Warning: Rated [MA] Mature Adults only. Contains strong m/m sexual scenes, violence, coarse language and adult themes.
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Disclaimer:No rights infringement intended
Warning: Mature Adults only
Disclaimer: Written for fun not profit. The characters are not mine.
Rating: R18+
Warnings: M/M sex, bad language, blasphemy.
Series: This is the final story in the series that began with Lawford's Decision and includes, Sharpe's Confession, Lawford's Regret [1&2] and Lawford's Redemption.
Lawford's Saviour
By Minerva July 2000
Something was wrong. With each mile that passed as he rode through fields of lettuce and leeks and lentils the feeling grew worse until Richard Sharpe suddenly reigned his horse to a stop in the middle of the dusty road and sat scratching his head. It was that old feeling, the one he had come to rely when he was fighting in Flanders and India and Spain and even here in France. It was a feeling that had saved his neck many times, a sixth sense that warned of danger. But the war was over and this country was at peace. There was nothing to fear on this late summer evening as he headed for home after his visit with William Lawford.
Sharpe's thoughts wandered back to their farewell in the small inn, 'La Petite Pomme'. They had parted friends, or so Sharpe had thought, but now, as he pondered over their meeting and subsequent goodbyes he felt a growing sense of unease. There was something about Lawford's manner that bothered him and yet Sharpe could not define exactly what it was. Lawford had been apologetic, admitting his betrayal. Asking, no, begging for Sharpe to accept his generous gift of a vast estate in Yorkshire. Yet beneath it all lay something else and now as he sat in the saddle looking back over his shoulder Richard Sharpe began the arduous tasking of trying to work out what was in William Lawford's mind.
Something in Lawford's eyes as he watched Sharpe leave had seemed familiar. It was akin to the look Sharpe had seen in back in Spain when the young Colonel had driven Sharpe to the very edge of his self-control. Lawford had been involved in dangerous games back then with no thought to his own well being; desperate to secure promotion and standing not only for himself but for Sharpe as well.
Yet surely this could not be the case now. Those times were long gone and Lawford had inherited all the wealth he could ever need. Lawford seemed content now, almost at peace with himself and the world; wanting to finally lay to rest all past injustices between them and part as friends.
Sharpe looked about at the trees that grew along the very edge of the roadside, gnarled old oaks who looked harmless in the light of day but took on a more sinister countenance as the dying sun turned their long growing shadows into phantoms and shades.
Oh Christ, Sharpe thought, as the mere thought of unearthly spirits conjured up memories of someone else and he suddenly remembered where he had previously seen that look in Lawford's eyes. It was the same look that he had often glimpsed in Thomas Leroy's eyes when he thought of his dead lover. It was a look that spoke of a wish for death.
Sharpe turned the horse and kicked it into a gallop back towards the town. Bloody Hell, why hadn't he realised earlier; how could he have been so blind. But he knew the answer for he had never understood Lawford, never understood the way he thought or what he wanted. They had been at cross purposes ever since they met, trying to find some place where they could be together as equals, but never quite succeeding. The gulf between them had simply been too wide to bridge. Sharpe had realised it and come to accept it but not Lawford. He had kept up his hopes, his dreams and now Sharpe could see that they had destroyed him.
Sharpe swore again and he kicked the horse harder. Lawford was a bloody fool. Sharpe had never asked for his help, had never expected anything from him so why should he feel this terrible guilt now? If only Lawford hadn't followed him into that damned breech in Cuidad Rodrigo, if he hadn't been maimed, perhaps given time, they would have worked things out back in Spain. But Sharpe knew that this was a lie. The William Lawford he had met again in Spain was a different man to the one he knew in India, and Sharpe had despaired of ever finding a way to reach him.
India, bloody India, it always came back to that heathen paradise. But what had happened in India to change William Lawford, to set him on the path to self-destruction? Sharpe well knew what HE had done to Lawford, but surely he couldn't be blamed for Lawford's decline. It had been Lawford himself who had done the pursuing and then had no idea what to do with Sharpe once he had won the young private. Sharpe laughed bitterly as he remembered. He had known and he'd been more than willing to show the innocent young Lieutenant, rushing right in with out thinking, lost in haze of lust that left little room for tenderness or care. But even that roughness hadn't stopped Lawford confessing his love and Sharpe once again felt a coldness inside as he remembered his own inability to return the sentiment.
