Two Soldiers (Marrying Men, #4)
Story copyright August 2019 by Hollis Shiloh. All rights reserved. Do not reproduce without written permission from the author. All characters and events are fictitious, and any similarity to real people or events is coincidental. Cover image content is being used for illustrative purposes only.
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About the story:
Two soldiers marry in haste the night before a battle, each for reasons of his own.
On the eve of battle, Henry has a premonition of death. He decides to marry his impoverished friend so if he dies, at least his awful cousin won't profit off it, and instead Isaac will be able to pay off his debts. But Isaac has been concealing his feelings for some time now, and it's a bit awkward, being married to the man he really does have feelings for...
~8,000 words
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Two Soldiers | by Hollis Shiloh
Two Soldiers
by Hollis Shiloh
"ISAAC," SAID HENRY, "do you have a moment?"
Since they were normally on much freer terms, the necessities of battle keeping them from formal behaviour, Isaac was immediately on the alert.
"Yes. Is something wrong?" He followed Henry into his tent. Henry was a beautiful man, although far from eligible. He was quite rich, for one thing. For another, his heart and soul belonged to women—nearly any woman he met would be preferable to the quiet, dark-haired Isaac. It would never have occurred to Henry that he sometimes caused his friend agonies by going about shirtless.
"Do you ever have a premonition?" Henry spoke with apparent casualness, but he studied his fingernails as he spoke.
"No, not really," said Isaac cautiously.
"Because I have. That I'm going to die." He let out a huge breath. "There, that wasn't so hard." He met Isaac's gaze with a laughing reluctance. "Never thought I'd give in to that sort of thing, but there you have it! I'm convinced I'm going to die. This next battle, or the one after, for certain." He shrugged. "It's not a pleasant feeling, but what have you?"
"Henry..." began Isaac, putting a hand on his friend's arm. Henry was hopelessly straight and unfairly gorgeous with that mop of golden curls and his brash, laughing confidence. Underneath it all, he was terribly kind. He should never have to face something like this alone, or feel that he was being silly for being afraid.
"It's all right, old chap. I'll get through it somehow. I must. Won't turn tail, you know. Thing is, I'd like to see things set for you before I go. We ought to get married. Then you can inherit if I do die."
"What? You don't want to marry me!" Isaac drew back, stunned, feeling a bit as if he was being mocked. Was this an elaborate joke? Had Henry guessed how he felt and turned out to be far less kind than Isaac had supposed?
"No, no of course I don't. Wouldn't see myself leg-shackled to you for the world. Thing is, if I'm to die, I wouldn't be, would I? You'd be a widower, and you'd have my blunt. We're friends, Isaac. You've got debts, and I have plenty of money. I'd rather see it go to you, if I'm at the end, than to my dreadful cousin." He shook his head briskly. "And if it's all rot, we'll get a divorce and I can give you some money in the settlement, so it's the same difference—insurance for now. Your debts out of the way, if I survive or if I don't."
Isaac opened his mouth indignantly, and Henry raised a hand. "No, don't argue with me. You know very well I haven't any way to pay you back for the times you've saved my neck. At least let me set my mind at ease on this matter, if no other."
It was rather an uncomfortable conversation, but the result was that Henry got his own way, and the two of them were married before sunset by the chaplain.
Isaac felt such a fool, the worst sort of imposter and cheat, marrying his friend for money, and not for love. Yet Henry was a persuasive sort of fellow, far more than he knew, and Isaac would have done nearly anything for him if asked. It was probably a good thing Henry didn't know that. Not that he was the sort to always try to get his own way, but it was still best that he didn't know. It was embarrassing enough to feel one's heart catch in one's chest just from looking at a certain smile.
Henry led Isaac to his own tent that night, holding his hand, which he raised to give a silly, ostentatious kiss before they went indoors. A couple of hoots and jeers followed, though most everyone knew what it was all really about. Spending the night together was simply a formality, so no one could later annul the marriage because they hadn't.
Henry was one of those golden fellows who seemed to collect people. He gave his friendship easily and loyally, and seemed to take it for granted that he would be loved. But he was no fool; he could tell if someone wanted to use him. And he knew very well that Isaac had saved his life more than once, that his loyalty ran almost painfully deep.
In his heart, Henry was an honest fellow, and he knew that he couldn't quite repay Isaac even if he were to save his life tomorrow, that there was something more he couldn't quite give. If he never looked closely enough to think about what that was, it was certainly his prerogative not to know. At any rate, suffice it to say that this marriage was his big gesture, the best repayment he could give, the only sort of loyalty and love he could at present return.
He took Isaac to his bed that night. Nothing happened of course, except that they lay side by side and spoke for a few minutes before sleep, of inconsequential things, trying to pretend they weren't both frightened, by the dark and being far from home, and having death so near.
Dawn would see the next big push. The cavalry would be at the front, and both young men would be facing their sorest trials of battle yet.
Neither slept well.
AFTERWARDS, IT WAS all a blur. Henry was missing, Isaac was in a makeshift hospital tent, taking up a valuable bed and trying to stay conscious long enough to learn what had happened.
