light of the lantern what she'd been unable to see by the pale light of the crescent moon. Another scar.Someone had burned a D into the center of his chest.She sat on the edge of the bed and lightly touched her fingers to the scar.She remembered how Clay had stopped her from running her fingers over his chest as they made love.

Now, she understood why he had guided her hands to his back. He hadn't wanted her to feel the scar, to know that the army had branded him a deserter.

"Go get Dr. Martin," she said.

"Yes, ma'am," Lucian said before quickly leaving the room. She wished she could get rid of the twins as easily, but she needed them to keep the pressure on his wound.

"They hurt him somethin' bad, didn't they, Miz Meg?" Josh asked.

"This is an old scar. It doesn't hurt him anymore." She placed her hands on each boy's shoulder. "It might be best if you look away and study the wall over there while I see how badly he's hurt."

"Yes, ma'am." Watching their chins quiver as they turned away, she felt the tears sting her own eyes.

She lifted the bloody end of Clay's shirt A thin, ragged scar marred his side. She unbuttoned his trousers,

pulled them past his hips, and saw what she'd hoped she wouldn't see: more scars crisscrossed his backside. His past words rushed through her mind like a torrential rain: "I can stand up to any torture that's handed out..."

"... four days without sleep..."

"... bayonet..."

"... only difference between us is that he was willing to kill for his beliefs. I wasn't..."

Gently, she removed his clothes. New bruises were emerging and covering old scars. She carried the quilt up to his chin and tucked it around his sides as though it could somehow protect him.

She left the room and returned carrying a bowl of warm water. Using a clean cloth, she wiped the blood away from Clay's mouth. How many times had they hit him? One eye was nearly swollen shut and his check was grazed and bloody.

She dropped the stained cloth into the bowl and set it on a table beside the bed.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, she took his hand from the twins, laid it in her lap, and pressed her palms against the wound. "You can go to bed now. There's

nothing else for you to do. I'll wake you if he needs you."

Nodding, the twins walked from the room and quietly closed the door.

Meg bowed her head and wept.

Sometime later, Dr. Martin burst through the door like a cyclone. "God damn it! What'd they do to him?"

He stalked across the room and yanked the quilt down to Clay's hips.

"He has scars-" Meg began, not certain why she wanted to explain to this man that the undeserved scars were badges of honor.

"I'm familiar with his scars," Dr. Martin said as he prodded his fingers along Clay's ribs. "Some damn private got over zealous with his bayonet, and they couldn't stop the bleeding so they sent for me." He released a mirthless laugh. "They were afraid he'd bleed to death before they got a chance to execute him. Damn idiots."

Meg heard footsteps. She glanced over her shoulder to see Lucian standing in the doorway, his troubled gaze flickering guiltily over his brother. He looked as though he'd been trapped in a storm. His damp hair clung to his face as tenaciously as his sweaty shirt hugged his body. Meg hadn't thought to tell him where he could find her horse, and she realized, with regret, that he'd run to town to find the doctor.

Clay gasped, and his eyes flew open.

"That one hurt, didn't it?" Dr. Martin said.

Clay nodded slightly. "Yes, sir." He looked down at his bare chest, flinched, and struggled to pull the quilt

up to his chin with his good hand. Turning his face away from Meg, he said in a hoarse voice, "Make her leave. Doc."

Meg felt a strong need to reassure Clay that her feelings

for him were genuine. She met Dr. Martin's intense gaze. "I want to help. His hand is still bleeding."

Dr. Martin wrapped his hands around the bandaged wound. "I'll take care of the bleeding. I think you both can help most by leaving the room."

She opened her mouth to protest, but the expression on Dr. Martin's face told her he'd brook no arguments. "I need some water warmed up and some coffee," he said.

"We ain't got no coffee," Lucian said.

"Well, then, make yourself useful and rustle me up something to eat. I always get hungry in the middle of the night after tending hurt folks. Now, go on. I gave you something to do, get to doing it."

Meg eased off the bed and leaned close to Clay's face. "Clay?"

"Go home," he forced out through clenched teeth.

"I love you," she said softly. He squeezed his eyes shut as though her words caused him more pain. She looked to Dr. Martin. "Call if you need me."

With one last look at the man lying on the bed, she walked out of the room.

The minutes passed as slowly as hours. Meg sat at the table with her hands clenched in her lap. Lucian

sat opposite her, his elbows on the table, his chin pressed against his fists.

A door opened, and the twins padded out of their bedroom. "We can't sleep," Josh said as they approached the table.

"Dr. Martin's here," Lucian said. "Clay'll be all right now."

"That ain't why we can't sleep," Joe said.

The twins looked at each other, their eyes filled with such sadness that at that moment, Meg wished more than anything else that she could have spared them this

hurt.

Josh cleared his small throat. "Lucian, was we cowards tonight?"

Lucian snapped his gaze over to Meg. Slowly, he lowered his fists to the table and looked at the twins.

"No. Clay told us to stay inside, and we were doing what he told us to do."

"Then how come you say he's a coward when he was just doing what his heart told him to do when he wouldn't fight in the war?"

Lucian bolted out of the chair. "How the hell should I know? You two ask the dumbest questions I've

heard in my whole life, and then you give the smartest answers. Why do you ask the questions if you've

got the answers? Hell, I'm going for a walk." He stormed out the front door.

With tears in his eyes, Joe said, "Miz Meg, we still don't know if we was cowards. Even if Clay had said it was all right, we don't know if we woulda gone out there."

Meg scooted away from the table and patted her lap. The boys sidled up to her, and she wrapped her arms around them, drawing them close. They were too thin, too small, too young for what they'd witnessed tonight "I think tonight it was Clay's battle to fight."

"But he lost."

"No, I don't think he did. He's the kind of man who'll never lose because he never strays from what he believes in. He's rare, so rare that even I didn't recognize how much courage he has."

The door to Clay's room opened, and Dr. Martin ambled out. He dropped his black bag on the table

and slowly shook his head. "He's got a couple of broken ribs and that hand's a mess."

"Will he still be able to use it?" Meg asked.

Dr. Martin shrugged. "I don't know. I stitched it up as best I could. Fortunately, the knife went between

the bones so nothing in his hand is broken. Only time will tell how much permanent damage was done.

But he has a quiet determination unlike any I've ever seen. He's sleeping now, so I reckon I'll head on home. Want me to escort you home?"

Meg shook her head. "No, I'll be slaying for a while."

"Reckon your pa don't know you're here."

"No, he doesn't."

Dr. Martin picked up his bag. "Well, he won't hear it from me."

"If you knew how they treated Clay," Meg said quietly, "why didn't you tell us?"