When she reached the stairs, the guttural sounds of German soldiers rose up to meet her. As the group called up to their friend, she knew he wouldn’t be answering. In a matter of seconds, they’d be looking for him. Footsteps followed the sound of their voices as they entered the house and she tiptoed backward into her room. Looking down at the dead soldier, she knew she needed a weapon, so she reached down and grabbed ahold of her letter opener. Cringing and turning away, she pulled hard until it slipped back out of his neck. The sound of boots stomping up the stairs sent her diving beneath her bed, ducking behind the dust ruffle surrounding it.
Isabelle held her breath as she heard two sets of boots enter her room. A gasp filled the room and then angry mutterings, no doubt they saw their dead comrade. It wouldn’t be long until they found her, too. Swallowing hard, she clutched her letter opener and closed her eyes.
When one set of boots ran out of the room, she opened her eyes and peered through the tiny crack under the dust ruffle. Only one set of boots remained. The soldier knelt down next to the body of the man she had just killed, and she saw his hands working to examine the wound on his neck. When that same hand reached for the dust ruffle, she clutched her letter opener tighter, coiled and ready to strike.
As she waited for it to lift and her location to be revealed, Isabelle steadied her breath. This was no time to lose her head. But instead of the dust ruffle lifting, she heard a loud crack and a thud. She jumped and swallowed her gasp as the dead eyes of the soldier, now lying on his stomach, stared into the darkness under the bed. She studied his face for a moment, his eyes unblinking, not searching, not seeing her. Looking closer, she covered her mouth when she saw the unnatural angle of his neck as he lay motionless on the floor. Is he dead? How did he die? What is going on?
Her mind reeled trying to sort out what happened when she saw a hand reaching for the dust ruffle. She prepared her weapon, watching the hand grasp the material and lift it up. She mustered up all of her fear and tenacity and lunged forward, slicing the hand with the letter opener as she pushed herself out from under the bed, trying to make a break for it.
“Isabelle! Stop! It’s me!”
The voice stopped her in her tracks. She knew that voice; she would know that voice anywhere. A slow turn brought her around to see him. Auguste. It was her Auguste.
“Auguste.” His name whispered off her bloodied lip. She stumbled forward, collapsing into his strong, waiting arms. He wrapped his arms tightly around her, his lips pressed against her head, and she closed her eyes and sank into the safety of his embrace.
“You found me,” she said on a sigh.
“I will always find you. Always,” he whispered, his lips brushing through her hair. Unable to let him go, she pressed her face deeper into his chest and exhaled a deep breath.
“Are you hurt? Did they hurt you?” He pulled her face into his hands as he leaned down and looked deeply into her terrified eyes. She shook her head as she sniffled.
“I guess that’s more than can be said for me,” he said, and she jerked back to see his injury.
Lifting his hand, he showed her the small red gash. “You can really wield that letter opener with skill. That hurt!” His eyes smiled as much as the grin stretching across his face. “Not saying I don’t deserve it but you really took off some serious skin there, sweetheart!”
“That’s not funny! I thought you were hurt!”
“I am!” He showed her his scratch once again.
Responding with an eye-roll she shook her head and looked at him. “You do deserve it.”
“I know I do. And we’ll get to that part, but right now I’m going to get you safe. I know it’s hard based on what I did, but I need you to trust me. Can you do that?”
After pausing to contemplate, she nodded.
“Isabelle, I know you’re scared but we have to go. We have to get you out of here. Grab that gun and that knife. Do you know how to shoot?”
She nodded. Her father had taken her out shooting several times as a teenager, and after a little practice, she’d become good at it. After plucking the weapons from the dead soldier’s body, she slid her arm through the strap on the gun and it fell heavy on her shoulder.
Pressing one firm kiss to her forehead, he started for the door, reaching his hand out behind him. “Come now. Take my hand.”
She looked at it for a moment, then her eyes rose to meet his. The ferocious look she’d seen once before had returned and the power he exuded erased her fears. Reaching out, she slid her fingers into his hand and felt him close his tight around hers.
