FIC: Roses of Picardy [10/?]
Aug. 4th, 2012 03:58 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
splixTitle: Roses of Picardy
Author: Alex
Fandom: War Horse
Rating: Varies, G to NC-17
Pairing: Jamie Stewart/Jim Nicholls
Disclaimer: No money made, no harm intended. Michael Morpurgo owns War Horse and its characters.
Summary: Captured in battle, Major Jamie Stewart faces an uncertain fate.
Warnings: Violence, explicit sexual content.
Notes: Canon divergent [see pairing]
Can also be read on AO3
*
My eyes
Meet yours that mean---
With your cheeks and hair---
Something more wise,
More dark,
And far different.
---Edward Thomas, After You Speak
*
“Wee brother!” Philip strode toward Jamie, his smile broadening. “How are you, sprat? Looks like your luck ran out at last.” He shook Jamie’s hand and then noticed Jim. “Why, hello there. Lieutenant Nicholls, isn’t it?”
“Captain Nicholls,” Jamie corrected quietly.
“That’s right.” Philip shook Jim’s hand. “We met last Christmas, didn’t we? Pleasure to see you again. Good of you to visit my baby brother.”
“We did. It’s kind of you to remember.” Jim rested a hand on Jamie’s shoulder. “And of course I’m visiting. Jamie’s my closest friend.” He smiled at Jamie, his heart in his eyes.
Jamie returned the smile, but with a jab of guilty shame wished Jim would withdraw his hand. It appeared to be no more than a friendly gesture, but he’d been the object of Philip’s pointed cruelty for far too long to permit any outward sign of vulnerability upon which his brother might fasten. So far, Philip knew nothing of his predilections, and he wanted to keep it that way.
“That does the heart good, doesn’t it?” Philip set a small valise on the floor, settled himself onto Jim’s chair, and crossed one leg over the other. He took out a slim silver box and extracted a cigarette, tapping it on the case. “I gather you’re the Good Samaritan who’s been taking Jamie out and about on constitutionals.”
“When I can,” Jim said. “I work in London but come to see Jamie on week-ends.”
“The little blighter’s still got you hopping, has he? Even from a hospital bed. Impressive.” Philip lit his cigarette and gave Jim a smile.
Jim laughed. “He hasn’t ordered me to wheel him around in the park, if that’s what you mean. I expect you’ve come to take him home. Are you on leave?” He carefully avoided using Philip’s rank, a courtesy Jamie doubted Philip appreciated.
“That’s right. And yes, it’s all been arranged. I’ll collect you first thing tomorrow morning, Jamie. You haven’t much baggage, have you?” Philip nodded down at the valise beside the chair. “Mother packed some clothes for the journey. Can’t have you travelling in a bathrobe and pyjamas.”
“That was good of her,” Jamie said.
“Yes. She’s awfully concerned for you, sprat. I told her that you were fine, of course – otherwise they wouldn’t let you go. They’ve got to make room for those men who were wounded badly, don’t they?”
Jim’s fingers tightened on Jamie’s shoulder. “I’m afraid you might be labouring under a misunderstanding. I’m sure the hospital does need beds, but Jamie was very seriously wounded. He was stabbed with a bayonet, you see, and it’s only just –“
“Jim,” Jamie murmured. “It’s all right.”
Philip blinked. “My word. You are loyal, Captain Nicholls.” He grinned and held one hand up in a gesture of peace. “Quite admirable of you. Look here, we’ll head out early tomorrow morning. Can we give you a lift back to London? I assume with Jamie gone you haven’t any reason to stay.”
“That’s kind, but my parents live here in Kent, and they’re expecting me to visit until Sunday evening. Thanks all the same.” Jim smiled, but his tone was just a shade cooler than before. He turned to Jamie and squeezed his shoulder briefly, and the warmth returned to his voice. “Jamie, I suppose I’ll see you back in London. I hope you don’t mind if I pop round during the week. I’ll telephone first, of course, and meanwhile, if there’s anything you need, please don’t hesitate to tell me. You know where to find me. Anything at all.”
“I think we’ll manage, Captain, but that’s thoughtful of you,” Philip said, and nodded at Jim. “Good night.”
“I’m looking forward to seeing you back at home, old man,” Jamie said. “Thank you for everything.” He was aware of how stiff and formal he sounded, and regretted it immensely, but Philip’s presence had thrown a spanner into their pleasant evening. He tried to communicate his dismay with his eyes, but Jim only smiled at him.
“Righto. Good night, then.” Jim settled his cap on his head and made his way to the door. He stopped, as was his custom, and tipped Jamie a salute before vanishing.
Jamie saluted in return and watched him go with a heavy heart. He was happy enough to be leaving the hospital, but not with Philip, and then there was the matter of being back in London, which would complicate matters. Dash it. He sighed and met Philip’s penetrating stare. Without making any overt movement or even flickering an eyelid, Philip had a trick of looking at people in a way that made them feel assessed and found wanting. Jamie was accustomed to it, but it still rankled.
“Didn’t mean to chase him away.” Philip drew on his cigarette.
Didn’t you? “Why didn’t you urge him to stay, then?”
Philip shrugged. “Why didn’t you? He’s your friend, after all.”
And there was no answer for that. Jamie felt his hands clenching into fists and deliberately relaxed them. “I’ll see him later this week in London.”
“There it is, then.” Philip propped an elegantly shod foot on the bedside table and regarded Jamie dispassionately. “Rotten business getting stabbed, sprat.”
“Yes, it rather was.”
“Still, you seem hale and hearty again. Will you be able to walk?”
Jamie nodded. “Oh, yes. I need a cane at the moment, but I expect to be trundling along in no time.”
“Good. I don’t fancy carrying you.” Philip observed Jamie through a cloud of smoke. “Mother wrote me about you, you know.”
“Oh?”
“Yes.” He paused, as if waiting for Jamie to ask what she’d written, then chuckled. “So you’re a colonel now.”
Jamie stifled the sigh that wanted to escape. “That’s right.”
“And you won the V.C. as well.”
“Yes.”
“Well done you. How’d you manage that?” Philip’s cornflower-blue gaze raked Jamie up and down. “Quite a feat, unless they’re handing out Victoria Crosses like wedding favours nowadays. They might well be – I can’t be arsed to pay attention.”
“I’m afraid you wouldn’t find it all that interesting,” Jamie returned coldly.
“Probably right,” Philip acknowledged. “I had to hear about it ad nauseam from Mother anyway – Jamie’s a colonel, Jamie won the V.C., Jamie met the King, Jamie walks on bloody water. I was surprised to hear that you were laid up with a wound. Thought surely you’d be up in a few days and healing the sick with one touch from your saintly hands.” His tone was light, teasing, but he regarded Jamie with that peculiar, knowing speculation again.
Jamie’s mouth thinned into a grim line. It was positively astounding; in no time at all, he felt himself a child again, the subject of his brother’s unwanted attention. Perhaps all siblings reverted to their childhood roles as adults. He found it an unpleasant sensation. “As you said, my luck ran out. I suppose it had to happen sometime.”
“Yes, I suppose so.” Philip seemed happy enough now that Jamie had conceded his point. “Well, it’ll be smashing to have you home again.”
“How long is your leave?” Jamie inquired.
Philip smiled. “Long enough.” He rose to his feet, dropped the cigarette to the floor, and crushed it under the toe of his shining boot. “I’ll be here at nine sharp tomorrow. Be ready to go.” He reached out and patted Jamie’s cheek. “See you then.”
*
Margaret proffered a plate of tiny cakes, piped with icing, a plump raspberry at the centre of each. “Another, Captain? This is the absolute last of our fresh raspberries. It’s nothing but jam now until summer begins again.”
Jim smiled and took a cake. “Time waits for no man, nor ripe raspberries. With an inducement like that, how can I refuse? Thank you. They’re delightful.”
“It’s a pity you can’t stay for dinner.” Margaret smiled at Jim, and Jamie felt a swell of proprietorial pride. Despite the class barrier that would likely never tumble, it would take a colder heart than his mother’s not to respond to Jim’s disarming sweetness. It was more than his looks; Jamie knew men who were considered handsomer, but none of them inspired the same eagerness, the same willingness to please Jim’s manner evoked in others. Jim had been enormously popular in their regiment with officers and enlisted men alike. Everyone had known his name and had had a kind word for him, or a joke to share. And when Jim had been trapped in the hospital in France, he had only to frown or wince and it seemed a nurse materialised beside him at once, ready to assist with whatever troubled him, shyly responding to his grateful smile. It was at once the most extraordinary and the most unsurprising thing; the more time Jamie spent with Jim, the more he wanted to make Jim happy. Why shouldn’t other people feel the same way?
“We have plans this evening,” Jamie said. “Another night, perhaps.”
Margaret sighed. “Yes, I suppose you have time now, though poor Philip isn’t as lucky.”
Sleek and fashionable in a closely cut dark-blue suit and a pale-grey silk tie, Philip lounged in a nearby chair. He offered a languid wave of one hand. “At least I’ve managed to avoid being shot.”
“Philip has the devil’s own luck,” Jamie murmured. His own grey worsted suit lacked distinction next to Philip’s and hung a bit on him because of his recent indisposition; with a touch of envy, Jamie wondered exactly when Philip had found the time to buy new clothes, but then Philip always managed to be smartly turned out for any occasion, a peacock in a room full of pigeons. “I’m sure he’ll be fine, won’t you, Philip? When’s your train?”
“Six o’clock Wednesday morning.”
“Shall I drive you to the station?”
“Don’t bother,” Philip replied. “Murchison can do it.”
“Murchison’s back in Selkirk,” Jamie said.
“Oh, right. Dash it, I’d forgot. Well, I can get one of the servants to drive me. Thanks all the same. Damned sorry I’m leaving so soon. I’m missing the hunt. I expect you’ll be headed up there, even if you’re not riding right now.”
“I’m not, as it happens,” Jamie replied. “I’m staying in London.”
“Good God, why?”
Jamie fixed Philip with an even, chilly stare. “I seem to have lost my taste for blood sports.”
“Oh, please, spare me the moist sentiments, sprat. A fox isn’t a man, and even so, it’s a long chalk from shooting some confounded jerry in a filthy trench. Do you hunt, Captain Nicholls?”
“I’m afraid not,” Jim said. “I was taught to ride by Jesuit priests, and they were rather adamantly opposed to the notion of hunting for pleasure, and so I never adopted the custom. I doubt it would be to my inclinations at any rate. I’m rather fond of foxes.”
“Well, I reckon you’re well-matched, the pair of you,” Philip said dubiously. “Where are you two headed this evening?”
“I’m taking Jamie to meet some of the lads I work with at the War Office,” Jim said. “Now that he’s up and about, I thought it was high time he met some of the fellows I wrote him about so often.”
Jamie cast an affectionate glance at Jim. “I feel as if I know them already. Jim’s letters were quite heartening and lively, Mother. They truly kept my spirits up.”
“That’s marvellous,” Margaret said. “Wonderful that you found so much in common.”
“Write to him often, did you?” Philip asked.
“Why, yes,” Jim said. “As often as I could.” He took a last bite of his little cake and patted his mouth with his napkin, then seemed to notice that Philip was staring at him as if waiting for him to say more. “Not as often as I’d have liked. The war’s kept us all busy, even those of us unlucky enough to get shot.” He let out a good-natured chuckle, acknowledging and diffusing Philip’s earlier barb.