It had taken Richard Sharpe many years to understand love. It was not something he had grown up knowing and it was something that he'd never felt entirely comfortable with. Even now, at times he still felt like a child when it came to love, unsure and clumsy, just as he felt when he wrote, his letters still ill formed, his reading stilted.
Arriving at the Inn Sharpe inquired after Lawford and was told by the owner that the blonde Englishman had gone riding. Seeing Sharpe's scowl Henri expressed his own concern for his guest. Apart from his obvious disability, Lawford was unfamiliar with the countryside and evening was falling. Sharpe set off in the direction that Lawford was last seen taking. He wished for a moment that he believed in a god, some one to ask to intervene, to keep his friend safe until he found him but he did not have that comfort. Richard Sharpe had always believed in himself first and foremost. He was Lawford's only saviour. And as if in answer to that unsaid prayer, Sharpe suddenly had a flash of insight, Lawford would be heading for the river; the river that would wash away all his sins. He'd make it look like an accident, misjudging the jump in the growing darkness, the river swollen by summer rains.
As Sharpe reached the top of the rise and broke through the trees to the clear slope, he saw a mounted figure, silhouetted in the setting sun, spurring recklessly towards the rushing water.
"No! Stop!" Sharpe shouted knowing Lawford could not hear him, knowing he could do nothing but watch. At the last moment Lawford's horse shied away, hooves sliding on the shaley ground. Lawford kicked and tugged on the reigns with his one hand, turning it back. The horse wheeled and Sharpe saw his friend was riding toward him. He let out a sigh, thinking Lawford had seen him, but the fair haired man turned the horse again and rode pell-mell back towards the river.
"Bloody hell NO!" screamed Sharpe and kicked his own horse down the slop onto the level ground that led to the river. He watched Lawford's horse, panicked now, breaking stride, stumbling a little as Lawford drove it on, somehow keeping control with his one hand. But once again the horse showed more sense than the rider; it refused the jump, rearing slightly, its back legs sliding. Sharpe watched as Lawford fell, landing heavily on the shale, rolling away from hooves that crashed down and kicked out as the horse cantered away from the dangerous banks.
Dismounting, Sharpe ran to Lawford who lay on his back not moving, fair hair spread out, red riding jacket reminding Sharpe of blood, of Cuidad Rodrigo. My God not again. I can't loose him. Not like this.
Sharpe knelt beside Lawford's still figure, the chest rising and falling, eyes closed, but wet with tears.
"Oh William." whispered Sharpe as his fingers tried to wipe away the tears and the years. "Why William? Why do this?"
"Richard?" the faint voice was weak and breathy. "Is this heaven Richard?" Blue eyes flickered open, dazed and unfocused.
Sharpe laughed from relief and smiled down. "No you silly bugger, it's bloody France!"
Sharpe smoothed the fair hair back, fingers checking for cuts and bumps. There was blood in Lawford's fair hair and his agile fingers soon discovered a large abrasion on the side of his friend's head.
"Stay still a moment. Yer hurt, can yer move yer arms and legs?" But Lawford didn't answer and Sharpe could see his eyes close again and suddenly Lawford's body was racked with great sobs.
"I can't even do this right." Lawford wailed and Sharpe stared at him, not knowing what to say.
"Let me finish it Richard, help to the river so I can finish it, please?" he begged.
Sharpe shook his head and held him down when Lawford struggled to get up.
"Why William? Why do yer want to die?" Sharpe pleaded again.
Lawford turned his eyes to Sharpe and Richard saw again that look of longing for something lost, of loneliness so great nothing can appease it.
"Oh Richard, how can I make you understand." A tear slowly ran down the fair cheek. "You are so rich Richard, not in terms of wealth, but you have so much in your life. Your home, Lucille, little Patrick. You have the farm and the satisfaction of knowing that all the hard work you put into it will be rewarded. You have friends, good friends. You belong somewhere!" Lawford's voice trembled slightly, "But I have nobody Richard, nobody!"
"What about Tom? You and he are mates," said Sharpe. He suspected they may be far closer; not because of anything either man had said, more so because of what they didn't say.