“Quietly now. This way.” Auguste led her out into the hallway. Isabelle’s eyes widened when she saw the dead bodies of the German soldiers who Auguste had silently slaughtered on his way to get her. She stepped her bare foot over the pool of blood that was forming from the gash across one soldier’s throat and tiptoed around them, five in total. His stealth was amazing. She hadn’t heard a thing as she had lay hiding under the bed, and from the looks of their frozen surprised eyes neither had they. Looking up, she saw him unfazed by the bloodied men he so nonchalantly stepped over. Who is this man?
“I have Le Vent hidden out back. Once we get outside, we will get on him and try to make our way out of the city to the west. The east is still surrounded by soldiers and I have no idea what lays to the west. We will find a way out, though. I promise.”
“You have Le Vent?”
Turning around, he smiled. “It’s a long story. Are you ready?”
Nodding, she stared up into his eyes like a frightened child.
“You’re safe with me, Isabelle. I’d do anything to protect you. Anything.” He slid his hand under her chin, lifting it up as his lips touched hers with a gentleness that was a stark contrast to the man who had just slaughtered six soldiers single-handedly. He lingered, his lips brushing hers once more as she felt her body instinctively lean in to him, her anger for him dissipating though she tried to cling to it, to remember who, and what, he was. But each kiss that ghosted her lips erased the anger and once again her feelings for him consumed her, burning away her senses while she dissolved into his kiss.
“Let’s go,” he whispered before giving her one last peck, then grabbing her hand as he poked his head out the door. Looking left and right, he checked for danger before tugging her out behind him. They slid through the bushes around the edge of the townhouse, gunfire still sounding around them. A familiar snort pulled her attention, and she saw her father’s prized stallion secured to the large tree that stretched up over her aunt’s house.
“It’s all right, buddy. It’s just us,” Auguste whispered as the stallion eyed them up. “I’ll get on and pull you up, Isabelle.” Auguste worked quickly and untied the rope from the tree and fastened it back to the other side of the halter, fashioning makeshift reins.
“No tack?”
“Not this time. Don’t worry, I managed to stay on getting to you.” With a grin, he grabbed a chunk of mane and swung his leg up, landing squarely on Le Vent’s broad back. He reached down his hand, and she looked at it before glancing back up at him. “I’ve got you. Just grab on.”
When she took ahold, he didn’t hesitate and pulled her up with little effort. After placing her gun across her lap she settled in behind him and Le Vent danced impatiently beneath them. She slid her arms around Auguste’s waist to hold on, pressing her face into his back and squeezing tight. This was her first time on the stallion and the power beneath her was overwhelming.
“Gently now, buddy.” He scratched the stallion’s neck as he urged him forward. Picking up a brisk trot, they crossed through the yards, moving quietly and quickly, weaving in and out of houses and trees trying to stay out of sight from any concealed German soldiers. The stone arch leading out of town into the surrounding fields came into sight and Auguste urged Le Vent on.
“I don’t hear any gunfire over here. I think we can make a run for it,” he whispered over his shoulder.
A German soldier e
merged from behind the stone arch, his gun focused firmly on Auguste. Auguste slowed Le Vent. She felt his body stiffen and his chest growing, shielding her behind his broad shoulders.
Auguste spoke though she didn’t understand the foreign words. His commanding German accent startled the soldier to a stop, and hearing the German words come out of his mouth startled Isabelle.
The soldier spat something back but kept his gun fixed on Auguste.
Auguste’s voice was unwavering as he barked back at the soldier, and she tried to trust him even though she couldn’t understand anything he was saying. What were they talking about? Whatever it was disarmed the confused soldier and he lowered his weapon for a moment as he came around the jigging Le Vent to see Isabelle sitting quietly behind him. With a hammering heart she forced a smile, and then the sound of a gun shattered the night and Le Vent screamed as he spun in circles. She watched as the German fell to his knees, blood now pouring out from his chest. Peeking around him, she saw Auguste holding a small engraved pistol on his lap, a billow of smoke floating out of the muzzle.