Everything they told him was bad. The battle had been a horror. He had, by all accounts, acted bravely, but still, at the end of it, so many were dead or wounded, and his friend was missing.
A married man one day—the act a farce he was uncomfortable with—but now a widower who might not himself survive a fortnight. His grief was no less real for the falsehood of the marriage.
If he survived, he didn't think he'd be the same fellow he was before, with so many friends and comrades missing, dead, or maimed.
IT WAS TO BE RATHER a long convalescence, but he couldn't take up valuable space in a field hospital. As soon as he was able to be moved, he was moved—sent to a different hospital, and eventually home.
It was a long and painful trip for the young man, wounded as he was both in body and in mind, but he made it, and at home, the food was better. The marriage certificate sat in his saddle bags, which he would not use again for some time, if ever.
It was unlikely he'd ever be able to ride again.
Once home, however, with the thought of debts pressing close once again—no breathing room at all, especially now that he wasn't earning his usual sum from the cavalry post, most of which had gone straight to his mother for debt.
His mother looked after him the best she could on what she had, but times were hard and the rooms she now rented were sparse indeed, everything that could be sold having been sold to cover Father's gambling debts.
Damn the man for leaving them in this state! But if he was to be damned, it was probably for something worse. Isaac tried not to think too much about death, but his thoughts strayed in that direction often.
Finally he confessed to his mother that he was, technically, married to a rich young man who was presumed
dead on the battlefield. She could hardly contain her relief and joy.
"You must see to it at once, Isaac. You must find a decent lawyer who can help you with the transfer of estates. I know it's not quite the thing you'd wish, to profit off a friend's death, but he meant you well. You ought to honour that and make use of it. There's no time like the present."
Searching out a reputable lawyer with knowledge of inheritance was not the problem. Being well enough to see the thing through, however, was. Dark spirits and physical weakness made everyday tasks extremely challenging, and it would be some weeks before Isaac was well enough to go to the country seat of Henry's ancestral home.
In the meantime, however, the wartime marriage papers, if slightly unusual, were completely in order, and he was able to draw on some money and put it towards the debts. The lawyer also said he thought they could get out from under some of the debts, if he was given a chance to look into some things. A couple of them seemed dodgy beyond belief and might not hold up in court.
"It's fine to challenge them, unless it costs more," said Isaac, of a practical frame of mind. "But legal or not, I'm not up to having my other leg broken, you know."
The lawyer, Mr. Peabody, gave him a look of understanding. "I quite agree. I'll do nothing without your approval, of course."
What a strange feeling that was, to have someone powerful on his side, for once, and listening to him.
Henry had been right, and his gift had given Isaac more power than he'd ever had before, to set things in his own life right.
At what cost, though? He still felt rather bitterly that Henry ought not to have died, that he oughtn't to have abandoned Isaac this way, money or not.
It did not have to be a reasonable feeling to be quite intense.
ISAAC WAS HEALING, however slow it felt in the moment, and eventually he was able to travel to Henry's old home. He wrapped himself in his warmest coat, as the weather had turned for the worse. He felt unequal to the task of putting the place in order, or changing even one single thing, and meeting the relatives felt like it would undo all his hard-won control. But guilt was a strong motivator; he felt it was his duty to go, and so he did.
At least worry for how his mother would keep body and soul together was off the list of his concerns. There was no denying it was quite pleasant to be able to go to the bank and withdraw almost any amount of money, and know there was more for later if need be—that they needn't scrimp and starve to barely stay ahead of the debt collectors.
It was wonderful to have enough for clothes and food and rent, and even for drink or tobacco or gambling if he wished it, instead of having to make excuses and pretend he was far too moral for these vices the other fellows could all afford easily. Not that he had many fellows about him now; the others were back at the front, dead, or scattered to their own families for recovery. The men he saw about him now were mostly young boys and the very old.
He felt out of place, as if he did not belong here, or back at the front, either. It was a no-man's land of sorts, this feeling of suspension of recovery, of trying to figure out where he belonged now, and if he ever would. He stuck out like a sore thumb with the bandages and cast, as well, but at least no one questioned why he was so battered about, or the fact that he needed help with luggage and could only move slowly with his crutches.
"THERE'S NO RING MARK," observed the cousin coldly, after giving Isaac the sort of once-over that left him in no doubt as to whether he measured up or not. (Clearly, he didn't, and it wasn't simply a matter of frayed clothing and wan face.)
"It was a battlefield marriage," replied Isaac just as icily. "There wasn't time for rings."
"What a tragically short marriage. How convenient for you it was all quite legal before he passed," said the cousin, Mr. Edgar Edgewood. He had a supercilious air, and he had the audacity to have pale curls that were nearly as beautiful as Henry's had been.
Isaac gripped his cane. "How brave you are to insult a crippled man who can't challenge you!"
Edgar snorted, not in the least put out. "No doubt you'll be recovered quite soon and can challenge me then if you wish." He turned away. "Come along then. I suppose you'll want to count the silver before I move out."
