Walter swallowed.
Neil nodded. “So you have an idea. It’s not a place you want to spend even one dark night, much less sixty of them.”
“Maybe I’m willing to take my chances. What have I got to lose?”
Those were words Neil knew well. How many times had he said them? Thought them? At his lowest, his most hate-filled, Neil hadn’t thought he had anything to lose. But that was before the nightmares and the skittishness every time someone shot a rifle. Neil hadn’t realized he’d lose the men he counted as close as brothers. He hadn’t counted on losing pieces of his heart, bloody shard by bloody shard, every time one of his men died.
“Look around you,” Neil said, his voice hoarse from emotion. Walter didn’t seem to notice. Neil put his arm around the boy’s shoulders, turning him so he could catch a glimpse of the orphanage. “This is what you have to lose.”
Walter snorted. “A leaky, old building filled with a bunch of smelly boys? I say good riddance.”
Neil held Walter in place when the boy would have shrugged him off. “You’re not looking hard enough, Walter.”
Walter stilled and looked around again. “I don’t see anything special.”
“I do. You are fortunate to have a roof over your head.”
“A leaky roof.”
“Not when I am through with it, but I promise you there were nights during the war I would have given all the coin in my pocket for a leaky roof or any sort of roof. You know what else?”
“What?”
“I would have given a month’s wages for a bed and a blanket and food in my belly. You have all that.”
“They give you some of that in the army, don’t they?”
“Of course, but I wasn’t in the regular army. I was part of a special troop, and we had to travel light. We slept under the stars or in the rain or in the cold. We didn’t have a supply cart to provide us provisions. We bought what we could, begged for some, and stole the rest.”
“You stole?”
Neil released Walter and sat on the second to bottom step. Walter sat next to him.
“I stole food, weapons, clothes—whatever I could from the enemy. War doesn’t feel quite so honorable when your belly is empty and your feet bare. But you know what got me through?”
“The battles? All the explosions?”
“No.” Neil gave him a long look. “My friends. There were thirty of us to start, but only twelve came back. A dozen men, just like you have here.”
“Aw, most of these orphans are crybabies. They aren’t men.”
“Then show them how to be strong. Be a leader. One day they will be men. One day you’ll be out of this place. You’ll want friends you can trust. Friends who will have your back no matter what happens.”
“Do you have friends like that?”
“Absolutely. You met Mr. Mostyn already. When I’m in a scrape, Mostyn and my other friends are the first to come to my aid.”
Walter seemed to consider this. “You were the leader? What did they call you? Major?”
Neil shook his head. What had ranks meant when the men died side by side? Neil might have given the final orders, but he dug the graves of the men they lost right beside the rest of the men. “They called me the Warrior.”
“Why?”
“Because I had been a soldier before and because…” He considered how to explain the lust for revenge he had felt when he’d first formed the troop. “I was the most devoted to war.”
“I could be a warrior,” Walter said. “I can fight.” He jumped up and moved his feet like a boxer, holding his fists up in front of his face.
“If you want to be a soldier, you’d better stay out of trouble and get an education. Lady Juliana will have a new tutor for you soon.”
“Reading and writing and numbers? I don’t need any of that.”
“Then how do you think to read your orders or write reports or plan troop movements?”
“I don’t want to do any of that. I just want to fight.”
“Ah, so you want to be an infantry man. I always preferred the cavalry. I was in the Sixteenth Light Dragoons. They’re known as the Queen’s Lancers.” Neil scratched his jaw thoughtfully. “Nothing like riding a horse into the heat of battle and saving the day for the infantry. But you need some education to be a dragoon.” One needed money too, but if Walter ever made something of himself, Neil would make sure he was able to buy the commission of his choice. It was the least he could do for a child who understood what it was like to grow up without a family.
“I’ll think about it,” Walter said, apparently unwilling to commit verbally.
Neil knew the look in the boy’s eye. He was intrigued and won over by the image of himself on horseback, charging heroically into battle. “Then back to bed with you. You’ll need your rest, because tomorrow, we repair the roof.”
Walter pulled a face. “Aww.”
“And I’ll teach you and the other lads how to behave like soldiers—how to salute, stand at attention, how to march.”
“Really? I can’t wait!” Walter ran up two steps, then ran back down two and hugged Neil hard. Neil raised his arms but couldn’t quite make himself return the embrace. The boy didn’t notice. He scampered back up the steps and down the hallway.
Neil didn’t think he’d have any more trouble with Walter tonight, but he knew this was only the first sally. And there were more truculent foes to consider too. The tall, sullen boy, to begin with. Billy? Was that his name? He might not give Neil trouble outright, but that was because Billy was still sizing him up.
Neil was sizing him up as well. And Billy wouldn’t give up his knives so easily.
Eleven
Julia ducked into the shadows of the drawing room at the top of the stairs as Walter raced by her. The boy hadn’t even known she was there, and neither had Wraxall. Or perhaps she should think of him as the Warrior. She’d gone back to her room after their kiss, and she hadn’t been able to calm herself enough to lie down.
No wonder, as she’d never been kissed like that in her life. None of the kisses she’d received previously could even compare, and she would have remembered. Her body still vibrated from the feel of his hands on her. Her lips still tingled. Her heart had continued thumping hard in her chest. No, she would not soon forget the Warrior’s kiss. She would still remember how it had made her feel when she was an old, old woman.
She wouldn’t have heard the noise if she hadn’t still been pacing her room. But she’d heard the voices and crept out, half-afraid Mr. Slag had returned. And despite all her protests about Wraxall’s presence here, she was certainly happy he was nearby in that moment.
Except, it hadn’t been Slag at all. It had been Wraxall and Walter. Julia had ducked into the drawing room so she wouldn’t be spotted. She’d almost revealed herself when Wraxall had challenged Walter to stab him, but she should have known a former soldier could handle a mere boy.
What she couldn’t have known was how the boy and the man would melt her heart. She’d never particularly liked Walter. He wasn’t sweet like James or adorable like Charlie. He wasn’t smart like Michael or helpful like Robbie. And he certainly didn’t want her love like Sean or Chester. Walter had always pushed her away. No matter which method she employed to get to know him, he’d wanted nothing to do with her.
But he’d embraced the Warrior. Julia wouldn’t have believed it if she hadn’t seen it. She almost hadn’t, as she should have been hiding and not sticking her head out to watch. What made it even worse was all the weeping. When Wraxall had talked about his friends, tears had streamed from her eyes. She could hear the sorrow in his voice and knew that though he made war sound heroic and glorious to Walter, the Warrior found it anything but.