Margaret leant forward. “And do you intend to stay with the War Office once it’s all over, Captain?”
“No, my lady. In fact, I shall be joining a small publishing house as an editor once the war’s over.”
“A literary lion!” Philip said. “My God.”
“I’m not a writer myself,” Jim said. “I hope I don’t flatter myself too much by saying that my true gift is perceiving the beauty of the words of others. I’ve been reading the most extraordinary poetry recently, all connected to the war. It’s terribly heart-rending.”
“We’re not much for books ourselves,” Philip said. “You wouldn’t think it, looking at our bloody libraries, but we’re not a reading family, much less a writing one.”
“Well, there is your cousin Percival,” Margaret said. “He writes poetry.”
“Yes, but he won’t be writing war poetry, will he? Bloody army wouldn’t take him.” Philip rolled his eyes. “A bit on the delicate side, is our Percy.”
Philip’s casually flung words struck a low and discomfiting note in Jamie’s heart. Afraid that his face was beginning to turn red, he took a sip of tea he no longer wanted and set the cup down. “We should be leaving soon, Jim.”
“Sure you won’t stay for dinner? Mother’s invited some of the old crowd. Girls, mostly, but that’s just fine with me. Keep me away from the stodgy old parties.” Philip tipped Jim a roué’s dissolute wink; even Philip, disdainful as he was of most things, seemed to want to impress Jim. “Charlotte Thorpe, for one. Mother says you were getting along with her quite well last year, Jamie.”
“Charlotte’s beau died this past summer, as you well know,” Jamie replied stiffly. “I hardly think it’s appropriate to speak of her so lightly.”
“That just means she’s free, old boy, and in need of comfort.”
“Oh, for God’s sake –“
“Jamie,” Margaret cautioned. “Philip didn’t mean any harm. You mustn’t be so snappish.”
“Sorry, Mother.” Jamie rose to his feet. “I’m not certain I’ll be home this evening. I may sleep at the club if it gets late.”
“You’ll be home for Philip’s farewell dinner tomorrow, though?” Margaret wanted to know.
“Yes, I expect so.” Jamie was nearly shaking with anger, but he could scarcely fathom why. It took an effort to appear nonchalant.
Jim got up and bowed over Margaret’s hand. “Thank you for a delightful afternoon, my lady.”
“Do come again,” Margaret said, then hesitated. “Perhaps you’d like to come to dinner tomorrow night? It’s only a very small affair and I’m afraid you won’t know many people there, but it would do Jamie good to have a friend present, I think.”
“Thank you, but I have another engagement.” Jim picked up his cap. “It’s very kind of you to ask me, though. Perhaps another time.” He turned to Philip and extended his hand. “Splendid to see you again.”
“Take care, old boy.” Philip shook Jim’s hand and sank back into his chair. “See you tomorrow, sprat.”
Jamie retrieved his walking stick and nodded at Philip. “Cheerio.” He moved slowly out of the room, Jim on his heels, and didn’t speak as the maid fetched their coats and hats.
Jim put a hand on his shoulder. “Are you all right?”
“Yes.” Jamie shrugged into his coat. “Let’s find a cab, please.”
*
Jim unlocked the door to his flat and stood aside to let Jamie in. “Here we are – home at last. It really hasn’t changed a bit since the last time you visited. Look here, old man, are you sure you’re –“ His words dwindled into an abrupt muffled noise of surprise as Jamie took Jim in his arms and kissed him ferociously. He yielded for a moment, then stepped away, flushed and laughing. “I’m happy to see you too. Let me close the door, at least, so I don’t scandalise my neighbors.” He suited actions to words, then took off his cap and hung it on a hook. “Now – let me kiss you properly. I’ve been waiting for almost two years, you know.” He deftly removed Jamie’s hat and hung it, and then pulled Jamie into an embrace.
Letting his stick drop to the floor with a clatter, Jamie all but flung himself into the space between those strong arms and pressed his lips to Jim’s. At once Jim’s mouth opened and Jamie kissed him without gentleness or finesse. He wanted to devour Jim whole, to obliterate his sensations of discontentment and gradually increasing distress, as if some sort of corruption had insinuated itself into the fabric of his life, discernible only at odd moments, a sudden faint, foul odour. He clung tightly to Jim, grateful for his strength, his gentle gallantry.
Jim pulled back and cupped Jamie’s chin in his hand. “Dear Jamie – tell me, what’s got you so unhappy?”
“I don’t know,” Jamie replied. “Only – I missed you terribly. I thought I’d never have the chance to be truly alone with you again. It was killing me.”
“I’m glad I’m not the only one who feels that way.” Jim kissed him softly on the mouth. “Tell me you love me.”
“I love you.” Jamie gripped Jim’s arms. “It was killing me, being cooped up in that bloody house.”
“Ah.” Jim stroked the back of his fingers over Jamie’s cheek. “I think we both need a stiff drink. What do you say to that?”
“Cracking idea.”
Jim put his hands on either side of Jamie’s head and kissed him. Then he bent and retrieved Jamie’s stick. “To the couch, my good man. Drinks in a flash.”
Jamie nodded and hung his coat, then made his way into the parlour. Everything was as it had been almost two years ago, and Jamie felt soothed, though it wasn’t his own home. An air of comfort if not luxury prevailed and, Jamie thought, not a little sense of Jim’s sunny disposition. It was a far cry from his London house with its glacial grandeur, and even the Selkirk house where he’d spent his happiest childhood moments had never held a flavour of welcome the way Jim’s modest rooms did. Perhaps he was simply accustomed to military austerity.
A little coal fire crackled merrily and pervaded the room with warmth. The sight of it brought a prickle of tears to Jamie’s eyes. He wiped them away fiercely, plodded to the couch, and sat with a thud. What the devil’s the matter with me? I’m not succumbing to shell-shock at last, am I? Mortified, he dragged out a handkerchief and blew his nose. Get hold of yourself before Jim comes in here and sees you weeping over nothing at all. He tucked his handkerchief back into his pocket and arranged a pleasant, bland expression on his face.
“Here we are.” Jim, still wearing his trench-coat, came in with a bottle and two glasses, and handed the glasses to Jamie. “Hold on to these for a moment, will you?” He poured them both a double whisky, set the bottle on the side table, and shrugged out of his coat, tossing it on a chair. “Much better,” he said, taking one of the glasses from Jamie and sitting beside him on the couch. “Now. What to toast?”
Jamie held up his glass. “To you, Jim.”
Jim gave Jamie one of the lavish smiles that Jamie had feared he’d never see again. “And to you, Jamie.” He touched his glass to Jamie’s. “Bottoms up, old man. Lots more where that came from.”
They drank, finishing their doubles in a single draught. Jamie shuddered and held out his glass for more. “Feel like I should get drunk,” he muttered.
“Coming up.” Jim poured another drink and handed it to Jamie. “Now – is it Philip? Is he what’s got you so down in the mouth?” He poured another drink for himself, but sipped judiciously instead of upending it into his gullet.
Jamie felt his lips twisting into a grimace. “Nothing gets by you, does it?”
“Well, I fancy myself a rather expert observer of Colonel James Stewart, in and out of his native habitat. I suppose that crack he made about your cousin –“
“Percy,” Jamie sighed. “Yes, Percy’s – well. Not terribly masculine.”
“Does Philip know about you?”
Jamie shook his head. “No. And if he found out, there would be hell to pay.”
“Are you afraid of him?”
Startled, Jamie looked into Jim’s eyes. “Afraid? No…not physically. Not anymore, at least.” He smiled bitterly. “Time was – years ago – I was terrified of him. He was the sort of boy who’d steal up behind you and twist your arm up your back for no reason at all – and then he’d laugh. And God help you if you cried.”
Jim’s mouth tightened. “A bully.”
“Just so. It didn’t last forever, though at the time….” Jamie shrugged. “Eventually he found other…diversions.” Jamie finished his second drink and rotated the glass in his hand. The whisky burned comfortingly in his throat and stomach. “Jim…if I tell you something, will you swear to keep it to yourself?”
“Of course I will, Jamie.”
Jamie nodded. “I know you will. I know. It’s only that…it’s dreadful.”
“If it’s too difficult –“
“No. I’ve got to tell it. I’ve got to tell someone, at last. I shan’t be able to tell it again, I think.” Jamie took a deep breath. “It happened when I was fourteen, and Philip was seventeen. It was summer, and we were both on our school holidays. Mother and Father were on the Continent – Austria, I think – and we were pretty much left to our own devices. The staff was there, of course, but they never interfered with us. At any rate, it was a pleasant summer. Good weather, and Philip was less…wretched than usual. I was wary, of course – it didn’t do to let one’s guard down because one never knew when things would turn ugly, but for the most part, he was nearly affable.”
Jim said nothing, but he nodded in encouragement.
“So we were riding one afternoon, and there was a path through a little glen that followed a stream. It was family land, but there were tenant cottages…anyhow, as we were riding along, a girl came running onto the path. Frightened both horses, but we kept our seats. She began crying and screaming at Philip. I was dished, I don’t mind telling you. Had no idea what she was going on about, but Philip clearly did, because he dismounted and took the girl by the hand. Then he told me to stay put and led her off toward the stream.”
“And you, being a curious fourteen-year-old boy, followed,” Jim said.
“That’s right. The wood was thick enough to conceal an eavesdropper. So I lashed the horses to a tree, and then followed them and listened.”
“I can guess what you heard,” Jim said. “He’d got her in the family way, hadn’t he?”
“Yes. And she was threatening to tell our parents. She was the daughter of one of their tenants, and she said he was responsible since she…since she hadn’t wanted to in the first place.”
“He raped her,” Jim said tonelessly.
Jamie sighed deeply and inclined his head. “I didn’t understand, not at first. He tried to soothe her, but she was crying, and it took some effort.” He cleared his throat. “After a while it seemed as if he’d calmed her somewhat, and I heard him promise he’d visit her that evening, and they’d go to Gretna Green and marry, and everything would be fine. So I ran back to the horses and untied them and waited, and he finally emerged without her. He was red in the face and breathing as if he’d just run a mile, but I didn’t say a word. I reckon he was too preoccupied to notice me. We went back to the house, and that night he went out again.”
“To elope?”
Jamie shook his head. “I didn’t think so. I knew damned well, even if the poor girl didn’t, that there was no way he’d tie himself down with a wife at seventeen, much less a tenant’s daughter. So I realised…and by and by I worked out what he’d done – that he’d forced himself on her. The more I thought about it, the more outraged I was. So I was foolhardy – I loitered about and waited for him to return, and when he did, I confronted him.” Jamie rubbed his eyes. “Can you pour me one more, Jim? A single this time. I find I don’t want to be drunk after all.”
“Of course.” Jim poured them both drinks. “What did you say to him?”
Jamie sipped. “Oh – I fancied myself quite the cavalier, I think. I told him he had to do the honourable thing, and if he didn’t, I’d tell Mother and Father. I was so certain of being in the right I didn’t stop to consider the matter at all.”
Jim shook his head. “And what did he say in response?”
“Say?” Jamie gave Jim a tight smile. “Not much. He dragged me out to the stables and beat me until I was crying and pleading for mercy.”
