he siege lifted as swiftly as it had begun. The cavalry literally came over the hill, the Amandara Ridge south of the river, the distant mobilization Captain Bartlett had promised at last galloping to their rescue. A loud, heartfelt cheer went up the rampart.

At the sight of cavalry—and the knowledge their brethren at Malakand had already been defeated—the Pathans, so fierce and dauntless for so long, lost their will to fight. They scattered before the cavalry, some running for the hills, others throwing aside their arms.

The men on the ramparts held their posts as Captain Bartlett rode out to meet the relief column. Even as the enemy retreated and capitulated, the sepoys dared not move freely: The walls of the rampart, piled high with logs, sandbags, rocks, and boxes of dirt, were a constant reminder of their impediment from snipers in the cliffs above.

But eventually it dawned that they had done what they needed to do: They’d held an ill-placed fort against a much larger enemy for seven long nights and days. Even the snipers had fled. The valley, busy with horses, sowars, sepoys, and equipment on the move, was curiously devoid of further gunshots.

Leo found himself hugged by Mr. Richmond, whose face was badly sunburnt, and whose glasses had lost the left side lens. He found himself shaking hands with sepoys whose names he did not know, but with whom he’d fought side by side and in whose skill and courage he’d entrusted his and Bryony’s lives. And he found himself, without his crutch, walking slowly along the rampart, looking out at this theater of war of which he’d only had the most limited view, hunkered down as he had been for fear of sniper fire, seeing the battlefield only through loopholes and narrow gaps in the crenellations.

In ancient times a Buddhist kingdom had flourished here, in the heart of the Swat Valley. The Chinese monk Fa-hien, passing through the country in the fifth century, had praised its forests and gardens. There were no forests or gardens to be found along the slopes of the wide valley in the present day, only rock and grass. But the valley itself was a robust green extending as far up-and downstream as the eye could see—paddy fields crowding either side of the river, pink and white begonias growing wild along the embankment.

It would have been beautiful were it not for the scene of carnage. The dead lay thick on the ground, too numerous for their comrades to remove. The defeated huddled with their heads bent, their spirits sapped. Already the air was beginning to turn slightly fetid, from corpses left in the heat. Leo was not a praying man, but he bowed his head and said a prayer for all the men who had perished in this brutal, yet ultimately senseless, battle.

In the distance field guns were on the move, dozens of them drawn by camels. Newly arrived officers surveyed the land and assessed the damages. Their sepoys organized the defeated to dig graves and bury the dead. The gears of the empire, once set into motion, would not stop so quickly. The fort would be repaired and made more secure. The officers would draw up plans. There would be retributive expeditions to Upper Swat Valley and Bajaur.

But his part was done.

He was going to live. And he would pass his days in the peace and fertile learning of Cambridge. And one day he would show Bryony his house on the river, with the cherry trees.

“Mr. Marsden!”

He looked down. It was Mr. Richmond. “The general would like to speak to you. He wants to know what you can tell him of the situation in Dir.”

Leo sighed. It would seem his part in this war wasn’t quite done yet.

Bryony’s last patient was none other than Captain Bartlett, who, after he led the charge, had been shot in the abdomen as he fought to retake the civil hospital outside the fort. As she operated on Captain Bartlett, she was dimly aware that another officer came into the surgery and watched her as she worked, but it did not occur to her to turn and look.

Only when she was done and Captain Bartlett moved to the injury ward did she remember the intruder.

“Surgeon-Captain Gibbs, ma’am,” the man introduced himself.

That was the moment the war ended for Bryony. She shook the surgeon-captain’s hand with quite a bit more enthusiasm than she normally greeted strangers with and all but shoved over the records of the recovering soldiers and camp followers and the death certificates she’d signed.

The surgeon-captain, an unsmiling man, toured the injury ward. At the end, he said solemnly, “Thank you, Mrs. Marsden. I will ask that the officers recommend you for a medal for your services.”

“Thank you but please don’t,” said Bryony in all sincerity. “That would be setting the bar too low. I but did what every surgeon would have done.”

They shook hands again. And she was free. She walked into the hot sun of an August day, feeling light as a dandelion puff, daring to loiter outside for the first time in a week and forever.

But the fort was crowded. Provisions and materiel rolled in the gates. The kitchen workers ran about in a frenzy, supplying everyone with tea and tiffin. And she was getting too many curious looks from all the men, Indian and British, for her comfort. So she abandoned her plan to stand in the open for as long as she could and removed to her quarters.

Leo was there, shrugging into his coat. She hurried to help him. “Your arm! Be careful.”

“My arm is quite fine. I can even do this. See.” He had her in a fierce embrace that quite crushed her br**sts and squeezed every last molecule of air out of her. She could not get enough of it.

But eventually he let her go. “I have to go see the general, or so I’ve been told—he wants to know about Dir. If it were any other man, I’d have told him to go bugger himself for keeping me from you. But since he and his troops rescued us, I am just going to ask him to hurry up with his questions instead.”

“Well then go and come back fast.”

