Shattered Rainbows (20 page)

Catherine described where Colin could find Caesar. "Is the fighting over?"

Her husband shrugged. "If Napoleon manages to regroup, there could be another battle."

"Dear Lord, I hope not," she said with a glance at the wounded men surrounding them.

"Perhaps it won't come to that. I don't imagine I'll see you again until we're in Paris. Take care." Colin kissed her cheek absently and left.

A few minutes later, orderlies came to take Charles to Dr. Hume. Catherine accompanied him. The exhausted surgeon greeted her with no show of surprise. After a careful examination, he said, "You're in luck, Captain. I'll be able to leave you the elbow. Do you want a piece of wood to bite?"

Charles closed his eyes, the skin tightening across his cheekbones. "That shouldn't be necessary."

Catherine moved forward and took hold of his right hand. His fingers clamped around hers and sweat showed on his brow when Hume sawed off the injured arm, but he uttered no sound. Hume had the swiftness that was essential to a good surgeon, and the operation was over in minutes.

An orderly was taking away the severed limb when Charles said hoarsely, "Wait—before you toss that out. There's a ring my wife gave me on our wedding day. I'd like it back, please."

The orderly looked startled. Then he tugged the ring from the dead finger. Not knowing whether to laugh or cry, Catherine took the ring and slid it onto the third finger of Charles's right hand. He whispered, "Thank you."

Catherine said, "Dr. Hume, I want to take him back to Brussels. Will that be all right?"

"He'll be better off there than here," the surgeon said. "Give him some laudanum so the jarring of the cart won't distress him too much. You know how to change dressings." .

"Yes, and I've also got Ian Kinlock staying at my house, when he has time to
rest."

Hume laughed, his expression lightening. "Trust you for that. Mowbry's a lucky man—he'll have the best of care."

The surgeon returned to his operating table. Catherine instructed the orderlies to take Charles back to his former pallet. She gave him laudanum, then sat back to wait for the drug to take effect. A few minutes later, she again heard a surprised male voice say, "Catherine?"

When she looked up, it took a moment for her to recognize the man in the doorway because of the sticking plaster that covered most of his cheek and curved into his dark hair. But the burly build was unmistakable.

"Kenneth!" She rose and took his hands. His Rifle Brigade uniform was almost unidentifiable and one epaulet had been shot off, but he was blessedly alive. "Thank God you came through." She glanced at the sticking plaster. "A saber slash?"

He nodded. "I'll be even uglier when it heals, but it's nothing serious. Are you here for your husband?"

"No, Colin is well. Charles Mowbry was injured, and I'm going to take him back to Brussels. He lost his lower left arm, but his condition is good otherwise." Her heart began beating faster. "Do… do you know anything about Michael Kenyon?"

Kenneth looked grim. "I'm here looking for him. He's not with his regiment, nor in any of the other temporary hospitals."

It was the news Catherine had been dreading. She pressed her knuckles to her mouth. It might be wrong to care more for Michael than for her other friends, but she could not help herself.

Seeing Catherine's expression, Kenneth said, "Michael could be alive, on the field, so there's still hope."

She frowned. "Are many wounded still out there?"

"After ten hours of battle, Wellington's entire army has collapsed and is sleeping like the dead," Kenneth said heavily. "I would be doing the same if I didn't want to find Michael." More to himself than her, he added, "I owe him that."

The ensign who had earlier asked for water interrupted diffidently. "Begging your pardon, sir, ma'am, but are you talking about Colonel Kenyon of the 105th?"

Catherine knelt beside the boy's pallet. "Yes. I'm a friend of the colonel's. Do you know what happened to him?"

"I don't know if the colonel is alive or dead, but I saw him fall. I might be able to find him." The ensign pushed himself upright. "I was trying to reach him when my skull was creased by a ball. By the way, I'm Tom Hussey of the 105th, ma'am."

Kenneth said, "Tell me where he is and I'll go search."

Tom shook his head. "I think I can find the place, sir, but it would be hard to describe. I'll have to go with you."

"Can you manage that?"

"For the colonel, I can manage." Expression resolute, the ensign lurched to his feet.

"I've got two men and a cart with me," Catherine said. "I'll get them, a litter, and my medical kit."

Kenneth looked startled. "You can't go onto the battlefield, Catherine."

"Try and stop me," she snapped, her voice vibrating with emotion. "If Michael is alive, he'll need medical help."

He indicated Charles's sleeping form. "What about Mowbry?"

"He's resting quietly from the laudanum. It won't hurt him to wait a little longer. It might even be beneficial."

"Come along, then." Kenneth smiled wearily. "I haven't the strength to fight both Napoleon and you on the same day."

Ferris rose to join the search. Everett drove the cart while the others rode. Colin had exchanged horses and saddles, so Catherine rode Michael's gelding. Thor was weary and a bullet had grazed his flank, but he carried her without complaint. She stroked the chestnut neck, blessing him for saving two lives.

