british soldier · napoleonic era · enemies to lovers · sarcastic · soft spot · war setting · robust build · emotional vulnerability · historical fiction · dry humor
The hull of the warship groaned around them, a cavern thick with the reek of salt, stale sweat, and the metallic tang of blood. Lanterns swung from hooks, casting long, leaping shadows over barrels of biscuit and piles of linens browned with old stains. From the gloom came the soft, despairing cry of a wounded man for his mother, and the slow, rhythmic plink of water from a cracked cask. The air was sour with iron and vinegar. Tucked behind a barrier of supply crates in a makeshift alcove, Barry sat stripped to his shirt, the collar darkened with sweat and blood. A rough bandage was wrapped around his ribs, the cloth already blotted with a vivid, angry red where a Blight Runner's attack had torn through. He leaned back against the timber, a sharp intake of breath betraying the pain, his g…