by Lisa Bingham
“Allez, allez, allez!”
Olivier was back in the transport again. Gears ground as he turned it in a tight circle, then began heading toward the gate.
Grabbing Elizabeth’s hand, Charlie ran to intercept the vehicle, tearing open the passenger door and climbing inside, pulling Elizabeth up and over him until she tumbled into the space between him and Olivier.
Then, grasping his pistol, he began firing out the window, providing cover as other Resistance fighters streamed toward the slow-moving truck and threw themselves into the back.
“Are there any more?” Olivier shouted once they were nearly at the gate.
“I don’t see anyone,” Charlie bit out in return, sighting in on a German officer who ran out onto the steps of the old abandoned Abbey. Squeezing the trigger, he watched in satisfaction as the man suddenly crumbled. “Some of your men ran toward the hills rather than heading for the truck.”
“Bien,” Olivier said, mashing his foot on the accelerator.
They were just barreling through the broken gate when a tremendous explosion rent the night, followed quickly by another and another.
The truck skidded, nearly toppling sideways, but Olivier quickly righted it, then veered off the main road to a faint track that wound its way up into the hillside. After a few miles, he stopped, peering into the side view mirror.
Like shadows, his men jumped from the back of the truck and skittered away into the blackness of the forest. Then, shifting again, Olivier altered course, bouncing and bumping across an old rutted wagon road that wound through the trees.
“Where to now?” Charlie asked, peering at his own mirror, searching for any hint of their being followed.
Olivier laughed, his exuberance over the success of their mission clearly palpable.
“You aren’t they only one with a radio, mon ami!” he chortled. “Nor are you the only person in France with friends in high places. But we will have to hurry, n’est-ce pas? The blasts will soon have the area crawling with Germans.”
The springs of the bench seat shrieked in protest as he raced down the old country road far too quickly for such a large vehicle. Charlie grew nervous as they drove and drove with no end in sight. It wouldn’t be long before dawn began to lighten the sky and none of them could afford to be seen in a stolen German transport.
Just when he was about to demand an explanation of Olivier, the grizzled man topped a rise and brought the truck to a skidding halt.
“Voilà!” he said with a sweep of his hand. “You see, mademoiselle, I keep my promises.”
In the pasture below, unbelievably, miraculously, lay the long, lean shape of a British cargo plane.
“You must hurry, monsieur. The British have been so kind as to bring us fresh supplies and six new operatives to help us with our cause. I insisted that—since we will be helping them to plant their spies all over France—they should be so kind as to offer you a ride home.”
This time, when Olivier punched the accelerator and the truck jounced down the hill, Charlie could not will it to go fast enough.
Home. After everything that had happened, finally, he was heading home.
At the sight of the truck, the engines of the plane sputtered, caught, then rumbled into the darkness. Olivier stopped by the side door, just as the staircase was lowered and an impatient airman appeared in the doorway.
“Major Tolliver, I presume,” he said with patent irritation. “Get your bloody arse aboard before we have the Luftwaffe to contend with.”
Grinning, Charlie flung open the door and jumped out. But he’d only taken a few steps when he stopped and turned. Elizabeth stood poised, half in the cab, half out. She jumped down and walked toward him.
“Come with me,” he urged. “Come to England.”
She clearly hesitated, biting her lip. Then shook her head. “Non.”
“Why not? You can’t possibly want to stay here. Come with me to England where it’s—”
“Safe?” she inserted with a note of sarcasm. “I’m no safer in London than I am here. Hitler will bomb your capitol to the ground if he has his way. After that?” she shrugged. “You may be facing your own invasion.”
Charlie shook his head. “We’ll stop the little Chancellor before he ever gets close enough. If you came with me, at least you’d be away from the Nazis—for however long the war might last.”
She sighed. “I would like that. More than you know, mon ami.” Her shoulders lifted in a shrug. “But I can’t.”
