Free Storm of Love - A Historical Romance Set during the American Revolutionary War by Nathaniel Burns Page B

night would pass soon, and they would have to go to meet the fate they had chosen. This night had been theirs, and theirs alone, but the next days belonged to someone else—something else—destiny, perhaps. If this was her last night on earth, or the beginning of her life, she didn't care. She was only glad that it was spent with Edward.

 
    7 The Camp
    When morning broke, Edward was staring up at the sky, lying on his back, Abigail in his arms. Slowly, the events of the night prior filled his mind and he remembered everything. He felt his heart almost breaking, not understanding why he had bothered to include her in this pain of his, feeling that she had pain of her own. He should have been happy that he was able to share a night like that with someone like Abigail. But somehow he felt guilty, believing that she deserved more than him.
              There in his arms was that same muse, the same one that led him through the darkness without realizing it, though he supposed by now that she did realize it and wanted nothing more than to be with him and fight for her cause. Now he didn't know what to do. Didn't know what he wanted. How in the world did it happen? How did things end up this way?
              In the distance, Edward could hear the sounds of the battlefield they were about to approach, and knots tightened in his stomach. He was happy to fight for the patriot cause, happy to spur on the goal, happy to get to the end of this battle and this war and, whether he met his end there or lived through it, happy to be rid of the person he once was.
              But he wasn't quite rid of the old man. That old man still lingered quite remarkably and in such vivid detail he could see him, feel him, like a leech that clung to the skin and sucked out the lifeblood of its host. That old self was a virus, and he had no way of purging it, didn't know what the cure was.
              Then again, the previous night he had felt almost free in her arms, almost free under the starless sky—nearly starless, at least—and almost ready to let everything go, to release the past, to overcome who he had once been. But that image was still in his mind. The image of death, of loss, of murder—in his mind—of people who never deserved to die, but did so willingly.
              The previous night was the first night in a week he didn't have that dream, didn't see the face of…well, it didn't matter now. He had been free of it for one night, and it was all because of her. But she had no idea, did she? Had no idea the kind of man he was. Or used to be? Or was he that man still?
              Even he didn't know. But one thing he did know—he had to fight for something, and his people didn't give him anything to fight for anymore. Pride and greed and a name and a kingdom that wasn't even theirs, now that he thought about it. Is the slave master any freer than the slave? Perhaps not, because without someone to control he is no longer a slave master. Such is Britain to America , he thought. But nobody in Britain would believe that or understand it or see it.
              So now here he was, listening to the distant clamor of a war he had tried to flee, with an angel in his arms and that familiar knot rising again as he looked up into the gray sky. It wasn't for him. No, the knot in his stomach was for her. Because now that he loved her, he couldn't bear the thought of her fighting in that battle. Not that he thought she couldn't, no, of course not—this woman could certainly hold her own on a battlefield. But he didn't want her to.
              At that moment, he felt Abigail stir in his arms and looked down at her, pushing a leaf from her face that had apparently fallen there during the night and lingered like a memory. She blinked and looked up at him, smiling. He smiled back, though he didn't really mean it. He was