The Mark of Merlin

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

When Major Laird came back in, Merlin was walking stiffly beside him. Regan Laird’s face was suffused with mirth.

“The poor damn dog,” he chuckled as I looked at him questioningly. “That poor dog.” The major sat down, trying to stop laughing.

Merlin moved to his bed with what might be considered injured dignity. He paid no attention to us, curled himself around and lay down again, a deep sigh forced from his lungs as he settled. He lay with his head towards us, blinked his eyes once, and then closed them.

“That poor damn dog,” the major repeated for the third time.

“Enough’s enough,” I exclaimed for Merlin’s dignity’s sake.

“Dinner smells good,” Laird said, controlling his amusement with an effort.

“Learned this recipe from a gentle lady of good background but impoverished circumstances near Bragg,” I explained, passing him the meat. “Oh, and the lieutenant had missed baked potatoes so much.”

The major covered my hand with his, giving me a little squeeze.

“I’m just as worried as you, Carlysle, in spite of the doctor’s message. But I can’t change it by worrying about it so I don’t. Takes practice but it saves a lot of wasted time and effort.”

He cut a massive slice of meat loaf for himself. I was appalled at such liberality, being used to meatlessness.

“Eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow who knows?” I asked.

He nodded agreement so I helped myself to an equally huge portion, and we dug in with good appetites.

The events of the past few days had blunted quite a few sharp edges and sent several shoulder-carried chips flying. Tonight for the first time I felt at ease alone with Regan Laird and he was at ease with me. It was a nice harmonious feeling. I hoped it wouldn’t be fragile, that possibly it could last a while.

I was surprised to learn that he had a B.S. degree from Boston University in civil engineering. He had joined the army in 1939 when he couldn’t get a job.

“With typical army efficiency, they put me in infantry O.C.S.” He grinned.

He had an older sister, married and living in Texas, but she was now his only relative, their parents having died several years ago. He had been married but he’d sued for divorce in 1941. I never learned more than that.

He had joined up with the First Army in the fall of 1941. He had met Dad and liked him but it wasn’t until September of ‘43 that Dad had wangled Regan Laird’s transfer into the regiment.

“Are you going to stay in?”

“I could. Retire at forty-one with full pension? Not bad. They’ll have occupying forces for years when this is settled. Here and in the Orient.”

“That’s what Dad wrote,” I put in eagerly. “I’m majoring in government. Dad is

Dad was sure he could wangle me a job as a civilian employee in the occupation force. My German’s good and my French is fair.”

“I got your midterm marks. You’re a better student than I was,” he remarked, proud, if vicariously, of my scholarship.

“Don’t sound so patronizing,” I suggested because I’d just figured out he was only twenty-nine, not in his mid-thirties as I’d assumed.

“The prerogative of my experience and position!”

“You’re only twenty-nine.”

“Thirty in June!”

“You make yourself sound ancient.” I laughed at him.

“Of course, you are,” I added, “compared to the male population I’m used to.”

“Really?”

“There’s this math genius on the campus,” I said with some feeling, “who’s not more than fourteen. So help me! He tells the math instructors where their errors are.”

“That must endear him no end to the faculty.”

“And he loves nothing better than to matchmake at dances.”

“For you?”

I glared at my guardian. “He’s exactly my height. And his best friend, for whom he tries to make a match - is a seventeen-year-old, pimple-faced Latin scholar.”

The major’s eyes twinkled. “I think I had better get a chaperon. To protect me, from you.”

“Go mend a fire!”

He left, chuckling. I looked at the closed door, not the least bit annoyed. Rather I was extremely pleased. I felt alive again, and good, and somehow tomorrow would take care of itself. Even the terrible reality of Turtle’s arrest and the grim delight of indicting Warren. The depressions that had plagued me, the indecisions that had worried could no longer overwhelm me.

I suppose I had been so badly put down by circumstance, there was no place to go but up. I couldn’t attribute it all to having cleared the air and achieved a nice relationship with the major. But that helped. So did the curious magic of Dr. Karsh. The aura of his incredible personality seemed to linger although I couldn’t have described his face, what color his coat had been, or even whether he had been dressed in business clothes or a garage coverall. The impression he gave of immeasurable depths of kindness and understanding, for humans as well as animals, was more palpable than such details as color or texture.

I fixed some of the meat loaf for Merlin, justifying this extravagance as both reward for his heroism and a necessity for his convalescence. The smell of food under his nose roused him. As he ate, I stroked him lovingly, telling him how wonderful he was. He ate all I gave him but didn’t look greedily for more. He laid his head on my shoulder briefly and then sighed very deeply, rolling his eyes to gaze at me wistfully.

“Okay, go back to sleep.”

He curled round and settled back again. I busied myself cleaning up the stove. I sloshed the coffeepot to measure its contents. The sound was suggestive and the idea of more coffee was appealing.

I glanced over my shoulder at the step stool on the far side of the porch door, remembering the major’s injunction. I wrinkled my nose disrespectfully.

I was levering myself up onto the counter when Regan Laird returned. He grabbed up the stool and marched over to me. He set the stool on the floor under my dangling feet. Spanning my waist with his two hands, he picked me up and set me joltingly on the top step. His eyes blazed a few inches from mine.