Isaac, who would have liked nothing more than to punch the fellow on the nose and see a great spurt of blood, or possibly beat him about the head and shoulders with his cane, had no choice but to follow, struggling to keep up.
He could think of no cutting remarks to offer, and was indeed too short of breath to utter them anyway, so he laboured along, mouth pressed tight and face pale, more from strain than anger.
Edgar stopped at the door and held it open, pointedly. There were no servants; the war had changed everything. Most rooms were now boarded up. The taxes had gotten higher, so there was less to spend, and able bodies were needed for the war effort.
"You don't exactly seem like Henry's type," he said pointedly, one brow raised as he watched the young man struggle. The idea of his hearty, laughing cousin deciding that the distaff side was not for him after all seemed unlikely in the extreme, as he had been interested in girls since he was old enough to tell the difference, and possibly before.
"One's tastes change," said Isaac coldly, not feeling in the least equal to telling the truth of the marriage to the one whom Henry had obviously meant to thwart by it. The desire to box his nose hadn't exactly fled, either.
"Here." Edgar reached out and caught his arm casually and helped to haul him up the last few steps. Isaac, blushing and angry, was too weak to properly protest, and wished frantically that he wasn't quite so close to falling over and could've taken that shot at the nose he so longed for. But it was obvious the man meant to help, however rudely, and Isaac was painfully close to feeling faint just from his efforts.
He still likely would have done so, if given the choice between that and accepting this fellow's help. However, it was not offered, but merely forced upon him, and in the end he got inside and tore his arm free with a glare and a brittle "thank you."
Edgar took the young man's measure and gave him a cold little smile. Isaac was weak, slim as a rail, and panting like a racehorse. Perhaps he wouldn't inherit for long after all.
The smile was as cold as his thoughts.
EDGAR LEFT WITHOUT the fuss Isaac had halfway expected, and the lawyers were up to snuff after all, because there was money to draw on, and a sullen young man and his sister from the village came to help with the house, clearing up and opening windows and fetching foodstuffs and trying to sort the garden out.
Isaac was not very well yet, but he had no intention of leaving the big house entirely empty, when it was either stay here or go back to the dreadful crush and terrible air of the city. He sent word for his mother to come down as soon as she felt herself able, and tried to catch up on sleep and get through the worst of his pain in the meantime.
He forced himself to stump around the garden, gritting his teeth, trying to grow stronger. The disdain of the village boy and girl deserted them when they saw his determination, and when he proved himself to be no fool. He watched the money carefully, but didn't try to stint them their wages.
The house was soon set to rights, once Mother got there. She knew how to run a household, even if it was a large household, and it was far easier when there was money. There was a great deal of cleaning to be done.
Letters had begun to arrive, in streams, as soon as the widower's inheritance became even marginally known. Offers of condolence mixed with begging for money. Still, there were some things that could not be decently refused, once the debts were paid.
He and Mother discussed it, and then set things up with the lawyer, so that the larger part of the house could be turned into a recovery home for soldiers. It was hardly decent to try to keep it all to himself, was it? Besides, he remembered how crowded space had been for recovery, and how much worse everyone fared for it.
They would live in a few rooms, give the rest over to the hospital, help when they could, a
nd otherwise stay out of the way of efficient nurses.
THE HOUSE WAS OLD, and the walls were thick. It was a great labyrinth of space and would have quite frightened Isaac when he was younger, and frightened of ghosts more than the living.
Now, though, when he heard cries at night, or muffled sobbing in the distance, he knew it didn't come from ghosts.
The only part of the grounds they truly shared were the gardens. These, more or less in order, proved a popular spot for fresh air, with lots of benches and paths and roses and things Isaac didn't know the names of. Those who couldn't walk were wheeled to sit and stare and breathe the clean air, and freshen their lungs even if the horrors were still behind their eyes. Healing had to start somewhere.
What a dreadful thing war is, thought Isaac, nodding awkwardly to a young soldier who seemed to think Isaac was one of the patients. It made him feel such a fraud to be thus mistaken, though being lord of the manor felt like a whole different sort of mistake.
Isaac still walked with a cane, though he was much farther along to not needing it, and he was stronger these days, less likely to feel faint. It was likely a breech in etiquette, since technically Isaac owned this land, and he even thought he rather looked it these days, wearing as he was mostly clothing that had been made for Henry, but had been tailored to fit him.
He'd nearly choked on unshed tears the first time he'd tried to wear Henry's things. It felt so wicked and made him dreadfully unhappy, taking Henry's life this way, even his clothing. But the truth was that war left little room for sentiment and a great deal of room for practicality, and it was eminently practical to reuse clothing that was nearly his size, of quite good quality, and could not be readily replaced at this time, as most new clothes went towards the war effort.
He was lucky to have a full wardrobe, and knew it, and it began to hurt a bit less every time he dressed. He tried to think of Henry smiling and ribbing him about it, not actually minding. Still, his hands sometimes shook when he did up the buttons. Why did he still feel like he was living in a nightmare, no matter what he did?