"Tom has a wife and family, Richard. He may be my friend but they will always come first, and that's how it should be." Lawford looked hard into Sharpe's eyes. "I would never do anything that would harm Tom. I would never bring shame to him or his family. Do you understand Richard?"
Sharpe nodded. He could see Lawford's pain. If he and Tom were lovers then it would be damned hard to know that you had to stand in line behind his wife and family.
"Did he know you were planning this?" Sharpe asked suddenly noting that the sun was setting and beginning to wonder if Lawford would be well enough to ride back to the inn tonight.
"No, he thought I was just coming to see you. It was meant to look like an accident."
Lawford lay quietly for a moment and Sharpe released his grip and gently stroked the fair hair.
"Why did you come back Richard?" Lawford finally asked. His voice sounded so small and lost.
Sharpe looked at him thinking how fragile he was, had always had been. Yet Lawford had shown more strength and courage than most men Sharpe had known. When had he lost that strength?
"I was worried, something didn't seem right." Sharpe put on a cheeky grin retreating to safety behind humour. "Yer would never have settled for being just friends before," he said with a wink. But Lawford didn't laugh, he just looked away sadly not speaking and Sharpe saw tears appear in the blue eyes again.
"I'll get the horses and we can ride back to the inn, it will be dark soon." Sharpe helped Lawford up, noting how the blood began to run more quickly down the side of his face. "Yer need a doctor," he said holding his handkerchief to the gash on Lawford's head. "Yer could have concussion."
There was no sign of Lawford's horse and Sharpe suspected it had galloped back to the Inn. "They'll be sending out a search party for you," he said as he helped Lawford up into the saddle behind him. The extra weight was no trouble for Sharpe's horse, it being more akin to a draft horse than a thoroughbred.
It was dark when they arrived back at the inn to find Henri pacing around the courtyard. "Mon Dieu, Monsieur, we were so worried when the horse returned alone. Monsieur Lawford is injured! I will send for the doctor."
Sharpe helped Lawford up to his spacious room on the first floor and set about pulling off his riding boots. One of Lawford's ankles was terribly swollen and Sharpe had to resort to cutting the fine leather.
Lawford had grown silent on the ride back to he inn and now he lay on the bed with his eyes closing. "William are you all right?" asked Sharpe as he began undoing the buttons on Lawford's red jacket. He had seen men with head injuries fall into silence and then to sleep and later die. He shook Lawford's shoulder "William, don't go to sleep. Stay awake until the doctor comes."
William Lawford smiled up weakly at Sharpe. "I don't want to Richard," he whispered. "Just let me die."
Sharpe sat down on the bed and gathered Lawford into his arms, desperate to keep his friend awake. "Listen to me William, I don't want you to die. I'm sorry I was angry with you when you went to Lord Fenner. But that's all behind us know. I don't want you to die. Our friendship means so much to me. YOU mean so much to me. Please William, don't do this." Sharpe bent and gently kissed Lawford's lips. "Please" he whispered.
A cough sounded in the doorway and Sharpe looked up suddenly aware that a tall darked haired man was standing there watching them.
"Please excuse me Monsieur," he began in heavily accented English. "I was told someone needed a Doctor?"
********************************************
Richard Sharpe could not sleep. He tossed and turned, oblivious to the soft bed that he lay upon or the cosy room in which he rested. His thoughts centred on one thing alone. William Lawford.
With sorrow and self-recrimination he thought over all he had learned earlier that evening. The laudanum that the French doctor had given Lawford to ease his pain had resulted at first in vague ramblings that quickly turned into agitation as Lawford began to relive a nightmare that had haunted him for almost twenty years. A nightmare that Lawford had hidden and buried; a secret that had eaten away at him until it burst like a suppurating wound. As the Doctor tried in vain to comfort his patient, Sharpe slowly pieced together the missing parts of the puzzle that had begun in Seringapatum, India. William Lawford had been raped by Charles Morris and Sharpe had never known.
While he and Tom had been making love in his room by the west gate, Lawford had been at the riverbank bargaining with Morris to save Sharpe's life. There was no doubt as to which night it had been. Sharpe clearly remembered the night William had come late to his door, wet and bedraggled only to be greeted gruffly by Sharpe for disturbing his pleasure. Christ, what had he said that night when Lawford had him told of Morris' suspicions about their secret meetings? Sharpe couldn't even remember. All he had wanted to do was get Lawford to leave as quickly as possible so that he wouldn't have to look at the hurt in his soft blue eyes.