A spasm of anger crossed Jim’s face. His hand tightened on his glass, and he set it down on the floor. “Oh, Jamie –“
“He made me promise I wouldn’t tell. Said if I did he’d hurt me in ways I’d not thought of, and I believed him. But that wasn’t the worst of it. You see, the next morning…the next morning the girl’s mother found her in her bedroom. She’d hanged herself.”
“Dear God,” Jim whispered.
“When I heard, I didn’t know what to do. I thought of telling my parents, cabling them, but he’d intimidated me well enough. I covered up my bruises in front of the servants – luckily he’d left my face alone, so it wasn’t obvious.”
Jim’s brows drew together. “Lucky for him, you mean. My God, Jamie, you were only a boy.”
“A frightened, foolish boy. And Philip – when he heard the news – one of the grooms told us that evening – I couldn’t ride because of what he’d done, but I was helping curry the horses – he didn’t react at all, except to give me a warning look. And he never said another word about it.”
“You don’t think that he –“
“That he killed her?” Jamie shook his head slowly. “I don’t think so. I…I’ve thought of it, but even he….” He looked at Jim. “I pray that he didn’t, Jim, but at times I’ve wondered. I’ve told you that he was demoted to the ranks for drinking and fighting, and I’ve often pondered…he’s always been volatile, you see, but capable of murder? I’ve shut out the possibility. It’s too unspeakable to contemplate. Cowardly of me, isn’t it?”
“No.”
Jamie shrugged. Heat rose in his face, unassisted by the whisky. “I’ve always felt a coward because of it.”
“Rubbish, Jamie. Still, I suppose it would be difficult, if not impossible, to falsify that sort of death,” Jim said.
“I don’t know. Perhaps. But what I mean to say, after all that, is that if he discovered that we – that I prefer the company of gentlemen to ladies, he would be quite capable of making my life a living hell. Yours, too, and I won’t have that. I could tell you other stories, more recent, but the upshot of all of them would be that he’s got a tremendous reserve of malice and cruelty in his heart. I’m not afraid of him, but I’m under no illusions that he’s softened the least bit. He’s a wretched human being, Jim, and I despise him. I’ve never forgiven him for that, and I’ve only just realised it.”
Jim drew close to Jamie and embraced him. “My dear, sweet Jamie. I wish I could help you.”
“You do,” Jamie murmured against the tender shell of Jim’s ear. “More than you know.” He’d talked more than he’d ever thought possible; he’d revealed a terrible weakness in himself, and Jim hadn’t withdrawn in horror or disgust.
“What it must have cost you to remain silent, knowing that. Knowing you lived with someone so heartless.”
“I was accustomed to it.”
“It’s devilishly unfair. No child should be subject to such terror.” Jim kissed Jamie’s cheek and held him close. “If he ever so much as gives you the wrong sort of look when I’m there –“
“No, Jim.” Jamie held him away. “I’ve got to preserve the peace for my parents’ sake, don’t you see? They don’t know what he’s like, not the half of it. He learned to dissemble early on, and they’ve only got the foggiest idea of his true nature. If they learn what happened, the part he played – I can’t even fathom the depth of their distress. The truth is, I hardly see him at all, haven’t spent more than a few hours at a time with him for years. When my parents are gone, then I needn’t see him ever again, but for now I keep him at a distance, and he’s bright enough to do the same.”
“But he likes to provoke you. I saw it at the hospital, and today at your house as well. And…when I met him, whilst you were away, I have to confess I didn’t take to him.”
Jamie smiled. “I thought not. In your letter you said you’d met him and chatted about the war a bit, that my mother looked enchanting, and that the cream cakes were delicious.”
“Oh, dear, am I that transparent? I couldn’t think what else to say.”
“You’re truthful, that’s all. Is that why you won’t be at dinner tomorrow night?”
“Actually, no. I promised to escort Pansy and her silly flat-mate to Kent – I’m going in my capacity as a porter, I suspect, for all their hatboxes and furbelows – and the train won’t be back in time. I could stop by afterward, if you like. Now that I know about him, I’ve an urge to protect you from him.”
“Never mind. He’s going back on Wednesday, and things will settle down again. But I thank you for your chivalry.” Jamie beamed. “Don’t let’s talk about him. Do you know I felt instantly at home when I walked in here?”
“Do you know how lovely it is to hear you say that? Oh, Jamie, I’ve missed you so. I’ve dreamt and dreamt about having you back, and it’s beyond wonderful. Here, give me that.” Jim took the glass from Jamie’s hand and set it beside his own on the floor. “I thought we might stay in after all. Mrs. Taylor’s cooked a chicken for me and put it in the ice-box. I’ve bread and cheese, and beer.”
“A feast,” Jamie murmured. “What shall I say when my mother asks me about meeting your friends?”
Jim’s eyes twinkled wickedly. “You can tell her the truth. They’re splendid chaps and you’re very much looking forward to spending more time with them.”
For the first time in what seemed ages, Jamie felt arousal followed by a tingling of fear. “Jim, I don’t know if I ought to – I’m still feeling a bit under the weather, you see.”
“I wouldn’t dream of trying to cajole you into anything that causes you discomfort. We needn’t do a thing tonight.”
Jamie frowned. “I should have spoken to our doctor about it, I suppose, but when the time came, I was too bashful. I’m not a married man, after all, and I didn’t fancy listening to a lecture about the evils of prostitution. He’s quite elderly, a Methodist, and a rather austere fellow.”
“Well, you should have told him you weren’t interested in women at all.”
Jamie stared at Jim. “Wh –“ Jim winked, and they burst into laughter. “Oh, dear God. Can you imagine?” He sat back on the sofa. “I’d have killed the poor man.” The laughter felt marvellous, as if an entire set of muscles atrophied through lack of exercise was slowly working itself into life again.
“Very likely.” Jim ran a hand through his hair and then leant sideways, curling his legs up like a child and resting his head on the back of the sofa. The last of the afternoon light filtered through the curtains and slanted across his face, diffused by specks of dust in the air. “I’ve waited nearly two years. I can wait a little longer, I assure you.”
Jim’s generosity pierced Jamie’s heart. He struggled determinedly to his feet and held a hand out. “Come on.”
Jim peered up at him uncertainly. “But you’re –“
“I’m feeling a bit low, but that doesn’t mean we’re utterly helpless.” Jamie reached down, grasped Jim’s wrist, and tugged. “Up.”
“Yes, sir.” Jim leapt up and caught Jamie round the waist. “What did you have in mind?”
“You without a stitch of clothing on, for one thing.”
Jim bit his lower lip. “My word. Well….” He stepped back and swept a hand toward the doorway. “Lead on, good sir.”
Jamie moved into the bedroom as quickly as he could and breathed a contented sigh at the sight of the familiar space where they’d spent a handful of blissful nights, before the war swallowed them both once more. Now they were free; it seemed a dream. Jamie felt the sting of tears again and recognised them for what they were: the deferment of heartache, the pain of separation he’d ruthlessly suppressed, long buried under a thick layer of stoicism and blank, shattered horror and dirt and flying bullets and the spilt blood of innocent men. He stood still, absorbing the air of liberty into his skin.
Jim’s arms wound round him from behind, and soft lips brushed against his ear. “What is it?”
“I’m happy.” The words emerged in a trembling whisper. Jamie clasped Jim’s hands and held them tightly.
Gently, Jim turned Jamie to face him. His brow creased, and he brushed his thumb below Jamie’s eye. “Are you certain?”
Jamie pressed his lips together and nodded. “I –“ His throat closed up, rendering him mute. He moved close to Jim and kissed his mouth. The tears that he’d stopped up for almost four years finally flowed unchecked.
“Oh, Jamie –“ Jim drew Jamie to the bed and wrapped his arms round Jamie’s body.
Jamie clung desperately to Jim, registering in a dim fashion how violent were the tremors that rippled through him, how steadily he wept, and at last he gave himself up to emotion. He was weary, so weary, and battered from the terror of battle, the slaughterhouse stink of corpses and drifting smoke from shells, the pervasive fear and panic that needs must be contained, the necessity of advancing at all costs to claim the smallest patch of muddy ground and the knowledge that in order to claim it, others would have to die by his hand. He had diverted his fear for himself into the incessant slaughter, into protecting his men, waiting for those brief respites of silence and calm that were merely spaces between further onslaughts of death. He thought of Jim, bleeding as he carried his limp body to the farmhouse in Flanders. And he was nothing out of the ordinary; in France, in Belgium, in the Judean hills, the battles raged on, and more men died every day. He clung to Jim and wept in silent, choking gasps for all that had been lost, and the thin, shining threads of hope and love that had borne him through the worst of the devastation. And Jim, his Jim, blessedly did nothing to stem the liberated tide of horror and rage and relief that swept through him. He only held Jamie close, stroking his back and his hair, and now and then kissing him with the greatest tenderness.
After a time, he pulled back and breathed shallowly in an attempt to recover his composure. He saw a flash of white and realised that Jim was proffering a handkerchief. He accepted it, wiped his eyes, and blew his nose and stuffed the kerchief in his pocket. “Thank you,” he said hoarsely.
Jim’s hand settled onto his knee and stroked. “That was a long time coming, wasn’t it.”
Jamie nodded. “I hadn’t intended to…to fall apart. I’m sorry for it. Please don’t think badly of me.”
“Never.” Jim brushed Jamie’s hair back from his brow. “On the contrary. I don’t think I could possibly adore you more.”
A vast span of time and tragedy separated their first breathless passion from now, but Jamie remembered each touch, each kiss, each awkward, fumbling caress as though it had happened the day before. He smiled. “I’ve been selfish.”
“No.”
“I love you.”
The happiness on Jim’s face lifted Jamie’s heart. “Dearest Jamie.”
Jamie reached out and unbuckled Jim’s Sam Browne belt. “I kept my word.”
“So you did. I knew you would.” Jim shed his tunic and draped it over the brass bed rail. “I knew it.” Piece by piece, they undressed until the bed rails and the floor around them was littered with clothing. Jim urged Jamie up and drew the bedclothes down, then lay on the bed and opened his arms. “Come here. I just want to feel your body against mine. I promise not to touch you indecently.”
Jamie laughed softly and moved close to Jim. “What if I weren’t to make the same promise?” He slipped a hand between Jim’s legs.
“Ah –“ Jim arched his body, closed his eyes, and tilted his head backward, exposing the long length of his throat. “Oh, God almighty, Jamie –“
“This is what I meant.” Jamie lowered his mouth to Jim’s throat and suckled on it, gently biting. “We’re not helpless.”
“I am….” Jim reached up and grasped one of the vertical brass rails with both hands. “I shan’t touch you, not until you give me permission.”
Jamie moved down to one of Jim’s nipples and caressed the tender skin with his tongue. His own hardness ached, but he ignored it. He wasn’t ready to abandon himself, not quite yet. He still felt uncertain in his skin, as if the exertion of sexual release might break something inside him, but that was no reason not to give Jim as much pleasure as he could. Covetously, he lingered on the nipple, bringing it to a stiff peak, then moved to the other, never taking his hand from Jim’s hard prick.
Jim groaned deeply and spread his legs apart. “Jamie…Jamie….”
