The Captain's Lady. Louise Gouge M.

Jamie would see how well they worked together. How they could communicate without speaking. How their very souls were knit together in purpose.

      A sense of urgency pulsed through Jamie. Many times he’d seen a wounded man become receptive toward God’s call at the height of his pain, only to recover and forget his mortality. Jamie had not a single doubt that the Lord had permitted this attack to capture Moberly’s attention. But where to begin? Jamie already had learned much from Reverend Bentley’s tutoring, especially that these aristocrats could take offense if wrongly addressed. But he must not lose this opportunity. Wisdom, please, Lord.

      “You must forgive us for not waking Lord Bennington. Our main concern was tending your wounds and seeing you rested.”

      Moberly shrugged against his pillow. “I doubt he would have been concerned.” The pain ripping across his face appeared more like damaged emotions than an injured body.

      Jamie sat on the edge of the bed, hoping to set a mood of familiarity. Hoping Moberly would not be offended. “My friend, even the tenderest of earthly fathers can disappoint us.”

      Moberly snorted, then cried out and grabbed his chest. “What is this? What happened to me?” Teeth gritted, he shoved away the goose down cover and clawed at his nightshirt.

      Jamie grasped his hands. “I recommend you leave it alone, sir. You received a nasty knife wound, but Blevins stitched it together very nicely. Let’s don’t break it open.”

      Moberly’s eyes widened. He touched the area with his fingertips. “Right over my heart. I might’ve died.” He slumped back and looked vacantly toward the bed’s canopy. “I might have died.”

      “God’s mercy was on you,” Jamie said. “No mistaking that.”

      “Yes,” Moberly whispered. His gaze returned to Jamie. “Yes.” A stronger tone. “Thank God. And you.” His eyes grew red and moist. “You saved my life.”

      Jamie leaned a bit closer. “Perhaps. But I was merely God’s instrument. You’re right to thank Him.”

      Moberly gave out a mirthless laugh. “But why would He bother when my own father regards me as a parasite and cares not whether I live or die?”

      His words slammed into Jamie’s heart. How could anyone understand why Lord Bennington treated his sons so callously? “My friend, God desires to be a father to you. He longs to save your eternal soul. This is why you didn’t die in the street last night.”

      Moberly appeared to consider the idea, and fear filled his face. “No. I have waited too long, done too much—”

      “No.” Jamie gripped his arm as he would a drowning man’s. Moberly’s words indicated he comprehended his own sinfulness. Surely that meant it wasn’t too late for him. “Don’t believe that lie. The blood Jesus Christ shed on the cross covers every sin. God’s grace is offered as a free gift to you right now. All you need to do is accept it.”

      Moberly seemed to fold into himself. “No. It cannot be that simple.” His gaze hardened. “There are rules and rituals and righteousness.” His lips curled. “All the things I despise about religion and—”

      “No!” Jamie prayed Robert wouldn’t take his stern tone as an affront. “Christ’s death and resurrection are sufficient to save the worst sinner. If we were required to do even one small thing other than accept His grace, none of us could be saved. Did He not say to the thief who was crucified beside him ‘Today thou shalt be with me in Paradise’?”

      Moberly’s dark eyebrows met in a frown, and his left eye twitched. “I thought perhaps the man received a special dispensation.”

      Jamie shook his head. “I believe, in fact I am more than certain, that thief was meant for an example to us. As he was saved, so we can be saved.” He leaned close again. “Believe in the Lord Jesus Christ, Moberly, and you will be saved.”

      A long, narrow swath of light shone from beneath the drapes onto the Wilton carpet at the center of the room. The smell of sweat vied with the scents of soap and lavender for preeminence. Moments passed without a sound in the room, not even a rustle. Some hours ago, a maid had started a fire in the hearth, and Ian kept it burning. A barely audible sigh came from across the room, and Jamie guessed both ladies were praying. He wondered how much longer he could sit up without rest.