He took her by the elbows. Until now, he’d never really realized what a little thing she was. She radiated such an aura of strength and determination that she’d seemed taller. More sturdy. He found himself wanting to shield her from the ugliness of war and deprivation.
But she was right. He couldn’t promise her that England would be any safer for her than France.
“Please come,” he said, trying one last time.
But she merely lifted on tiptoe, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “This is my fight,” she said simply, just as she had before the raid on the abbey. She took Charlie’s hand, squeezing it tightly. “You, on the other hand, need to return home.” She patted the pocket where he’d carefully stowed the letters. Letters which were once again held together with the frayed pink ribbon which had once adorned his wrist. “Give RueAnn my best regards. Tell her…she’s a lucky woman to have been so loved by you, Charles Tolliver.”
She touched his cheek, then backed away, returning to the transport.
“We need to get out of here, Major.”
Charlie nodded, taking one last moment to fix Elizabeth’s face in his memory. His savior.
His friend.
Then he turned and took the steps two at a time.
• • •
“Are you ready, Susan?”
Susan sighed when she heard her sister’s voice floating to her from the front of the house.
“Yes, of course. I’ll be there in a minute.”
Susan slipped into her coat and planted her hat on her head, pausing only briefly to glance in the mirror over the bureau.
It was more habit than vanity that made her check her reflection. She’d been in Scotland for several days now, and she still felt as if she moved in a fog. If it weren’t for little Margaret and her exuberance at being reunited with her sisters, Susan would have found it impossible to move throughout the day.
As it was, she’d done her best to explain away the circles under her eyes and her sleepless nights with her worry about Phillip and Matthew. She couldn’t let Sara know how deeply she’d been hurt by Paul’s rejection. It had taken all the strength she possessed to confess what she’d done to her sister—and Sara, being Sara, had considered the whole situation an elaborate lark.
So Susan had kept her pain to herself, trying her best to join in with the Christmas preparations—shopping, wrapping, and decorating—while inwardly, her heartache burrowed deep within her and gnawed away at her very soul.
“Susan! We’re going to miss the services if you don’t hurry!”
Susan hurried from the room behind the kitchen, down the hallway, to the knot of people by the front door. Mrs. Biddiwell was resplendent in a refurbished hat and her best fur coat, a Christmas corsage pinned to her ample chest. She indulgently held Margaret’s hand while the little girl hopped from one foot to the other, asking if she could open up her presents when they returned from church. Sara, her stomach swelling beneath her own wrap watched with sparkling eyes, her hand unconsciously palming her belly.
“It’s only Christmas Eve, pet. You’ll have to wait until Father Christmas comes.”
Margaret sighed in an affected show of desolation. “Not even one? Just a little one?”
Unable to bear her sister’s grief, whether or not it was feigned, Susan tugged on one of Margaret’s braids. “Perhaps, if you are very, very good for the sermon, I’ll let you open the one from me.”
Margaret had clearly expected more resistance, because her mouth dropped in s
urprise. Then she giggled, tugging on Mrs. Biddiwell’s hands. “Then we’d better get there as soon as we can!”
Susan laughed, feeling an easing to the pinch of her heart as she flipped off the overhead light and wrenched open the door.
For a moment, she couldn’t account for the shape standing on the stoop, the curiously hunched posture, the royal blue greatcoat and hat. Then, the figure straightened and the moon glow from the snowy street washed over features still recovering from their burns.
Susan felt as if her body suddenly dropped from a too-fast elevator. She stood rooted to the spot, her fingers clenched around the doorknob, her eyes locking with Paul Overdone’s.
It was Sara who moved first. “Paul! It’s so good to see you. How are you?”
His gaze barely flicked in Sara’s direction. “I’m well, thank you.” He shifted, drawing attention to the fact that he was supported by a pair of crutches. “I wondered if I could have a word with you, Susan.”
When Susan didn’t immediately respond, Sara said, “Of course, of course. Come in. You must be freezing.” She gently pushed Susan to the side and opened the door wide. “We were just on our way to Christmas Eve services, then a party at the local community hall,” Sara continued blithely. “We shan’t be home until very late. Very late indeed.”