“Shh.” Jamie silenced Jim with a kiss, exploring his mouth more boldly than he’d ever done before, pressing Jim to the pillow, cupping his hand behind Jim’s head to pull him deeper. Jim tightened his grasp on the rails and whimpered, rocking his hips upward, thrusting into Jamie’s hand. All at once he moaned loudly into Jamie’s mouth, and Jamie felt sticky warmth on his hand. He captured Jim’s mouth completely, smothering his cry of release, and kept his hold on Jim’s cock until the shudders in Jim’s body had subsided.
Jim fell back, sweating and breathing hard, his eyes unfocused. “Oh….”
Jamie lifted his hand and examined the glistening fluid on it. Tentatively, he touched his tongue to it. Salty, not entirely unpleasant. He licked it off his hand and swallowed with a slight wince. Odd.
“You’ve undone me completely.” Jim’s voice was slightly raspy and utterly alluring.
“Did you like it?”
Jim laughed. “Yes. I liked it. Kiss me again.”
Jamie bent close. “You’re glorious.”
“Kiss me. I want to taste you now.”
Jamie kissed him, gentler after the frenzy of their first coupling. He was still hard, and the proximity of Jim’s naked body with the slightest exciting tang of fresh sweat, of maleness, made it difficult to concentrate on returning to an ordinary state. Jim let go of the bed rails and twined his arms and legs around Jamie. “Oh, God.”
“Shall I stop?”
“No,” Jamie groaned. “It’s a bit…challenging, that’s all.”
“Cold baths usually help.”
“I’d rather not.”
“Good.” Jim kissed him again. “I love you. I love you. I’m so glad you’re home to stay.”
Jamie rested his head on Jim’s shoulder and embraced him. “So am I, Jim,” he whispered. “So am I.”
*
The library of Stewart House was its most comforting room: book-lined, smelling pleasantly of old leather and paper, its fir-green walls and heavy furniture embracing and cosy, family knick-knacks and mementoes scattered across the gleaming oak bookshelves. Jamie had spent hours upon hours poring over the huge brass-bound globe, a sextant belonging to some more adventurous Stewart forebear always on a low shelf for curious little fingers to explore, the wooden kaleidoscope, the viewing-crystal of which had been broken at least once every few years. Later he’d devoured military histories, tales of battle: Hastings, Stirling, Bannockburn, Agincourt, Cadiz, Bunker Hill. Now he sat toasting his feet beside the fire and reading poetry as a dull, steady rain thumped against the windows. Philip’s assertion that no-one in the Stewart family read had been based purely upon his own impatience with the printed word. Jamie had never fancied himself a lover of poetry before, though; it had taken Jim’s enthusiasm for it, the sound of his voice lilting over its hills and valleys, to make him take an interest in it. Now he read it daily, and found it soothing.
Bright star! would I were steadfast as thou art —
Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night,
And watching, with eternal lids apart,
Like Nature's patient sleepless Eremite,
The moving waters at their priestlike task
Of pure ablution round earth's human shores,
Or gazing on the new soft fallen mask
Of snow upon the mountains and the moors —
No — yet still steadfast, still unchangeable,
Pillow’d upon my fair love's ripening breast,
To feel for ever its soft fall and swell,
Awake for ever in a sweet unrest,
Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,
And so live ever — or else swoon to death.
Jamie smiled and without thinking brushed his fingertips over the words on the page. That was Jim – brilliant and steadfast and watchful. And sweet unrest – what a lovely phrase. He would see Jim tomorrow, and ask him to read the poem.
Muffled and distant, the door-bell rang. Jamie glanced at the mantel clock, wondering if anyone was expected. His mother had gone on some errand, and the house was quiet and peaceful. His wound ached less and less, even in the chill autumn weather, and he walked more easily now. In a month or so, he hoped, he would be able to get about without the walking-stick.
A shriek from the corridor jolted him out of his reverie. He lurched awkwardly to his feet, grabbed his stick, and headed to the door.
Cora, one of the maids, sat on a chair in the hall, weeping as if her heart were breaking. Jim knelt in front of her, patting her hand, but he was smiling.
They looked like lovers, and a brief, violent stab of jealousy assailed Jamie’s heart. “Jim? Whatever’s the matter?”
Jim rose to his feet, and he beamed at Jamie, moving toward him quickly, cap in hand, his trench-coat speckled with water. “Jamie – it’s happened. There’s to be an armistice.”
Jamie froze. “An armistice –“
“Yes. At last.” Jim grasped Jamie’s shoulders. “The guns will fall silent on the eleventh, at eleven o’clock in the morning, they say. It’s over. The war is over.”
A strange heaviness tugged at Jamie’s body, as if someone had poured sand inside his limbs and slowed the rhythm of his heart. He stared at Jim. “I can’t take it in. It’s truly over?”
Jim’s face positively glowed with happiness. “It is. It’s a new beginning – of everything.”
“Dear Christ,” Jamie whispered. He recovered himself and turned to the maid. “Cora? Are you quite all right?”
Cora nodded, jumping to her feet and wiping at her tear-stained face with a corner of her apron. “Yes, sir. Sorry, sir. It’s just that my Michael’s in the navy, and now he’ll come home at last –“ She burst into tears again.
“Go on downstairs,” Jamie said. “Have a cup of tea and pull yourself together.” That wasn’t, he reflected belatedly, a very kind thing to say. He patted her shoulder with awkward affection. “Go on, my dear. And you have my congratulations.”
“Thank you, sir,” the girl gulped, and darted past them toward the kitchen.
“Michael’s her…suitor?” Jamie inquired in a low tone.
Jim bit his lip and nodded, his eyes twinkling.
Jamie sighed. “I can’t believe it. I want to rejoice, but…it’s too much to take in. I feel as if the war’s just another aspect of existence now. I can scarcely remember what life was like before it.”
“I know. I’ve had a bit more time to think it over. I found out this morning, and waited ‘til luncheon to come and see you. And I think your reaction’s likely not unusual. There was a bit of a hullaballoo when we heard the news, and then the oddest sort of solemnity fell over the place. You could have heard a pin drop. And then it was back to business, as if the announcement had never happened. So strange, I can’t tell you. But it is marvellous news, Jamie. An end to terrible, senseless slaughter. Those left alive will be able to come home at last.”
“Yes.” Jamie mustered a smile. “Have you time for a quick drink?”
“Just one. I must get back soon.”
“Come into the library.” He led the way into the warm, agreeable room and closed the door, then went to a cabinet and rummaged out two glasses and a decanter of brandy. He poured and handed one to Jim. “To peace.”
“Peace,” Jim echoed softly. They touched glasses and drank, each lost in his own thoughts.
Jim broke the silence. “There’s to be a commemoration at Whitehall on the eleventh. Will you come?”
“Am I welcome?”
“Of course. Any winner of the Victoria Cross is.”
Jamie’s mouth turned up at one corner. “Then I will.”
“Good.” Impulsively, Jim darted a kiss onto Jamie’s cheek. “It’s lovely to see you. Hadn’t expected to until tomorrow.”
“It’s wonderful to see you as well. I’m sorry I’m in such a state. I’m a bit numb.”
“Jamie…don’t apologise, not to me. I know you’ve suffered keenly thanks to this war. No – there you go again, wrinkling your nose at me. It’s charming, but you mustn’t. I don’t expect you to cut a caper. Well – I suppose I might have at first, but I wasn’t thinking clearly. Forgive me for that. I am glad to be the first to tell you, though.”
Jamie stroked Jim’s damp hair. “So am I. Thank you.”
Jim moved forward and kissed Jamie’s mouth, then suckled his earlobe. “You’re such a temptation. I wish I could stay longer. That sofa looks deuced comfortable for two.”
“You shock me, Captain Nicholls.”
“Heavens, if only – oh! I’d meant to tell you before the news – yesterday I swear I saw your brother in Piccadilly.” Jim shook his head. “It was the oddest thing. I was having luncheon with Gil Pendarves, and I thought I saw Philip outside the restaurant. Looked exactly like him, and whoever it was, he gave me a bit of a peculiar look, as if he’d recognised me. So I dashed out of the restaurant, but by the time I got outside, he was gone.”
“Well, it couldn’t have been Philip. He’s back in France.”
“Yes, I know. Still, he nearly blanched at the sight of me, which gave me a start in turn. Anyhow, I’ve got to go – will I see you tomorrow?”
“Yes,” Jamie said. “I’ve a poem for you to read to me. Keats.”
“Ah! It would be my pleasure.” Jim kissed Jamie again. “Thanks for the brandy. Walk me to the door?”
Jamie escorted Jim to the door and watched him settle his cap. “You’ll not be wearing that much longer.”
Jim paused. “You’re right. I shall have to invest in a wardrobe, I suppose. As I said – it’s a new beginning.” He pressed Jamie’s hand.
“And a miracle that I’ve got you.”
“Why, Jamie….” Jim’s cheeks turned a bit pink. He stuck his hands in his trench-coat pockets, trotted down the steps, and saluted Jamie before walking briskly toward a cab stand. As he moved away, he began to whistle, quite sweetly.
With an overwhelming surge of affection, Jamie watched him go, his bright star.
*
The morning was chilly and rainy, but the stone hallway was uncomfortably warm, crowded as it was with uniformed men. Jamie cradled his peaked cap in one arm and ran a surreptitious finger beneath the collar of his blue tunic. The Victoria Cross gleamed on its breast, its ribbon bright and ostentatious, making him feel a bit of a fraud. His trepidation dissolved as he moved slowly through the throng, here and there finding old school chums, fellows he’d known in one capacity or another. They all had a jolly word for him, and not a few congratulated him on the honour bestowed upon him.
“There you are!” Jim, resplendent in his own blue uniform, clapped Jamie on the arm. “They’re about ready. Shall we find an advantageous spot?”
Jamie nodded and followed Jim to a corner of the hall, where several men in cavalry regimentals loitered. They fell into conversation until a gong resounded, demanding silence.
Standing beside a column and behind rows and rows of soldiers, Jamie could not see the man who spoke, but he heard his voice in the silence, subdued and slightly weary.
“Today, after four years of terrible and bloody conflict, the guns fall silent at last, and justice prevails. We honour your courage, your tenacity, and your strength, and we honour those who have fallen in the cause of service to King and country. As the bell strikes the hour, let us pray in silence for those who have given their lives in sacrifice.”
The clock chimed; the hall was utterly silent. Jamie bowed his head and prayed for the lost men of his first regiment, for the men who’d served under him in his infantry battalion and who had died on those terrible battlefields. He prayed for their widows, their sweethearts, their children. And he thanked God, humbly, that Jim was alive and beside him.
“God bless you all. God save the King.”
“God save the King,” every man echoed.
And then, faintly, distantly, the sound of bells filtered into the stone hall. Jamie lifted his head and looked at Jim, puzzled. Other soldiers looked round, and as one, they moved toward the doors.
A roar, full-throated and triumphant, greeted them. Astonished, Jamie saw a massive crowd on the pavement, waving and cheering, as if every soul in London had turned out to celebrate. Flags fluttered in bright lashings of red, white, and blue from every window. The bells of St. Paul’s, of Parliament, of Westminster, every bell that had been silenced during the war, rang out in joyous cacophony. The sound of maroons, mortar flares firing in triumph, resounded down the rainy street. And now the soldiers began to cheer in response, to embrace one another and pound each other on the back, to weep without shame. Jamie felt a hand slip into his, and turned to face Jim.
Jim embraced him and held him close. Neither spoke.
It was the end of a long and weary road. The war had ended.