The 105th had been positioned near a road, so the first part of the trip went quickly. The nightmarish journey made Catherine grateful for the darkness. Bodies and wrecked equipment were everywhere. When she heard groaning, she forced herself to ignore it. They could not help everyone. She wondered how many wounded men would die during the night, but understood why the exhausted survivors had not even tried to help. In the morning, the task of aiding the casualties would seem less overwhelming.

They followed the road until they were as close as possible to where Tom Hussey had last seen his colonel. Rather than risk the cart becoming bogged down in the muddy earth, they left Everett on the road and cut off across country. Their pace slowed, for the ground was scattered with broken swords and bayonets that could cripple a horse.

Tom dismounted and began leading his horse. The others did the same, Kenneth and Ferris carrying the lanterns while the ensign studied the landscape. They zigzagged several times before he said hesitantly, "I think he was by that hedge."

After they followed the line of the hedge for a hundred yards, the lantern light suddenly washed over two men in peasant dress who were leaning over the limp form of a fallen soldier. Growling an oath, Kenneth pulled out his pistol and fired into ther air. The peasants fled into the night.

"Looters," he said with disgust as he reloaded.

Catherine was unsurprised. In Spain, sometimes the dead and wounded had been robbed even when a battle was in progress. Her pace quickened and she went to the fallen man. The height and lean, muscular build were right, the dark jacket…

Heart pounding, she dropped to the muddy ground beside the man. Kenneth was right behind her. His lantern illuminated the sharply planed features of Michael Kenyon. His face was pale as a death mask and his uniform saturated with dried blood.

Fearfully she touched his throat, seeking a pulse. She could not find one, and he was cold, so cold. Her vision blurred as grief swept over her.

Kenneth asked harshly, "Is he alive?"

His voice pulled Catherine back from her near-faint. Lips dry, she said, "I don't know." She lifted Michael's arm. It moved easily. "I can't find a pulse, but there's no rigor." She pressed her hands to her temples. What should she do?

She must think of Michael as a patient, not as a man she cared for. "Do you have something highly polished, like a watch?"

Tom Hussey said, "Take this, ma'am." He pressed a silver locket into her hand. She held it in front of Michael's mouth. A faint film of moisture appeared.

Dizzy with relief, she sat back on her heels. "He's breathing, though only just."

"We'll have to move him," Kenneth said.

"Let me examine him first."

When Catherine returned the locket, the ensign said, "The sling is from a ball that went through his arm—a flesh wound. His ribs were slashed by a saber."

There was a deep gash in his back, perhaps from a lance. It had bled, but the earlier bandage had afforded some protection. There was also a messy flesh wound in his thigh, with the bullet still buried. She bound it, then turned him onto his back.

Her heart contracted when she saw the ragged hole above his waist. Abdominal wounds were invariably fatal. She pulled the blood-crusted fabric away so she could see how much damage had been done. To her surprise, her fingertips touched the coolness of metal. She traced the shape, then removed a flattened silver tube with a lead ball embedded in it. "This thing, whatever it is, stopped a bullet from going into him."

"It's a kaleidoscope," Kenneth answered. "It makes changing patterns of colored glass. He called it his good-luck charm."

"Good luck, indeed." She dropped the object into her medical case.

Her examination confirmed that none of his injuries were necessarily fatal. What worried her most was that there was no active bleeding, indicating that he had already lost massive amounts of blood. She had a jug of water in her bag, so she spooned some between his dry lips. He couldn't swallow. She stopped, fearing he might choke, and got wearily to her feet. "I've done as much as I can here. We must get him to a surgeon."

Kenneth and Ferris carefully lifted Michael onto the litter and Catherine covered him with a blanket. Then they set off across the fields to the waiting cart. The sky was lightening in the east. The endless night was almost over.

Michael was alive. But would that be true in an hour?

It was late morning when Catherine and her two patients arrived back in Brussels, escorted by Everett and Ferris. Kenneth and Ensign Hussey had returned to their regiments. She had promised to send news of Michael's condition, but from their bleak expressions, she knew they expected the worst.

The journey had been made slowly to minimize the jolting of the unsprung cart. Catherine had ridden behind, watching her patients like a hawk. Even with laudanum, the trip was hard on Charles, though he had born the pain stoically. Michael had been so still that she feared they were carrying a corpse.

As soon as they reached home, she had dismounted and checked Michael for vital signs. His skin was bluish and clammy and his pulse and breathing were almost nonexistent, but he still lived.

A rumpled but rested Elspeth emerged from the house and hugged Will Ferris. "How is Captain Mowbry?"

"He's doing well," Catherine replied. "When the men have settled him in his room, will you administer a dose of laudanum and sit with him?"

Ferris said, "I'll stay with the captain, ma'am."

"Not until you've slept," Catherine said sternly. "You fought a battle yesterday and have had no rest since."

He started to protest, but Elspeth gave him a look. "To bed with you, Will, or I'll send you there myself with a skillet over your stubborn Sassenach head."