Saints Save a Sinner

By Dawn Douglas

William Arthur Ainsworth, second son of the Earl of Cannahan, has just purchased a Lieutenant’s Commission in the Coldstream Regiment, British Foot Guards. A new officer, Will shows promise and is taken in hand by experienced Scottish Sargent Duncan Blair. Friendship grows into affection and desire as the men fight the French from Egypt to Sweden and back to the Spanish Peninsula through the six coalitions of the Napoleonic Wars. A bloody defeat in Spain and tragedy at home pull William away from service in the British Army and turn him from an officer to an earl, but status, time, and distance combined can’t change Will’s feelings for Duncan. When a hard-won peace is finally achieved, Will realizes the most important mission he may ever undertake will be convincing Duncan that the end of the fighting can mean the beginning of their lives together.

A story from the Dreamspinner Press 2015 Daily Dose package "Never Too Late."

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dreamspinner Press
• Release date: Jun 1, 2015
• ISBN: 9781634764094

Book preview

For my big sister, Robin, who taught me to love Regency romance novels. If she was reading one, it meant I got to bring my books into her bedroom and read with her. And to five-year-old me, that was the best thing ever.

And for James and Jena, my own personal saints who save me every day.

Saints Save a Sinner

First Coalition, Egypt, 1801

Battles of Abukir and Alexandria

DAMN, BUT I was tired of the bloody sand.

It crept everywhere, drilling like thousands of tiny needles into my skin. Not for the first time did it occur to me that perhaps I should have purchased my commission in His Majesty’s Navy. At least on a damn ship I wouldn’t feel like my skin was being stripped off every place the rough wool of my uniform brushed.

Of course days ago, as storms and rough seas rocked fleet boats packed with fifty men each, I had been among the half of the men vomiting over the sides and into the wells at our feet as we waited for the order to make landfall.

In truth, the prospect of life at sea did not seem truly attractive either.

Hellish though the voyage had been, once we landed at Abukir, we’d won.

The charge up the beaches had been bloody—nearly one hundred and fifty men killed, more than five hundred wounded—but we’d pushed back a force of more than two thousand French troops and made way for the landing of 18,000 of Sir Abercromby’s British soldiers. It was a strategic victory, a prelude to a larger battle we knew was coming. Before we took the beach, I had been eager to test my mettle in a clash with Bonaparte’s Syrian and Egyptian contingents. After the charge, I realized that reading about tactics and studying military history, did not a soldier make.

Now that my first incursion was ended, I wasn’t eager anymore. In a single day, it felt as though I’d aged fifty years. One battle taught me lessons I never realized I’d need to learn—what blood felt like running down sand-abraded skin, the smell of burning flesh in the air. And perhaps most importantly, it taught me that there was much more to war than glory and honor.

I understood that my father had been right. I was a damn fool. At least, it seemed, I was educable. If I could learn from my idiocy, maybe going forward I could instead say that I had been a damn fool. If nothing else, my new self-awareness should merit his regard.

A throat clearing interrupted my thoughts. Beg yer pardon, Lieutenant.

I glanced up from my notebook and noticed the flap of my tent had been pulled open. In the entry, sand swirled around the shoulders of a giant of a man who spoke with a heavy Scottish brogue. I didn’t know him personally, but he wasn’t entirely a stranger. I’d seen him first from a distance on the docks when we mustered onto ships to cross the Mediterranean—his size alone had made it impossible not to notice him. The soldier hadn’t been one of my enlisted and had been assigned a different transport during the muster, so at the time I’d had no idea who he was. But even in passing, he wasn’t a man easily forgotten.

The second time I caught sight of him was during the beach landing. I still hadn’t known his name or rank, but his furious bellow had caught my attention through the melee. When my eyes followed the sound, I’d seen the giant again, this time eviscerating a French defender not far from my position before he charged on toward the cannons that were our primary goal.