*
A beautiful recording of Tom Hiddleston reading Bright Star can be found here.
Author: Alex
Fandom: War Horse
Rating: Varies, G to NC-17
Pairing: Jamie Stewart/Jim Nicholls
Disclaimer: No money made, no harm intended. Michael Morpurgo owns War Horse and its characters.
Summary: Captured in battle, Major Jamie Stewart faces an uncertain fate.
Warnings: Violence, explicit sexual content.
Notes: Canon divergent [see pairing]
Can also be read on AO3
*
My eyes
Meet yours that mean---
With your cheeks and hair---
Something more wise,
More dark,
And far different.
---Edward Thomas, After You Speak
*
“Wee brother!” Philip strode toward Jamie, his smile broadening. “How are you, sprat? Looks like your luck ran out at last.” He shook Jamie’s hand and then noticed Jim. “Why, hello there. Lieutenant Nicholls, isn’t it?”
“Captain Nicholls,” Jamie corrected quietly.
“That’s right.” Philip shook Jim’s hand. “We met last Christmas, didn’t we? Pleasure to see you again. Good of you to visit my baby brother.”
“We did. It’s kind of you to remember.” Jim rested a hand on Jamie’s shoulder. “And of course I’m visiting. Jamie’s my closest friend.” He smiled at Jamie, his heart in his eyes.
Jamie returned the smile, but with a jab of guilty shame wished Jim would withdraw his hand. It appeared to be no more than a friendly gesture, but he’d been the object of Philip’s pointed cruelty for far too long to permit any outward sign of vulnerability upon which his brother might fasten. So far, Philip knew nothing of his predilections, and he wanted to keep it that way.
“That does the heart good, doesn’t it?” Philip set a small valise on the floor, settled himself onto Jim’s chair, and crossed one leg over the other. He took out a slim silver box and extracted a cigarette, tapping it on the case. “I gather you’re the Good Samaritan who’s been taking Jamie out and about on constitutionals.”
“When I can,” Jim said. “I work in London but come to see Jamie on week-ends.”
“The little blighter’s still got you hopping, has he? Even from a hospital bed. Impressive.” Philip lit his cigarette and gave Jim a smile.
Jim laughed. “He hasn’t ordered me to wheel him around in the park, if that’s what you mean. I expect you’ve come to take him home. Are you on leave?” He carefully avoided using Philip’s rank, a courtesy Jamie doubted Philip appreciated.
“That’s right. And yes, it’s all been arranged. I’ll collect you first thing tomorrow morning, Jamie. You haven’t much baggage, have you?” Philip nodded down at the valise beside the chair. “Mother packed some clothes for the journey. Can’t have you travelling in a bathrobe and pyjamas.”
“That was good of her,” Jamie said.
“Yes. She’s awfully concerned for you, sprat. I told her that you were fine, of course – otherwise they wouldn’t let you go. They’ve got to make room for those men who were wounded badly, don’t they?”
Jim’s fingers tightened on Jamie’s shoulder. “I’m afraid you might be labouring under a misunderstanding. I’m sure the hospital does need beds, but Jamie was very seriously wounded. He was stabbed with a bayonet, you see, and it’s only just –“
“Jim,” Jamie murmured. “It’s all right.”
Philip blinked. “My word. You are loyal, Captain Nicholls.” He grinned and held one hand up in a gesture of peace. “Quite admirable of you. Look here, we’ll head out early tomorrow morning. Can we give you a lift back to London? I assume with Jamie gone you haven’t any reason to stay.”
“That’s kind, but my parents live here in Kent, and they’re expecting me to visit until Sunday evening. Thanks all the same.” Jim smiled, but his tone was just a shade cooler than before. He turned to Jamie and squeezed his shoulder briefly, and the warmth returned to his voice. “Jamie, I suppose I’ll see you back in London. I hope you don’t mind if I pop round during the week. I’ll telephone first, of course, and meanwhile, if there’s anything you need, please don’t hesitate to tell me. You know where to find me. Anything at all.”
“I think we’ll manage, Captain, but that’s thoughtful of you,” Philip said, and nodded at Jim. “Good night.”
“I’m looking forward to seeing you back at home, old man,” Jamie said. “Thank you for everything.” He was aware of how stiff and formal he sounded, and regretted it immensely, but Philip’s presence had thrown a spanner into their pleasant evening. He tried to communicate his dismay with his eyes, but Jim only smiled at him.
“Righto. Good night, then.” Jim settled his cap on his head and made his way to the door. He stopped, as was his custom, and tipped Jamie a salute before vanishing.
Jamie saluted in return and watched him go with a heavy heart. He was happy enough to be leaving the hospital, but not with Philip, and then there was the matter of being back in London, which would complicate matters. Dash it. He sighed and met Philip’s penetrating stare. Without making any overt movement or even flickering an eyelid, Philip had a trick of looking at people in a way that made them feel assessed and found wanting. Jamie was accustomed to it, but it still rankled.
“Didn’t mean to chase him away.” Philip drew on his cigarette.
Didn’t you? “Why didn’t you urge him to stay, then?”
Philip shrugged. “Why didn’t you? He’s your friend, after all.”
And there was no answer for that. Jamie felt his hands clenching into fists and deliberately relaxed them. “I’ll see him later this week in London.”
“There it is, then.” Philip propped an elegantly shod foot on the bedside table and regarded Jamie dispassionately. “Rotten business getting stabbed, sprat.”
“Yes, it rather was.”
“Still, you seem hale and hearty again. Will you be able to walk?”
Jamie nodded. “Oh, yes. I need a cane at the moment, but I expect to be trundling along in no time.”
“Good. I don’t fancy carrying you.” Philip observed Jamie through a cloud of smoke. “Mother wrote me about you, you know.”
“Oh?”
“Yes.” He paused, as if waiting for Jamie to ask what she’d written, then chuckled. “So you’re a colonel now.”
Jamie stifled the sigh that wanted to escape. “That’s right.”
“And you won the V.C. as well.”
“Yes.”
“Well done you. How’d you manage that?” Philip’s cornflower-blue gaze raked Jamie up and down. “Quite a feat, unless they’re handing out Victoria Crosses like wedding favours nowadays. They might well be – I can’t be arsed to pay attention.”
“I’m afraid you wouldn’t find it all that interesting,” Jamie returned coldly.
“Probably right,” Philip acknowledged. “I had to hear about it ad nauseam from Mother anyway – Jamie’s a colonel, Jamie won the V.C., Jamie met the King, Jamie walks on bloody water. I was surprised to hear that you were laid up with a wound. Thought surely you’d be up in a few days and healing the sick with one touch from your saintly hands.” His tone was light, teasing, but he regarded Jamie with that peculiar, knowing speculation again.
Jamie’s mouth thinned into a grim line. It was positively astounding; in no time at all, he felt himself a child again, the subject of his brother’s unwanted attention. Perhaps all siblings reverted to their childhood roles as adults. He found it an unpleasant sensation. “As you said, my luck ran out. I suppose it had to happen sometime.”
“Yes, I suppose so.” Philip seemed happy enough now that Jamie had conceded his point. “Well, it’ll be smashing to have you home again.”
“How long is your leave?” Jamie inquired.
Philip smiled. “Long enough.” He rose to his feet, dropped the cigarette to the floor, and crushed it under the toe of his shining boot. “I’ll be here at nine sharp tomorrow. Be ready to go.” He reached out and patted Jamie’s cheek. “See you then.”
*
Margaret proffered a plate of tiny cakes, piped with icing, a plump raspberry at the centre of each. “Another, Captain? This is the absolute last of our fresh raspberries. It’s nothing but jam now until summer begins again.”
Jim smiled and took a cake. “Time waits for no man, nor ripe raspberries. With an inducement like that, how can I refuse? Thank you. They’re delightful.”
“It’s a pity you can’t stay for dinner.” Margaret smiled at Jim, and Jamie felt a swell of proprietorial pride. Despite the class barrier that would likely never tumble, it would take a colder heart than his mother’s not to respond to Jim’s disarming sweetness. It was more than his looks; Jamie knew men who were considered handsomer, but none of them inspired the same eagerness, the same willingness to please Jim’s manner evoked in others. Jim had been enormously popular in their regiment with officers and enlisted men alike. Everyone had known his name and had had a kind word for him, or a joke to share. And when Jim had been trapped in the hospital in France, he had only to frown or wince and it seemed a nurse materialised beside him at once, ready to assist with whatever troubled him, shyly responding to his grateful smile. It was at once the most extraordinary and the most unsurprising thing; the more time Jamie spent with Jim, the more he wanted to make Jim happy. Why shouldn’t other people feel the same way?
“We have plans this evening,” Jamie said. “Another night, perhaps.”
Margaret sighed. “Yes, I suppose you have time now, though poor Philip isn’t as lucky.”
Sleek and fashionable in a closely cut dark-blue suit and a pale-grey silk tie, Philip lounged in a nearby chair. He offered a languid wave of one hand. “At least I’ve managed to avoid being shot.”
“Philip has the devil’s own luck,” Jamie murmured. His own grey worsted suit lacked distinction next to Philip’s and hung a bit on him because of his recent indisposition; with a touch of envy, Jamie wondered exactly when Philip had found the time to buy new clothes, but then Philip always managed to be smartly turned out for any occasion, a peacock in a room full of pigeons. “I’m sure he’ll be fine, won’t you, Philip? When’s your train?”
“Six o’clock Wednesday morning.”
“Shall I drive you to the station?”
“Don’t bother,” Philip replied. “Murchison can do it.”
“Murchison’s back in Selkirk,” Jamie said.
“Oh, right. Dash it, I’d forgot. Well, I can get one of the servants to drive me. Thanks all the same. Damned sorry I’m leaving so soon. I’m missing the hunt. I expect you’ll be headed up there, even if you’re not riding right now.”
“I’m not, as it happens,” Jamie replied. “I’m staying in London.”
“Good God, why?”
Jamie fixed Philip with an even, chilly stare. “I seem to have lost my taste for blood sports.”
“Oh, please, spare me the moist sentiments, sprat. A fox isn’t a man, and even so, it’s a long chalk from shooting some confounded jerry in a filthy trench. Do you hunt, Captain Nicholls?”
“I’m afraid not,” Jim said. “I was taught to ride by Jesuit priests, and they were rather adamantly opposed to the notion of hunting for pleasure, and so I never adopted the custom. I doubt it would be to my inclinations at any rate. I’m rather fond of foxes.”
“Well, I reckon you’re well-matched, the pair of you,” Philip said dubiously. “Where are you two headed this evening?”
“I’m taking Jamie to meet some of the lads I work with at the War Office,” Jim said. “Now that he’s up and about, I thought it was high time he met some of the fellows I wrote him about so often.”
Jamie cast an affectionate glance at Jim. “I feel as if I know them already. Jim’s letters were quite heartening and lively, Mother. They truly kept my spirits up.”
“That’s marvellous,” Margaret said. “Wonderful that you found so much in common.”
“Write to him often, did you?” Philip asked.
“Why, yes,” Jim said. “As often as I could.” He took a last bite of his little cake and patted his mouth with his napkin, then seemed to notice that Philip was staring at him as if waiting for him to say more. “Not as often as I’d have liked. The war’s kept us all busy, even those of us unlucky enough to get shot.” He let out a good-natured chuckle, acknowledging and diffusing Philip’s earlier barb.