He hugged her again and covered her face with kisses. “Take some rest, if you can in all this commotion. I’ll see if I can get us out of here today itself.”

She tried, but rest was out of the question. With every raised voice, alarm shot through her—and there were plenty of raised voices as the men inside the fort tried to make themselves heard above the din. Two times she ran to the door and had her hands on the knob before she realized that the war was finished, that there would be no more injured soldiers needing her attention.

So she packed instead—even if Leo couldn’t secure transport for them today, Surgeon-Captain Gibbs would still want his quarters back. Not that there was much to pack—they had brought little beyond the clothes on their backs. She did find one stocking of hers under the bed and a pen engraved with Leo’s name on the desk.

When she went to put the pen in his saddlebag, she noticed for the first time that it had been slashed through on one side. She shuddered, for a moment slipping back to the terror of their desperate ride. And then it passed and she placed the pen in an interior pouch of the saddlebag where he kept his other pens.

The inside of the bag was largely empty except for a few notebooks, and one of them too had been slashed halfway through. She picked up that particular notebook and opened it. Several sheets that had been torn from the notebook fell out.

Those would be the letters he’d told her about. The first one was to his godfather.

Dear Sir Robert,

I write to inform you that I have married again. I beg that you would overlook the unusual circumstances and honor and protect Mrs. Marsden, née Bryony Asquith, with affection and esteem.

My life has been immeasurably enriched by your presence. I regret this hasty adieu. I take with me nothing but the fondest of memories.

Your friend and godson,

Leo

The next letter, to his brothers, ran more or less along the same lines, with additional good-byes to numerous nieces and nephews and two postscripts.

P. S. Don’t be surprised at the reading of my will. I did not change it after the annulment.

P.P.S. Will and Matthew, I apologize again for how long it took me to come around. In my affection for our father, I sided blindly with him. I cannot tell you how much it means to me that you have never taken me to task for it.

There was another sheet of paper. Bryony hesitated. He’d told her the content of the first two letters, so presumably he would not mind her reading them. But he’d said nothing about a third letter. She was about to put it back without reading when she saw that it was addressed to her.

Dear Bryony,

There are many things I wish I had time to tell you, so I will say just this: These past few days have been some of the best days of my life. Because of you.

My fervent hope is that you are safe and well as you read this letter. That you will have all the happiness I wish I could have shared with you. And that you will remember me not as a failed husband, but one who was still trying, til the very end.

Yours always,

Leo

Leo’s voice drifted in from the shutters she’d left ajar. Mrs. Marsden. As soon as possible. Thank you.

She quickly put the letters back, came to her feet, and wiped the tears from her eyes.

“You are already done with the general?” she asked as he came in the door.

“No, I didn’t meet him yet. But there is a cable from Callista.”

“Callista? Here?”

“I think you’d better read it.”

Somehow her heart sank at his expression. She took the cable from him.

Dear Bryony and Leo,

I pray you are safe. I will never forgive myself if anything happened to either of you, since the bit about Father’s health was a ruse.

But it is no longer. Last night he had a massive stroke. Doctors say that he could have another stroke any time and that would be the end of him.

If you receive this in good health, please hurry. And please let me know as soon as possible that you are all right.

Callista

“Did I say I was going to kill her with my bare hands if anything happened to you? I think I am going to do it anyway,” Bryony said, grinding her teeth.

“No, I will not have you hang for her. I will see if I can have her committed to an asylum where she belongs,” said Leo, shaking his head in exasperation. “She fooled me. When I cabled a friend in London and asked about your father’s health, the response I got was that he was indeed housebound.”

“So you did check. I was beginning to wonder if you’d become excessively gullible.”

“I don’t trust a word Callista says, at least not where you are concerned. When you were in Germany, she once told me that as a result of treating your own melancholia, you were severely addicted to coc**ne and injected yourself at least three times a day.”

“What?”

“And when you were in America, she reported that you fell in love with the husband of one of your colleagues and became so miserable that you attempted suicide.”

“She’s mad!”

“Mad to throw us together, that is for certain.”

“Well, shall we believe her this time?”

“The cable was sent from Lord Elgin’s office. So Charlie had to be involved. And for Charlie to be involved, she must have gone to either Jeremy or Will. I’m inclined to believe her.”

The addition of shock to the mix of exhaustion and excitement was getting to be too much for Bryony. She sat down, the cable in hand, and tried to read it again. But the words only swam about.

She looked up at him. “I suppose I’ll have to go right away.”

“Yes. The road to Nowshera is crowded and the ponies for the tonga service are overworked. They say a trip now takes twenty hours. I have been promised an escort for you. Shall I help you get ready?”

“I’m ready,” she said slowly. “I was already packing before you came back.”

He pulled her out of her chair and hugged her close. “I’ll miss you.”

She hugged him back as fiercely as she dared. “Promise me you won’t do anything brave.”

“I will be the veriest coward. And I’ll come to London as soon as I can get away from here. That is, if you haven’t already left for San Francisco or Christchurch by the time I reach England.”

She kissed him. “No, I’ll be there. You were right. It’s time I stopped running away.”