A Bride for Christmas
“She ate her toast and drank her chocolate alone in her room, grabbed her pelisse and slipped into the garden before anyone else stirred. Or so she thought.
Mr. Sinclair was returning from the stables. She noticed a slight limp she hadn't seen before. Had he injured a limb in battle, in addition to his head wound? After pulling off his gloves, he smiled when he saw her. "Good morning. Merry Christmas." "Merry Christmas. Have you been riding?" "Yes. Old habit. Maneuvers at dawn, that sort of... thing." She knew nothing about maneuvers at dawn, or any other kind. No matter the number of books and treatises she read on battles, she would never fully understand what a soldier experienced. Even the wives who followed the drum—while they saw more than Julianna, probably rarely lived through a kill-or-be-killed moment.
How many of those moments had he faced each day, and for how many years?
He fell into step beside her. "Do you ride?" "A little.MoreLess
Mr. Sinclair was returning from the stables. She noticed a slight limp she hadn't seen before. Had he injured a limb in battle, in addition to his head wound? After pulling off his gloves, he smiled when he saw her. "Good morning. Merry Christmas." "Merry Christmas. Have you been riding?" "Yes. Old habit. Maneuvers at dawn, that sort of... thing." She knew nothing about maneuvers at dawn, or any other kind. No matter the number of books and treatises she read on battles, she would never fully understand what a soldier experienced. Even the wives who followed the drum—while they saw more than Julianna, probably rarely lived through a kill-or-be-killed moment.
How many of those moments had he faced each day, and for how many years?
He fell into step beside her. "Do you ride?" "A little.MoreLess
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