Margaret leant forward. “And do you intend to stay with the War Office once it’s all over, Captain?”
“No, my lady. In fact, I shall be joining a small publishing house as an editor once the war’s over.”
“A literary lion!” Philip said. “My God.”
“I’m not a writer myself,” Jim said. “I hope I don’t flatter myself too much by saying that my true gift is perceiving the beauty of the words of others. I’ve been reading the most extraordinary poetry recently, all connected to the war. It’s terribly heart-rending.”
“We’re not much for books ourselves,” Philip said. “You wouldn’t think it, looking at our bloody libraries, but we’re not a reading family, much less a writing one.”
“Well, there is your cousin Percival,” Margaret said. “He writes poetry.”
“Yes, but he won’t be writing war poetry, will he? Bloody army wouldn’t take him.” Philip rolled his eyes. “A bit on the delicate side, is our Percy.”
Philip’s casually flung words struck a low and discomfiting note in Jamie’s heart. Afraid that his face was beginning to turn red, he took a sip of tea he no longer wanted and set the cup down. “We should be leaving soon, Jim.”
“Sure you won’t stay for dinner? Mother’s invited some of the old crowd. Girls, mostly, but that’s just fine with me. Keep me away from the stodgy old parties.” Philip tipped Jim a roué’s dissolute wink; even Philip, disdainful as he was of most things, seemed to want to impress Jim. “Charlotte Thorpe, for one. Mother says you were getting along with her quite well last year, Jamie.”
“Charlotte’s beau died this past summer, as you well know,” Jamie replied stiffly. “I hardly think it’s appropriate to speak of her so lightly.”
“That just means she’s free, old boy, and in need of comfort.”
“Oh, for God’s sake –“
“Jamie,” Margaret cautioned. “Philip didn’t mean any harm. You mustn’t be so snappish.”
“Sorry, Mother.” Jamie rose to his feet. “I’m not certain I’ll be home this evening. I may sleep at the club if it gets late.”
“You’ll be home for Philip’s farewell dinner tomorrow, though?” Margaret wanted to know.
“Yes, I expect so.” Jamie was nearly shaking with anger, but he could scarcely fathom why. It took an effort to appear nonchalant.
Jim got up and bowed over Margaret’s hand. “Thank you for a delightful afternoon, my lady.”
“Do come again,” Margaret said, then hesitated. “Perhaps you’d like to come to dinner tomorrow night? It’s only a very small affair and I’m afraid you won’t know many people there, but it would do Jamie good to have a friend present, I think.”
“Thank you, but I have another engagement.” Jim picked up his cap. “It’s very kind of you to ask me, though. Perhaps another time.” He turned to Philip and extended his hand. “Splendid to see you again.”
“Take care, old boy.” Philip shook Jim’s hand and sank back into his chair. “See you tomorrow, sprat.”
Jamie retrieved his walking stick and nodded at Philip. “Cheerio.” He moved slowly out of the room, Jim on his heels, and didn’t speak as the maid fetched their coats and hats.
Jim put a hand on his shoulder. “Are you all right?”
“Yes.” Jamie shrugged into his coat. “Let’s find a cab, please.”
*
Jim unlocked the door to his flat and stood aside to let Jamie in. “Here we are – home at last. It really hasn’t changed a bit since the last time you visited. Look here, old man, are you sure you’re –“ His words dwindled into an abrupt muffled noise of surprise as Jamie took Jim in his arms and kissed him ferociously. He yielded for a moment, then stepped away, flushed and laughing. “I’m happy to see you too. Let me close the door, at least, so I don’t scandalise my neighbors.” He suited actions to words, then took off his cap and hung it on a hook. “Now – let me kiss you properly. I’ve been waiting for almost two years, you know.” He deftly removed Jamie’s hat and hung it, and then pulled Jamie into an embrace.
Letting his stick drop to the floor with a clatter, Jamie all but flung himself into the space between those strong arms and pressed his lips to Jim’s. At once Jim’s mouth opened and Jamie kissed him without gentleness or finesse. He wanted to devour Jim whole, to obliterate his sensations of discontentment and gradually increasing distress, as if some sort of corruption had insinuated itself into the fabric of his life, discernible only at odd moments, a sudden faint, foul odour. He clung tightly to Jim, grateful for his strength, his gentle gallantry.
Jim pulled back and cupped Jamie’s chin in his hand. “Dear Jamie – tell me, what’s got you so unhappy?”
“I don’t know,” Jamie replied. “Only – I missed you terribly. I thought I’d never have the chance to be truly alone with you again. It was killing me.”
“I’m glad I’m not the only one who feels that way.” Jim kissed him softly on the mouth. “Tell me you love me.”
“I love you.” Jamie gripped Jim’s arms. “It was killing me, being cooped up in that bloody house.”
“Ah.” Jim stroked the back of his fingers over Jamie’s cheek. “I think we both need a stiff drink. What do you say to that?”
“Cracking idea.”
Jim put his hands on either side of Jamie’s head and kissed him. Then he bent and retrieved Jamie’s stick. “To the couch, my good man. Drinks in a flash.”
Jamie nodded and hung his coat, then made his way into the parlour. Everything was as it had been almost two years ago, and Jamie felt soothed, though it wasn’t his own home. An air of comfort if not luxury prevailed and, Jamie thought, not a little sense of Jim’s sunny disposition. It was a far cry from his London house with its glacial grandeur, and even the Selkirk house where he’d spent his happiest childhood moments had never held a flavour of welcome the way Jim’s modest rooms did. Perhaps he was simply accustomed to military austerity.
A little coal fire crackled merrily and pervaded the room with warmth. The sight of it brought a prickle of tears to Jamie’s eyes. He wiped them away fiercely, plodded to the couch, and sat with a thud. What the devil’s the matter with me? I’m not succumbing to shell-shock at last, am I? Mortified, he dragged out a handkerchief and blew his nose. Get hold of yourself before Jim comes in here and sees you weeping over nothing at all. He tucked his handkerchief back into his pocket and arranged a pleasant, bland expression on his face.
“Here we are.” Jim, still wearing his trench-coat, came in with a bottle and two glasses, and handed the glasses to Jamie. “Hold on to these for a moment, will you?” He poured them both a double whisky, set the bottle on the side table, and shrugged out of his coat, tossing it on a chair. “Much better,” he said, taking one of the glasses from Jamie and sitting beside him on the couch. “Now. What to toast?”
Jamie held up his glass. “To you, Jim.”
Jim gave Jamie one of the lavish smiles that Jamie had feared he’d never see again. “And to you, Jamie.” He touched his glass to Jamie’s. “Bottoms up, old man. Lots more where that came from.”
They drank, finishing their doubles in a single draught. Jamie shuddered and held out his glass for more. “Feel like I should get drunk,” he muttered.
“Coming up.” Jim poured another drink and handed it to Jamie. “Now – is it Philip? Is he what’s got you so down in the mouth?” He poured another drink for himself, but sipped judiciously instead of upending it into his gullet.
Jamie felt his lips twisting into a grimace. “Nothing gets by you, does it?”
“Well, I fancy myself a rather expert observer of Colonel James Stewart, in and out of his native habitat. I suppose that crack he made about your cousin –“
“Percy,” Jamie sighed. “Yes, Percy’s – well. Not terribly masculine.”
“Does Philip know about you?”
Jamie shook his head. “No. And if he found out, there would be hell to pay.”
“Are you afraid of him?”
Startled, Jamie looked into Jim’s eyes. “Afraid? No…not physically. Not anymore, at least.” He smiled bitterly. “Time was – years ago – I was terrified of him. He was the sort of boy who’d steal up behind you and twist your arm up your back for no reason at all – and then he’d laugh. And God help you if you cried.”
Jim’s mouth tightened. “A bully.”
“Just so. It didn’t last forever, though at the time….” Jamie shrugged. “Eventually he found other…diversions.” Jamie finished his second drink and rotated the glass in his hand. The whisky burned comfortingly in his throat and stomach. “Jim…if I tell you something, will you swear to keep it to yourself?”
“Of course I will, Jamie.”
Jamie nodded. “I know you will. I know. It’s only that…it’s dreadful.”
“If it’s too difficult –“
“No. I’ve got to tell it. I’ve got to tell someone, at last. I shan’t be able to tell it again, I think.” Jamie took a deep breath. “It happened when I was fourteen, and Philip was seventeen. It was summer, and we were both on our school holidays. Mother and Father were on the Continent – Austria, I think – and we were pretty much left to our own devices. The staff was there, of course, but they never interfered with us. At any rate, it was a pleasant summer. Good weather, and Philip was less…wretched than usual. I was wary, of course – it didn’t do to let one’s guard down because one never knew when things would turn ugly, but for the most part, he was nearly affable.”
Jim said nothing, but he nodded in encouragement.
“So we were riding one afternoon, and there was a path through a little glen that followed a stream. It was family land, but there were tenant cottages…anyhow, as we were riding along, a girl came running onto the path. Frightened both horses, but we kept our seats. She began crying and screaming at Philip. I was dished, I don’t mind telling you. Had no idea what she was going on about, but Philip clearly did, because he dismounted and took the girl by the hand. Then he told me to stay put and led her off toward the stream.”
“And you, being a curious fourteen-year-old boy, followed,” Jim said.
“That’s right. The wood was thick enough to conceal an eavesdropper. So I lashed the horses to a tree, and then followed them and listened.”
“I can guess what you heard,” Jim said. “He’d got her in the family way, hadn’t he?”
“Yes. And she was threatening to tell our parents. She was the daughter of one of their tenants, and she said he was responsible since she…since she hadn’t wanted to in the first place.”
“He raped her,” Jim said tonelessly.
Jamie sighed deeply and inclined his head. “I didn’t understand, not at first. He tried to soothe her, but she was crying, and it took some effort.” He cleared his throat. “After a while it seemed as if he’d calmed her somewhat, and I heard him promise he’d visit her that evening, and they’d go to Gretna Green and marry, and everything would be fine. So I ran back to the horses and untied them and waited, and he finally emerged without her. He was red in the face and breathing as if he’d just run a mile, but I didn’t say a word. I reckon he was too preoccupied to notice me. We went back to the house, and that night he went out again.”
“To elope?”
Jamie shook his head. “I didn’t think so. I knew damned well, even if the poor girl didn’t, that there was no way he’d tie himself down with a wife at seventeen, much less a tenant’s daughter. So I realised…and by and by I worked out what he’d done – that he’d forced himself on her. The more I thought about it, the more outraged I was. So I was foolhardy – I loitered about and waited for him to return, and when he did, I confronted him.” Jamie rubbed his eyes. “Can you pour me one more, Jim? A single this time. I find I don’t want to be drunk after all.”
“Of course.” Jim poured them both drinks. “What did you say to him?”
Jamie sipped. “Oh – I fancied myself quite the cavalier, I think. I told him he had to do the honourable thing, and if he didn’t, I’d tell Mother and Father. I was so certain of being in the right I didn’t stop to consider the matter at all.”
Jim shook his head. “And what did he say in response?”
“Say?” Jamie gave Jim a tight smile. “Not much. He dragged me out to the stables and beat me until I was crying and pleading for mercy.”