“If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a dozen times to use that stool. I don’t want you breaking your fool neck.”

“Stop sounding like a father,” I snapped irritably, our previous rapport shattered.

“My feelings towards you at the moment are scarcely paternal,” he retorted heatedly, his jaws clenched.

When he had encircled my waist, my hands had automatically gone to his shoulders for balance. Furious at his proprietary manner, I dug my nails into his shoulders.

“Why you little

” and before I knew it, he had hooked an arm around my waist, roughly jerking me against him. He wound the fingers of the other hand in my tangled hair and pulled my head towards his.

His mouth fastened angrily on mine. He must have intended that kiss as a disciplinary affront. But the moment our lips met, the moment I responded, his intentions changed. I could feel it in the tenderness of his mouth on mine, in the longing strength of his arms as they tightened about me. I had never been kissed like this before, not even by the acknowledged lady-killer of Riley. And Regan was no less hungry for such caresses than I.

I found my hands were kneading the muscles along his shoulders and back, gripping his strong arms in an instinctive desire to be as close to him as possible. My whole being was concentrated on the warm, hard pressure of his mouth covering mine, his hand burning at my waist, his fingers in my hair. Time was a curious new dimension of contact points that thrilled and ached as we clung to each other. Beneath my urgent hands I felt his body begin to tremble. Deep within him I heard a soft groan begin. Very gently, most reluctantly, he loosened the tight embrace. His face, a blur above me, became separate features, his eyes achingly tender and gentle as he searched my face.

My feet were back on the stool and he framed my face with his hands, one thumb stroking my temple where a frantic pulse beat. A very, very gentle smile touched his lips.

“Talk about surprises,” he murmured in a husky voice. He leaned forward again slowly, giving me time to evade him if I wished. He bent his head to kiss the base of my neck. I felt the rough scar tissue against the skin of my throat and quickly pressed his head against me, my lips on the wound by his forehead. I felt him stiffen slightly and then relax as his lips continued to move along my throat. He suddenly stopped, raised his head, and looked at me with a peculiar expression.

“I can’t go on like this. I’m supposed to be your guardian, not your seducer.”

I looked at him with what I hoped was a solemn expression but exultation surged within me.

“There is a way in which you may be both legally,” I said and held my breath at the conflicting emotions that crossed his face. He started to draw back but I tightened my hands around his neck.

“Unless, of course, you’ve been trifling with my affections. He gathered me tightly to him again, his lips against my hair, my head pressed against his good cheek.

“No, by God, I’m not trifling with you, Carla. But I’m a one-time loser already. I’m not a good husband candidate.”

“If it makes any difference, my father didn’t think so.”

Startled, Regan tilted me in his arms so that he could see my face.

“How in hell do you figure that?”

“Why in hell do you think my father went to such asinine lengths to throw us together? I don’t need a guardian.”

Amazement flooded his face.

“Why the old - of all the crazy . Oh, Carla, I’m in love with you all right enough. I know it’s rushing things but watching you cook, flounce around my kitchen even your funny moods . I was so mad when you washed my socks I I .” and his lips covered mine which was what I wanted very, very much.

He kissed all kinds of ways that gave me intense delight. My pulses raced so violently I couldn’t breathe. Then he set me very carefully on the counter and backed up to the table. He sank to the surface, rubbing his hands along his thighs, regarding me.

“That’s enough of that for tonight,” he said decisively. And, I thought, considering the sweetness of the moment, a little grimly. I knew what he meant for I was aroused and he surely must be.

“No nonsense now, Carla. You’ll have to go somewhere else until we can be married. For a little bit of a thing you’re much woman.”

I beamed at him. “Only three days for blood test and license. I’ve got my guardian’s consent.”

“Three days! Wait a minute,” Regan said, holding up a restraining hand. “I’m due down in Walter Reed.”

I jumped down from the counter and, before he guessed my intention, I put my hands on his head and kissed his scarred cheek.

“I don’t want anyone to say I married you for your good looks,” I said softly, earnest despite the light tone. He remained so still I dropped my hands uncertainly. His eyes were closed and he held his head back stiffly. I could see the pulse in his neck beating strongly. Then his head came forward slowly as he expelled a deep breath.

Frightened, I wondered if I had offended him with my impulsiveness; if I had gone on one of my headlong plunges unaccompanied. Just when I was afraid he would never break the silence, he held his hand out to me.

“You unman me,” he murmured and I shall treasure forever the look he gave me.

Hastily I placed my hand in his and we stood that way, just looking at each other. Slowly, after a very long moment, he drew me gently to him and kissed my forehead.

“If you don’t leave me now

Carla…

I was half tempted to stay, fully aware of the consequences, when the rational part of me insisted this would be unfair to Regan’s New England conscience. I was at the door when I remembered another obligation.

“Merlin!”

I saw Regan grip the table edge with both hands.

“Get out of here, Carla. I swear I’ll take him to bed with me. I’ll order him to guard me. But, Carla darling, don’t let me hear your voice again until morning.” The room echoed with the intense emotion in his order.

I really didn’t want to leave but I did, closing the kitchen door softly behind me, the blood still hammering in my veins. When Regan did claim me, I wanted him to have no reservations, no dying qualms of guardianly conscience; a curious switch of conventional positions!