, the lieutenant had deep
gashes all along one arm and up one leg, wounds that were taking forever to
heal. Whilst James himself had gotten only a few nicks.

It made a fellow wonder if, deep down inside, he was really a
coward after all. Why else would he be so affected by injuries that had been so
slight?

“Well, that could be most entertaining, you know. Is she
pretty?” Incorrigible Macready, always ready to seek out a lovely new face. Even
so, an unreasonable dart of jealousy shot through James. He played down his
response so that Macready would leave him in peace.

“P-pretty enough,” he allowed. “Let’s hope she d-doesn’t like
G-gothic novels.” But even as he spoke the words, James was prepared to take
them back. He’d be willing to listen to the most overwrought of Gothic horrors
if it meant spending more time basking in the warm glow of Miss Williams’s
company.

ISBN: 9781460317358

ROPING THE WRANGLER

Copyright © 2013 by Lacy Williams

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