A spasm of anger crossed Jim’s face. His hand tightened on his glass, and he set it down on the floor. “Oh, Jamie –“
“He made me promise I wouldn’t tell. Said if I did he’d hurt me in ways I’d not thought of, and I believed him. But that wasn’t the worst of it. You see, the next morning…the next morning the girl’s mother found her in her bedroom. She’d hanged herself.”
“Dear God,” Jim whispered.
“When I heard, I didn’t know what to do. I thought of telling my parents, cabling them, but he’d intimidated me well enough. I covered up my bruises in front of the servants – luckily he’d left my face alone, so it wasn’t obvious.”
Jim’s brows drew together. “Lucky for him, you mean. My God, Jamie, you were only a boy.”
“A frightened, foolish boy. And Philip – when he heard the news – one of the grooms told us that evening – I couldn’t ride because of what he’d done, but I was helping curry the horses – he didn’t react at all, except to give me a warning look. And he never said another word about it.”
“You don’t think that he –“
“That he killed her?” Jamie shook his head slowly. “I don’t think so. I…I’ve thought of it, but even he….” He looked at Jim. “I pray that he didn’t, Jim, but at times I’ve wondered. I’ve told you that he was demoted to the ranks for drinking and fighting, and I’ve often pondered…he’s always been volatile, you see, but capable of murder? I’ve shut out the possibility. It’s too unspeakable to contemplate. Cowardly of me, isn’t it?”
“No.”
Jamie shrugged. Heat rose in his face, unassisted by the whisky. “I’ve always felt a coward because of it.”
“Rubbish, Jamie. Still, I suppose it would be difficult, if not impossible, to falsify that sort of death,” Jim said.
“I don’t know. Perhaps. But what I mean to say, after all that, is that if he discovered that we – that I prefer the company of gentlemen to ladies, he would be quite capable of making my life a living hell. Yours, too, and I won’t have that. I could tell you other stories, more recent, but the upshot of all of them would be that he’s got a tremendous reserve of malice and cruelty in his heart. I’m not afraid of him, but I’m under no illusions that he’s softened the least bit. He’s a wretched human being, Jim, and I despise him. I’ve never forgiven him for that, and I’ve only just realised it.”
Jim drew close to Jamie and embraced him. “My dear, sweet Jamie. I wish I could help you.”
“You do,” Jamie murmured against the tender shell of Jim’s ear. “More than you know.” He’d talked more than he’d ever thought possible; he’d revealed a terrible weakness in himself, and Jim hadn’t withdrawn in horror or disgust.
“What it must have cost you to remain silent, knowing that. Knowing you lived with someone so heartless.”
“I was accustomed to it.”
“It’s devilishly unfair. No child should be subject to such terror.” Jim kissed Jamie’s cheek and held him close. “If he ever so much as gives you the wrong sort of look when I’m there –“
“No, Jim.” Jamie held him away. “I’ve got to preserve the peace for my parents’ sake, don’t you see? They don’t know what he’s like, not the half of it. He learned to dissemble early on, and they’ve only got the foggiest idea of his true nature. If they learn what happened, the part he played – I can’t even fathom the depth of their distress. The truth is, I hardly see him at all, haven’t spent more than a few hours at a time with him for years. When my parents are gone, then I needn’t see him ever again, but for now I keep him at a distance, and he’s bright enough to do the same.”
“But he likes to provoke you. I saw it at the hospital, and today at your house as well. And…when I met him, whilst you were away, I have to confess I didn’t take to him.”
Jamie smiled. “I thought not. In your letter you said you’d met him and chatted about the war a bit, that my mother looked enchanting, and that the cream cakes were delicious.”
“Oh, dear, am I that transparent? I couldn’t think what else to say.”
“You’re truthful, that’s all. Is that why you won’t be at dinner tomorrow night?”
“Actually, no. I promised to escort Pansy and her silly flat-mate to Kent – I’m going in my capacity as a porter, I suspect, for all their hatboxes and furbelows – and the train won’t be back in time. I could stop by afterward, if you like. Now that I know about him, I’ve an urge to protect you from him.”
“Never mind. He’s going back on Wednesday, and things will settle down again. But I thank you for your chivalry.” Jamie beamed. “Don’t let’s talk about him. Do you know I felt instantly at home when I walked in here?”
“Do you know how lovely it is to hear you say that? Oh, Jamie, I’ve missed you so. I’ve dreamt and dreamt about having you back, and it’s beyond wonderful. Here, give me that.” Jim took the glass from Jamie’s hand and set it beside his own on the floor. “I thought we might stay in after all. Mrs. Taylor’s cooked a chicken for me and put it in the ice-box. I’ve bread and cheese, and beer.”
“A feast,” Jamie murmured. “What shall I say when my mother asks me about meeting your friends?”
Jim’s eyes twinkled wickedly. “You can tell her the truth. They’re splendid chaps and you’re very much looking forward to spending more time with them.”
For the first time in what seemed ages, Jamie felt arousal followed by a tingling of fear. “Jim, I don’t know if I ought to – I’m still feeling a bit under the weather, you see.”
“I wouldn’t dream of trying to cajole you into anything that causes you discomfort. We needn’t do a thing tonight.”
Jamie frowned. “I should have spoken to our doctor about it, I suppose, but when the time came, I was too bashful. I’m not a married man, after all, and I didn’t fancy listening to a lecture about the evils of prostitution. He’s quite elderly, a Methodist, and a rather austere fellow.”
“Well, you should have told him you weren’t interested in women at all.”
Jamie stared at Jim. “Wh –“ Jim winked, and they burst into laughter. “Oh, dear God. Can you imagine?” He sat back on the sofa. “I’d have killed the poor man.” The laughter felt marvellous, as if an entire set of muscles atrophied through lack of exercise was slowly working itself into life again.
“Very likely.” Jim ran a hand through his hair and then leant sideways, curling his legs up like a child and resting his head on the back of the sofa. The last of the afternoon light filtered through the curtains and slanted across his face, diffused by specks of dust in the air. “I’ve waited nearly two years. I can wait a little longer, I assure you.”
Jim’s generosity pierced Jamie’s heart. He struggled determinedly to his feet and held a hand out. “Come on.”
Jim peered up at him uncertainly. “But you’re –“
“I’m feeling a bit low, but that doesn’t mean we’re utterly helpless.” Jamie reached down, grasped Jim’s wrist, and tugged. “Up.”
“Yes, sir.” Jim leapt up and caught Jamie round the waist. “What did you have in mind?”
“You without a stitch of clothing on, for one thing.”
Jim bit his lower lip. “My word. Well….” He stepped back and swept a hand toward the doorway. “Lead on, good sir.”
Jamie moved into the bedroom as quickly as he could and breathed a contented sigh at the sight of the familiar space where they’d spent a handful of blissful nights, before the war swallowed them both once more. Now they were free; it seemed a dream. Jamie felt the sting of tears again and recognised them for what they were: the deferment of heartache, the pain of separation he’d ruthlessly suppressed, long buried under a thick layer of stoicism and blank, shattered horror and dirt and flying bullets and the spilt blood of innocent men. He stood still, absorbing the air of liberty into his skin.
Jim’s arms wound round him from behind, and soft lips brushed against his ear. “What is it?”
“I’m happy.” The words emerged in a trembling whisper. Jamie clasped Jim’s hands and held them tightly.
Gently, Jim turned Jamie to face him. His brow creased, and he brushed his thumb below Jamie’s eye. “Are you certain?”
Jamie pressed his lips together and nodded. “I –“ His throat closed up, rendering him mute. He moved close to Jim and kissed his mouth. The tears that he’d stopped up for almost four years finally flowed unchecked.
“Oh, Jamie –“ Jim drew Jamie to the bed and wrapped his arms round Jamie’s body.
Jamie clung desperately to Jim, registering in a dim fashion how violent were the tremors that rippled through him, how steadily he wept, and at last he gave himself up to emotion. He was weary, so weary, and battered from the terror of battle, the slaughterhouse stink of corpses and drifting smoke from shells, the pervasive fear and panic that needs must be contained, the necessity of advancing at all costs to claim the smallest patch of muddy ground and the knowledge that in order to claim it, others would have to die by his hand. He had diverted his fear for himself into the incessant slaughter, into protecting his men, waiting for those brief respites of silence and calm that were merely spaces between further onslaughts of death. He thought of Jim, bleeding as he carried his limp body to the farmhouse in Flanders. And he was nothing out of the ordinary; in France, in Belgium, in the Judean hills, the battles raged on, and more men died every day. He clung to Jim and wept in silent, choking gasps for all that had been lost, and the thin, shining threads of hope and love that had borne him through the worst of the devastation. And Jim, his Jim, blessedly did nothing to stem the liberated tide of horror and rage and relief that swept through him. He only held Jamie close, stroking his back and his hair, and now and then kissing him with the greatest tenderness.
After a time, he pulled back and breathed shallowly in an attempt to recover his composure. He saw a flash of white and realised that Jim was proffering a handkerchief. He accepted it, wiped his eyes, and blew his nose and stuffed the kerchief in his pocket. “Thank you,” he said hoarsely.
Jim’s hand settled onto his knee and stroked. “That was a long time coming, wasn’t it.”
Jamie nodded. “I hadn’t intended to…to fall apart. I’m sorry for it. Please don’t think badly of me.”
“Never.” Jim brushed Jamie’s hair back from his brow. “On the contrary. I don’t think I could possibly adore you more.”
A vast span of time and tragedy separated their first breathless passion from now, but Jamie remembered each touch, each kiss, each awkward, fumbling caress as though it had happened the day before. He smiled. “I’ve been selfish.”
“No.”
“I love you.”
The happiness on Jim’s face lifted Jamie’s heart. “Dearest Jamie.”
Jamie reached out and unbuckled Jim’s Sam Browne belt. “I kept my word.”
“So you did. I knew you would.” Jim shed his tunic and draped it over the brass bed rail. “I knew it.” Piece by piece, they undressed until the bed rails and the floor around them was littered with clothing. Jim urged Jamie up and drew the bedclothes down, then lay on the bed and opened his arms. “Come here. I just want to feel your body against mine. I promise not to touch you indecently.”
Jamie laughed softly and moved close to Jim. “What if I weren’t to make the same promise?” He slipped a hand between Jim’s legs.
“Ah –“ Jim arched his body, closed his eyes, and tilted his head backward, exposing the long length of his throat. “Oh, God almighty, Jamie –“
“This is what I meant.” Jamie lowered his mouth to Jim’s throat and suckled on it, gently biting. “We’re not helpless.”
“I am….” Jim reached up and grasped one of the vertical brass rails with both hands. “I shan’t touch you, not until you give me permission.”
Jamie moved down to one of Jim’s nipples and caressed the tender skin with his tongue. His own hardness ached, but he ignored it. He wasn’t ready to abandon himself, not quite yet. He still felt uncertain in his skin, as if the exertion of sexual release might break something inside him, but that was no reason not to give Jim as much pleasure as he could. Covetously, he lingered on the nipple, bringing it to a stiff peak, then moved to the other, never taking his hand from Jim’s hard prick.
Jim groaned deeply and spread his legs apart. “Jamie…Jamie….”
“Shh.” Jamie silenced Jim with a kiss, exploring his mouth more boldly than he’d ever done before, pressing Jim to the pillow, cupping his hand behind Jim’s head to pull him deeper. Jim tightened his grasp on the rails and whimpered, rocking his hips upward, thrusting into Jamie’s hand. All at once he moaned loudly into Jamie’s mouth, and Jamie felt sticky warmth on his hand. He captured Jim’s mouth completely, smothering his cry of release, and kept his hold on Jim’s cock until the shudders in Jim’s body had subsided.
