Chapter Sixteen
He felt so assured by the tender stroking of his forehead, the soft singing near his ear, knowing his mother was at his side, that Duncan wanted to linger in the dark, quiet place. He tried to push away the painful moans from nearby, the drumming of infantry boots on cobbles, the strange tingling in his limbs, until a vision of limp bodies on a gallows invaded his dream. He pushed through his delirium, shaking his head violently, using the pain that followed to help him wake.
Finally he was back, gazing into the soulful eyes of a middle-aged woman wearing a white apron over an austere gray dress. As she dabbed at his face with a damp cloth she hummed a hymn.
“I always wondered what the first angel I met would look like,” Duncan offered in a hoarse voice. His throat was d