I finally learned his identity the third time I saw him, a day after our victory. My captain had made it a point to steer my attention toward Sergeant—Bale, Blake, Bonham, I couldn’t remember—from across the camp. The other man’s manner had been oddly respectful when he announced that senior officers in our chain felt I showed promise during the beach landing, and as such they were placing the sergeant and his squadron in my battery. My commanding officer had explained that previously the sergeant had been directly under a major rather than folding under a lower officer, and that he and his crew would replace a handful of my own men injured too severely in the charge up the beach to return to service. They would continue to assist in other areas as needed, as well, but would be primarily under my command. The situation was unusual to say the least, and it took me a moment to understand that I was being granted a boon of sorts by having the sergeant assigned to me.

I’d wanted to ask questions about my newest soldier, but the captain’s attention was pulled away before I could. Now, with the man himself in front of me, I searched my mind one more time for the giant’s name before I settled on addressing him by his rank alone. It wouldn’t do for his first impression of me to be that I was a blithering idiot who couldn’t remember the name of a man leading a squadron joining my battery. Although, apparently, I in fact was a blithering idiot who couldn’t remember my new man’s name, he didn’t need to know that.

What is it, Sergeant?

Just coming ’round to check on ya, sir. Some of my boys noticed you ha’na yet come out to mess for yer supper.

I bit back an irritated sigh. The last thing I needed was one of my men, even one of the captain’s favorites, thinking one of his duties was to mother me. I was well aware that my age and lack of practical experience set me at something of a disadvantage in regard to carriage of authority under the best of circumstances. Best to nip any notion of coddling in the bud immediately. Lifting my brows imperiously in his direction—the affectation of haughty superiority was instinctive in the line of the Earls of Cannahan, regardless of age—I kept my tone bored and asked, And this concerns you why, Sergeant?

I expected to receive a response in the form of a deferential apology. Or if not that, at the very least, I should have garnered the acknowledgement of a respectful departure. But the sergeant did not look intimidated. He didn’t even look chastised. Instead the big man actually snorted at my question, appearing amused. It was not a reaction I was accustomed to receiving, to say the least.

Well, due respect, sir, but since ye’r to be leadin’ me and mine down the center line during the charge in the mornin’, I supposed it’s more concern to me than most. Ye canna fight the French on an empty stomach. And I canna imagine there’s to be much in the way of breakfast tomorrow if the dice fall as I expect they will tonight. I’ve been a soldier comin’ on twenty years now. It would’na be a boast to say I’ve developed an instinct or two for such things, sir.

I blinked but didn’t answer immediately. Twenty years. For some reason, the length of his service struck a chord with me. The man had been a soldier nearly as long as I’d been alive, for God’s sake. And I was commanding him?

At twenty-one, my lieutenant’s commission was shining and new and paid for by my father, the Earl of Cannahan, upon my graduation from Oxford. The row I’d had with him over that decision had been no small thing. I’d wanted a captain’s commission—felt like I was ready for more responsibility than that afforded a lieutenant, and Lord above knew money wasn’t an obstacle. The earl was rich as Croesus and certainly would have been expected to buy his second son in at rank. Even my older brother had argued in my favor.

Reviews for Saints Save a Sinner

[Crabbypatty · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

This book reminds me of Bernard Cornwall's' Sharpe series, sharing a setting of the Napoleonic wars with two soldiers fighting in Egypt, the Iberian Peninsula and beyond.

21-year-old Will Ainsworth always wanted to be a solider, with his father the Earl of Cannahan buying his a commission as a lieutenant.

"After the charge, I realized that reading about tactics and studying military history, did not a soldier make. Now that my first incursion was ended, I wasn’t eager anymore. In a single day, it felt as though I’d aged fifty years. One battle taught me lessons I never realized I’d need to learn—what blood felt like running down sand-abraded skin, the smell of burning flesh in the air. And perhaps most importantly, it taught me that there was much more to war than glory and honor."

Will meets Sergeant Duncan Blair, a Scottish enlisted man about seventeen years his senior, and over the next seven years, they fight side-by-side. Duncan teaches Will how to be a better soldier, and a better man, and there is deep comradery and respect between the two men. But Will's feelings for Duncan far deeper and over the years there is a foundation of love, one that Duncan is hesitant to act upon.

For such a brief story, there is such a richness of character development here, paired with lots of history (totally in my wheelhouse), and everything feels true to the setting, especially the relationship. 4 stars.