Sharpe sat up and put his head in his hands. My God why didn't I realise? He came running to me for help and I turned him away.
They had been separated not long after that, Lawford gaining promotion to the 136th Regiment while Sharpe had remained in the armoury as a Sergeant. When they finally came together again Lawford had changed and Sharpe had known immediately that the once shy Lieutenant had been well taught by others.
It's my fault, thought Sharpe despairingly. How can I ever apologise to William for this, how can I ever tell him that I didn't know. The French Doctor had thought it best for Sharpe not to speak of these revelations to Lawford, worried that such knowledge would only further unhinge his unstable mind. Sharpe stood up and walked to the door. Bugger the bloody doctor, he thought. I've known William far longer than he has and I know what I have to do.
The night was warm. The Inn was quiet. Sharpe stepped naked into the hallway and crossed to Lawford's room where the door stood slightly ajar. Sharpe entered then turned and locked it behind him. He crossed to the bed and gazed down at the sleeping figure curled there. In sleep William Lawford still looked much like the innocent young man who had once whispered his love to Sharpe so long ago. But as he studied the face that he had once known so well he now saw the faintest of lines around the eyes. The soft fair hair now held traces of silver.
Sharpe let his eyes fall to the scarred chest and the stump of Lawford's left arm. He had been present when this terrible wound had happened but had never seen the results of the healing. He remembered how perfect Lawford's skin had been and how soft it had felt to his fingers. Sharpe held out his hand, wondering if he could touch the mangled flesh. Ugly was the word that came to his mind, but he pushed it away. Was this what people felt when they saw his back, marred by the lashes that he had received? Lawford had never hesitated in touching his back. He had rubbed salve into the smarting flesh, tending the wounds so gently. Afterwards when they became lovers, Lawford had never shied from caressing his back, his fingers tracing the scars gently, almost reverently.
Sharpe reached down and let his fingers touch the ruined skin that felt in turn both rough and smooth as the textured surface rippled under his hand.
"What are you doing!" Lawford gasped and sat upright staring at Sharpe with eyes that were vague.
"William it's me," Sharpe said gently moving his hand up to touch Lawford's cheek.
The soft blue eyes focused on Sharpe and Lawford sighed. "Richard, what's wrong? What are you doing here?" Sharpe watched as Lawford's gazed caressed his naked body before looking away. A faint flush spread up his pale cheeks.
Sharpe sat down on the bed and reached over to take Lawford's hand. "I'm sorry William. I'm sorry I never realised what Morris did to you that night. I'm sorry I turned you away when you came to me. I wish there was some way I could make it up to you."
Lawford turned back to stare at Sharpe, unable to speak for a moment. "Who told you?" he finally shouted out, stricken. "Was it Tom? Did he tell you?"
Tom? Tom knew too and had never said anything! Sharpe shook his head, too shocked to do more for the moment. He looked into Lawford's troubled eyes and wondered if perhaps the French doctor had been right about all of this.
"No one told me. You spoke of it tonight, don't yer remember?" Sharpe gently stroked Lawford's hand, trying to restore some calm to his friend. This erratic side of Lawford unsettled him. It was so at odds with the man he had known so long ago.
Lawford looked around in a daze. "I don't remember saying anything. What did I say?" There was fear in Lawford s eyes now and Sharpe could feel his pulse beating rapidly under his fingers.
"Yer just said how Morris had found yer at the river and..." Sharpe hesitated not sure if he should go on. Perhaps he should call the doctor?
"What? What did I say?" Lawford begged, his voice frantic.
"Yer said he raped you!" said Sharpe "and it was the night yer came to my rooms and found Tom there. Yer came to me for help and I did nothing. I hurt yer even more didn't I." Sharpe hung his head. "I'm sorry William. I'd kill Morris with my own two hands for what he did to you if I could. I never knew until this night. I swear it to yer."
Lawford pulled his hand away and Sharpe looked up alarmed. But Lawford reached out to touch Sharpe's hair, brushing gently.
"Oh Richard. I didn't want you to know. Truly. I didn't want to tell you. It wasn't your fault. It was mine, only mine. I was the guilty one, the one who had led you astray. Any punishment was mine alone."