“I told him we were undercover German agents who infiltrated the city early. We had better hurry. I’m sure there are more.” He was cool and collected, and she struggled to mimic his confidence.
With a kick, Le Vent galloped out into the dark night. Bullets whizzed past them as Le Vent burned through the darkness like wildfire, too fast for anyone to take aim. Isabelle held on tight as she saw the safety of the woods not far ahead. She leaned lower, following Auguste’s lead. He kicked once again and Le Vent pushed on until the cover of the forest wrapped them in its comforting arms.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
THEY TRAVELED THROUGH the night and most of the next day, putting as much distance between themselves and the battle as possible. Isabelle watched the sun overhead, and with its warmth it seemed to erase the horrors of the night before, as if it had all been just a bad dream. She glanced around the woods and began to make out landmarks she had seen before. There was a familiarity to this forest but she was so turned around and disoriented from the ride, she couldn’t place their location. Normally, her rides back from her aunt’s utilized the roads, yet there was something familiar about these woods. As Le Vent made his way down the stream, she looked up to see the small cabin in the woods come creeping into sight. The cabin.
“I can’t believe it,” Auguste said with a chuckle. “We found the cabin again.” He clucked his tongue as Le Vent picked up a trot and headed toward the cabin they’d taken refuge in once before. “He needs to rest, Isabelle. I’m afraid I’ve pushed him too far. Any other horse would have collapsed long ago. We’ll rest here for the night and finish the journey tomorrow.”
Emotions flooded through her as Auguste pulled up next to the rickety wooden porch. The smells. The sound of the stream rushing nearby. The sight of the door he had pushed her up against to capture her lips in an explosive kiss. Her stomach flipped as she tried to push the memories from her mind. As quickly as the emotions of their night together rushed back, so did the reason she’d fled from him in the first place. Now that they were safe from the battle, her hurt and anger returned with a vengeance. She slid to the ground, her bare feet landing on a sharp stone.
“Ouch!” she shrieked as she hopped up and down on one foot, grimacing from the throbbing pain.
“Are you all right?” Auguste jumped down, landing directly in front of her and reaching for her hands. Isabelle yanked them away, the anger she felt within searing from her eyes while she impaled him with a glare.
“Isabelle? What’s wrong? What’s the matter?” he asked, puzzled over her reaction.
“What’s wrong, Auguste? What’s wrong?” She scoffed. “What’s wrong is that I haven’t forgotten that you are a liar! Did you think that you could just whisk in and save me and I’d just suddenly forget what you’ve done? What you are?”
Pain flashed through those azure eyes. “Isabelle—”
“Don’t. Just leave me alone!” she shouted as she pushed past him and disappeared into the cabin, the slamming of the door resounding through the quiet room.
Glad he didn’t come after her, Isabelle spent the better part of fifteen minutes pacing the small cabin. Right now she needed to be alone... she needed to think. A war of emotions raged inside her and she didn’t want to fall into the trance of those icy eyes again. She was grateful he’d saved her, and she felt so safe in his arms... yet he was a liar, a traitor, and the man who’d killed her Pierre. How could she even contemplate forgiving him?
While the battled waged inside her, she stared out the small dusty window and saw Le Vent standing in the stream. Motion in the water caught her eye and her breath hitched when Auguste surfaced from the stream next to him. Water pooled off his black hair and ran down his shoulders, following every crease and bulge of his body as he shook the water off himself. Taking a fistful of water, he ran it down the stallion’s long neck and she watched his muscles flex with each movement while he repeatedly cooled the sweaty horse. She ducked to the side of the window, closing her eyes and pressing her back into the wall. Scowling at her primal reaction to him, she took a deep breath. She was going to have to stay here all evening with him and lusting over his body wasn’t going to make this any easier. He’s a traitor. A murderer. Remember that. With any luck, if she recited those words in her mind enough times they would finally erase the attraction to him that wouldn’t seem to fade.