Jim fell back, sweating and breathing hard, his eyes unfocused. “Oh….”
Jamie lifted his hand and examined the glistening fluid on it. Tentatively, he touched his tongue to it. Salty, not entirely unpleasant. He licked it off his hand and swallowed with a slight wince. Odd.
“You’ve undone me completely.” Jim’s voice was slightly raspy and utterly alluring.
“Did you like it?”
Jim laughed. “Yes. I liked it. Kiss me again.”
Jamie bent close. “You’re glorious.”
“Kiss me. I want to taste you now.”
Jamie kissed him, gentler after the frenzy of their first coupling. He was still hard, and the proximity of Jim’s naked body with the slightest exciting tang of fresh sweat, of maleness, made it difficult to concentrate on returning to an ordinary state. Jim let go of the bed rails and twined his arms and legs around Jamie. “Oh, God.”
“Shall I stop?”
“No,” Jamie groaned. “It’s a bit…challenging, that’s all.”
“Cold baths usually help.”
“I’d rather not.”
“Good.” Jim kissed him again. “I love you. I love you. I’m so glad you’re home to stay.”
Jamie rested his head on Jim’s shoulder and embraced him. “So am I, Jim,” he whispered. “So am I.”
*
The library of Stewart House was its most comforting room: book-lined, smelling pleasantly of old leather and paper, its fir-green walls and heavy furniture embracing and cosy, family knick-knacks and mementoes scattered across the gleaming oak bookshelves. Jamie had spent hours upon hours poring over the huge brass-bound globe, a sextant belonging to some more adventurous Stewart forebear always on a low shelf for curious little fingers to explore, the wooden kaleidoscope, the viewing-crystal of which had been broken at least once every few years. Later he’d devoured military histories, tales of battle: Hastings, Stirling, Bannockburn, Agincourt, Cadiz, Bunker Hill. Now he sat toasting his feet beside the fire and reading poetry as a dull, steady rain thumped against the windows. Philip’s assertion that no-one in the Stewart family read had been based purely upon his own impatience with the printed word. Jamie had never fancied himself a lover of poetry before, though; it had taken Jim’s enthusiasm for it, the sound of his voice lilting over its hills and valleys, to make him take an interest in it. Now he read it daily, and found it soothing.
Bright star! would I were steadfast as thou art —
Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night,
And watching, with eternal lids apart,
Like Nature's patient sleepless Eremite,
The moving waters at their priestlike task
Of pure ablution round earth's human shores,
Or gazing on the new soft fallen mask
Of snow upon the mountains and the moors —
No — yet still steadfast, still unchangeable,
Pillow’d upon my fair love's ripening breast,
To feel for ever its soft fall and swell,
Awake for ever in a sweet unrest,
Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,
And so live ever — or else swoon to death.
Jamie smiled and without thinking brushed his fingertips over the words on the page. That was Jim – brilliant and steadfast and watchful. And sweet unrest – what a lovely phrase. He would see Jim tomorrow, and ask him to read the poem.
Muffled and distant, the door-bell rang. Jamie glanced at the mantel clock, wondering if anyone was expected. His mother had gone on some errand, and the house was quiet and peaceful. His wound ached less and less, even in the chill autumn weather, and he walked more easily now. In a month or so, he hoped, he would be able to get about without the walking-stick.
A shriek from the corridor jolted him out of his reverie. He lurched awkwardly to his feet, grabbed his stick, and headed to the door.
Cora, one of the maids, sat on a chair in the hall, weeping as if her heart were breaking. Jim knelt in front of her, patting her hand, but he was smiling.
They looked like lovers, and a brief, violent stab of jealousy assailed Jamie’s heart. “Jim? Whatever’s the matter?”
Jim rose to his feet, and he beamed at Jamie, moving toward him quickly, cap in hand, his trench-coat speckled with water. “Jamie – it’s happened. There’s to be an armistice.”
Jamie froze. “An armistice –“
“Yes. At last.” Jim grasped Jamie’s shoulders. “The guns will fall silent on the eleventh, at eleven o’clock in the morning, they say. It’s over. The war is over.”
A strange heaviness tugged at Jamie’s body, as if someone had poured sand inside his limbs and slowed the rhythm of his heart. He stared at Jim. “I can’t take it in. It’s truly over?”
Jim’s face positively glowed with happiness. “It is. It’s a new beginning – of everything.”
“Dear Christ,” Jamie whispered. He recovered himself and turned to the maid. “Cora? Are you quite all right?”
Cora nodded, jumping to her feet and wiping at her tear-stained face with a corner of her apron. “Yes, sir. Sorry, sir. It’s just that my Michael’s in the navy, and now he’ll come home at last –“ She burst into tears again.
“Go on downstairs,” Jamie said. “Have a cup of tea and pull yourself together.” That wasn’t, he reflected belatedly, a very kind thing to say. He patted her shoulder with awkward affection. “Go on, my dear. And you have my congratulations.”
“Thank you, sir,” the girl gulped, and darted past them toward the kitchen.
“Michael’s her…suitor?” Jamie inquired in a low tone.
Jim bit his lip and nodded, his eyes twinkling.
Jamie sighed. “I can’t believe it. I want to rejoice, but…it’s too much to take in. I feel as if the war’s just another aspect of existence now. I can scarcely remember what life was like before it.”
“I know. I’ve had a bit more time to think it over. I found out this morning, and waited ‘til luncheon to come and see you. And I think your reaction’s likely not unusual. There was a bit of a hullaballoo when we heard the news, and then the oddest sort of solemnity fell over the place. You could have heard a pin drop. And then it was back to business, as if the announcement had never happened. So strange, I can’t tell you. But it is marvellous news, Jamie. An end to terrible, senseless slaughter. Those left alive will be able to come home at last.”
“Yes.” Jamie mustered a smile. “Have you time for a quick drink?”
“Just one. I must get back soon.”
“Come into the library.” He led the way into the warm, agreeable room and closed the door, then went to a cabinet and rummaged out two glasses and a decanter of brandy. He poured and handed one to Jim. “To peace.”
“Peace,” Jim echoed softly. They touched glasses and drank, each lost in his own thoughts.
Jim broke the silence. “There’s to be a commemoration at Whitehall on the eleventh. Will you come?”
“Am I welcome?”
“Of course. Any winner of the Victoria Cross is.”
Jamie’s mouth turned up at one corner. “Then I will.”
“Good.” Impulsively, Jim darted a kiss onto Jamie’s cheek. “It’s lovely to see you. Hadn’t expected to until tomorrow.”
“It’s wonderful to see you as well. I’m sorry I’m in such a state. I’m a bit numb.”
“Jamie…don’t apologise, not to me. I know you’ve suffered keenly thanks to this war. No – there you go again, wrinkling your nose at me. It’s charming, but you mustn’t. I don’t expect you to cut a caper. Well – I suppose I might have at first, but I wasn’t thinking clearly. Forgive me for that. I am glad to be the first to tell you, though.”
Jamie stroked Jim’s damp hair. “So am I. Thank you.”
Jim moved forward and kissed Jamie’s mouth, then suckled his earlobe. “You’re such a temptation. I wish I could stay longer. That sofa looks deuced comfortable for two.”
“You shock me, Captain Nicholls.”
“Heavens, if only – oh! I’d meant to tell you before the news – yesterday I swear I saw your brother in Piccadilly.” Jim shook his head. “It was the oddest thing. I was having luncheon with Gil Pendarves, and I thought I saw Philip outside the restaurant. Looked exactly like him, and whoever it was, he gave me a bit of a peculiar look, as if he’d recognised me. So I dashed out of the restaurant, but by the time I got outside, he was gone.”
“Well, it couldn’t have been Philip. He’s back in France.”
“Yes, I know. Still, he nearly blanched at the sight of me, which gave me a start in turn. Anyhow, I’ve got to go – will I see you tomorrow?”
“Yes,” Jamie said. “I’ve a poem for you to read to me. Keats.”
“Ah! It would be my pleasure.” Jim kissed Jamie again. “Thanks for the brandy. Walk me to the door?”
Jamie escorted Jim to the door and watched him settle his cap. “You’ll not be wearing that much longer.”
Jim paused. “You’re right. I shall have to invest in a wardrobe, I suppose. As I said – it’s a new beginning.” He pressed Jamie’s hand.
“And a miracle that I’ve got you.”
“Why, Jamie….” Jim’s cheeks turned a bit pink. He stuck his hands in his trench-coat pockets, trotted down the steps, and saluted Jamie before walking briskly toward a cab stand. As he moved away, he began to whistle, quite sweetly.
With an overwhelming surge of affection, Jamie watched him go, his bright star.
*
The morning was chilly and rainy, but the stone hallway was uncomfortably warm, crowded as it was with uniformed men. Jamie cradled his peaked cap in one arm and ran a surreptitious finger beneath the collar of his blue tunic. The Victoria Cross gleamed on its breast, its ribbon bright and ostentatious, making him feel a bit of a fraud. His trepidation dissolved as he moved slowly through the throng, here and there finding old school chums, fellows he’d known in one capacity or another. They all had a jolly word for him, and not a few congratulated him on the honour bestowed upon him.
“There you are!” Jim, resplendent in his own blue uniform, clapped Jamie on the arm. “They’re about ready. Shall we find an advantageous spot?”
Jamie nodded and followed Jim to a corner of the hall, where several men in cavalry regimentals loitered. They fell into conversation until a gong resounded, demanding silence.
Standing beside a column and behind rows and rows of soldiers, Jamie could not see the man who spoke, but he heard his voice in the silence, subdued and slightly weary.
“Today, after four years of terrible and bloody conflict, the guns fall silent at last, and justice prevails. We honour your courage, your tenacity, and your strength, and we honour those who have fallen in the cause of service to King and country. As the bell strikes the hour, let us pray in silence for those who have given their lives in sacrifice.”
The clock chimed; the hall was utterly silent. Jamie bowed his head and prayed for the lost men of his first regiment, for the men who’d served under him in his infantry battalion and who had died on those terrible battlefields. He prayed for their widows, their sweethearts, their children. And he thanked God, humbly, that Jim was alive and beside him.
“God bless you all. God save the King.”
“God save the King,” every man echoed.
And then, faintly, distantly, the sound of bells filtered into the stone hall. Jamie lifted his head and looked at Jim, puzzled. Other soldiers looked round, and as one, they moved toward the doors.
A roar, full-throated and triumphant, greeted them. Astonished, Jamie saw a massive crowd on the pavement, waving and cheering, as if every soul in London had turned out to celebrate. Flags fluttered in bright lashings of red, white, and blue from every window. The bells of St. Paul’s, of Parliament, of Westminster, every bell that had been silenced during the war, rang out in joyous cacophony. The sound of maroons, mortar flares firing in triumph, resounded down the rainy street. And now the soldiers began to cheer in response, to embrace one another and pound each other on the back, to weep without shame. Jamie felt a hand slip into his, and turned to face Jim.
Jim embraced him and held him close. Neither spoke.
It was the end of a long and weary road. The war had ended.
*
A beautiful recording of Tom Hiddleston reading Bright Star can be found here.