Sharpe turned his lips to Lawford's hand where it rested on his face and kissed is softly. He reached out and caressed Lawford face with his own hand. "Yer came to me that night for comfort didn't yer?" He leaned in to kiss Lawford's lips.
Lawford closed his eyes and opened his lips in answer. "Yes," was the whispered reply when they parted.
"Will yer let me comfort you now; one last time with no secrets between us? One last time so that I can do it like you always wanted me to?"
Lawford hesitated, something sad showing in his eyes and Sharpe wondered if perhaps this wasn't the way. But this was what Lawford wanted, what he had ALWAYS wanted, wasn't it? For Sharpe to love him and to tell him that as they made love. Why the sadness, the hesitation.
"Yes Richard. One last time and we will try to get it right eh?" Lawford laughed softly and drew back the sheet in invitation, sad resignation in his eyes.
Maybe this was not the way, Sharpe wondered suddenly unsure. But Lawford's one arm reached out to hold him and he felt soft kisses shower his face. This was the Lawford he remembered. The shy and gentle Lawford, not the man he had met again in Spain who knew more tricks than a Marseillaise whore.
Lawford looked up into his eyes with that gaze that Sharpe had always felt stripped him to his soul. He fought the temptation to look away and held Lawford's gaze as he gathered the slim body into his arms and lay them both down.
It was as if time had never separated them; the years fell away and as the flame of passion flicker to life and took hold. Lawford had always been like a spark to Sharpe's gunpowder, a catalyst so powerful that their lust could be like an explosion if not kept in check.
But lust was self centred and sought it's own satisfaction. Perhaps it was the time spent with Lucille and Theresa and even Jane that had taught Sharpe how to temper lust, how to take it and shape it and make it far stronger but gentle at the same time. It was an age-old alchemy known only to the very wise. The secret ingredient was love.
"I love you William," Sharpe whispered softly and something flickered to life in Lawford's eyes. "Oh Richard, I love you too. Only you, only you" The reply was desperate and still one that Sharpe could not completely echo. It was simply not in his nature. He had always found love easily, although it had taken him many years to identify the feeling. Perhaps it was not loving that came so hard to him but the notions of fidelity and monogamy. There was room in Sharpe's life and indeed in his heart to love both Lucille and Lawford. It need not be one or the other, both could reside there. It was a concept that he had no trouble with, nor did Tom Garrard if Sharpe's summations were correct. But Lawford? That remained to be seen.
Afterwards they lay strangely quiet. Lawford rested on Sharpe's shoulder as he always had; his one hand tracing it's way across Sharpe's chest until it came to rest on his heart. Sharpe wanted to say something, wanted to ask if it had been all right, but knew there were no words that could ever convey what he really wanted to know. Had this one act helped William Lawford erase the horrors that he had buried in his past?
"William I want yer to promise me something?" Sharpe finally asked when he could stand the silence between them no longer.
"And what is that Richard?" The weariness was back in Lawford's voice and Sharpe suddenly began to doubt the wisdom of his actions.
"Will yer promise me yer won't give up; promise me yer won't try to take yer life again?"
"Yes Richard, I promise."
The vow did little to ease Sharpe's mind. Lawford had always agreed to anything Sharpe had asked of him. It was small comfort, but perhaps that promise would give Sharpe more time to find a way to help his friend.
"And I want yer to stay here in France with me until yer better William, then I'll go home with yer to England. I wouldn't mind seeing Tom again and I know he'll have been worrying about yer."
"Yes Richard, I'll do all that. But you must promise me something too."
Lawford's request took Sharpe by surprise. "What?" he asked warily, for there was still a feeling of disquiet in his mind that he could not shake.
Lawford's next words confused Sharpe even more. "Will you stay here with me tonight, Richard, until morning? That's all I'll ever ask of you again. Just hold me tonight as if there is only you and I, please?"
Sharpe gathered Lawford into his arms, knowing this was something that was in his power to do, if only for one night. "Aye, I'll stay and hold yer." Such a simple request really. "And if I want to love yer again, can I do that too?" he whispered.
Lawford's blue eyes met Sharpe's green ones in the darkness. "Yes Richard. I'll always be yours!"
The End.
Minerva 2000