The door cracked open and a sheepish Auguste peered around the corner. He crept in, his cautious eyes watching her like he was approaching a wild animal. Swallowing hard, she tried to push away the desire his shirtless body caused, that made her blood boil in her veins. It should be rage toward him causing her blood to boil. But one more look at that muscular body and there was no denying it wasn’t rage heating her to scorching.
Mirth flashed in his eyes and she knew he was quite aware of what he was doing to her. With a huff she spun around, arms crossed tightly.
“Put on some clothes for God’s sake!”
“I don’t have any clothes, Isabelle. The last time we were here you wore home the last of the clothes. I’m sorry but you’ll just have to make do until my shirt dries. If you didn’t notice on the ride here, it was drenched with sweat from riding for over a day straight. I washed it along with myself and it’s on the porch railing.”
Isabelle tossed her arms up in the air and spun back around to meet his gaze. They stood, staring across the room, both unmoving. So many emotions churned inside her, and from the expression on his face, she could see him struggling, too.
“Isabelle.” He stepped toward her.
“Don’t come near me, Auguste... or whatever your name is! You’re a liar! How could you lie to me, keep that from me? You killed him, Auguste! You killed Pierre!” The tide of the war waging inside her shifted to grief, and she dropped her face into her hands and the sobs racked her body.
“Isabelle, please. Let me explain. It was a horrible accident, I swear. I never meant to hurt him. When he attacked me, I tried so hard to stop him from fighting, but his grip slipped and he fell onto my knife. It was an accident. I swear Isabelle, and I would give anything to take it back. I wanted to make it right, so I took the letter like he asked and I rode for months until I found you. When I took the job at your father’s, I didn’t know it was your house. It was a surprise to me when I saw you in that carriage for the first time. You have to believe I wanted to tell you so badly, but what could I say? The longer I waited, the more I fell in love with you and the more impossible it became. It was a huge mistake, Isabelle, you have to believe me. I was planning on telling you. I swear I had it planned the next time we were alone. I love you and I never wanted to hurt you. I promise you, I will never lie to you again. Ever. I will tell you everything. You have to forgive me, Isabelle. You have to forgive me. I am Auguste Pettit. This is who I am and who I want to be. A man totally, completely, irrevocably, and undeniably in love with you.”
Isabe
lle looked up at him with tears streaming down her face. One look into those pleading eyes and she knew he was telling the truth. There was no way to fake the pain and the agony that clouded over those eyes, glassy with tears. The love he had for her burst through the pain and consumed her, colliding with the love for him she could no longer contain. Passionate, burning, undeniable, all-consuming love. Giving in to the pull between them and the screaming from her heart to forgive him, she nodded, biting her lip while she reached out a tentative hand.
Auguste moved across the room in three long strides. His hands slid along her face, holding it tight as his lips collided with hers. Her willpower dissolved and her hands slid up his smooth chest and found their place on his broad back. Grasping desperately at his skin, she devoured his lips while he deepened their kiss. She could taste the salt from her tears as they trickled onto his lips.
Letting his hand drift from her face, he followed her curves down the side of her body, slipping his hand behind her waist. With a jolt, he pulled her body into his and she felt the last of her walls crumbling down when she pressed up against him. Being in his arms was where she belonged and she didn’t want to fight it anymore.
Passion exploded through her body and her hands moved down his back and around to his stomach, her fingers following the hard line down his sides, slowly tapering to the vee at the top of his soaking wet pants. Working rapidly, she fumbled to open his pants. Overwhelmed with desire, she pushed his pants off, his rock-hard manhood springing free and pressing up against her.
Auguste’s tongue pushed deeper into her mouth as he slid his arms around her waist. When he lifted her into the air, his lips continued to consume hers as he walked her to the bed. The energy moving between them crackled like it had a life of its own. Like it was a living, breathing thing she controlled no more than the wild horses that sometimes roamed through the fields near her house. They moved with such power, free and unrestrained, blazing their own path and it felt like her love for Auguste. She could no sooner control her feelings for him than she could control the herd of horses while they thundered across the countryside.
A War Within (Epic WWI Love Story) Page 26
