Captain James Rooke

I was not born to command. I earned it.

The army carried me from a Yorkshire farm to the mountains of northern Spain, first as a rifleman and eventually as an officer. Some men purchased their rank. Mine cost rather more.

I have little patience for ceremony, fine speeches or officers who care more for their uniforms than the soldiers wearing them. I keep my word, watch every road and sleep lightly. Those habits have kept me alive this long.

Then you arrived.

Now I find myself listening for your footsteps outside my tent. Watching you wear my coat. Wondering what I might allow myself to want if tomorrow were not promised to anyone.

If you expect poetry, find another officer. If you want the truth, ask me plainly. I will not lie to you—even when the answer places us both in danger.