Susan’s cheeks flamed in embarrassment, but Sara remained blissfully unaware of her sister’s discomfiture as she shepherded Margaret and Mrs. Biddiwell out into the snowy evening.
Margaret’s chatter marked their progress down the walk to the garden gate, where they soon disappeared behind the enormous hedge.
Since Paul still stood on the step, Susan motioned for him to come in. After shutting the door, she switched on the light, then stood with her hands clutched behind her back, her heart thudding in her throat.
In the weak light streaming from the bulb overhead, she could see that Paul’s burns had begun to heal. The last time she’d seen him, his face had been mottled with yellowing bruises and angry blisters. New skin had taken the place of his wounds, stretching tight and pink over his cheekbone and down the side of his jaw to his neck. Nevertheless, there was no denying the dark circles under his eyes and the gray tinge to his skin.
“You look exhausted,” she murmured before she could reconsider her words.
His chin dipped in a quick nod. “I didn’t realize I would have to follow you all the way to Scotland.”
“Who told you where…” She bit down on the rest of her question before she revealed too much. Just seeing him again had swamped her with a tidal wave of longing. So much so, that she felt as if she were drowning in a sea of regret.
“RueAnn.”
“Ah.”
Silence pounded around them, stark and frightening and so completely foreign that Susan didn’t know how to proceed. She’d had her fill of rejection and loss and she truly couldn’t take any more. But Paul looked so weary that she couldn’t send him away, either.
“Would you like to sit down?” she asked, gesturing toward the sitting room. Despite commands to the contrary, Margaret had left the lights on the spindly tree and they gleamed like giant, multi-colored fireflies in the darkness.
“No, I…” he swallowed hard and scooped the hat from his head, mashing it with his long fingers. “I’ve got something to say to you, and I’m going to say it straight out because I’m just…I’m just too tired to work my way up to things.”
Susan found herself staring at his hands, remembering oh, so long ago, when those palms had cupped her cheeks, holding her still for his first, searing kiss.
“Susan, I—”
She wrenched her gaze away, not meeting his eyes, focusing instead on the jut of his Adam’s apple and the faint shadow of his beard.
He offered a short, bitter laugh. “You were right.”
Her eyes jumped up to lock with his and she saw an answering misery in the chocolaty brown depths.
“You were right in thinking that if we’d met in another time, another way, I probably wouldn’t have given you the time of day. When we first met, I was still in University, young, brash.” He took a shuddering breath. “I had my mind set on the usual pursuits—shiny roadsters, pretty girls, flying…” He shook his head. “Dear God, it seems like a lifetime ago.”
He threw his hat onto a nearby table, then leaned more heavily into his crutches. “I’ve told you this before—and it sounds crazy, I know. But I fell head over heels in love with a girl I’d seen in a picture because she was looking straight at the camera and laughing. And the expression on her face was one of such joy…such…carefree exuberance…”
He grimaced. “Then, when I came home with Matthew, I was so hell-bent on making my fantasies a reality, I didn’t really bother to look around me. I barely even noticed that Sara had a twin.”
The honest statement flayed yet another layer of skin, leaving her raw and exposed. Paul looked up at her then, his eyes moist with unshed tears. “But I should have. I should have recognized immediately that when I was with Sara, things were…off.” His voice became husky and so soft she could barely hear the words. “I should have known then that I wasn’t in love with a fantasy. I’d fallen in love with a woman. A real woman. One who was kind and giving.”
He straightened, bracing his back against the wall. “I know I don’t deserve any second chances. I’ve been a bloody fool to bristle and claim I was the victim in this whole affair, when, in truth, I’m the one who was just too proud to admit that you truly are the best thing that has ever happened to me. I simply hope…in time…you might be agreeable to having me court you. Properly this time. I want you to know I—”
With a sob of her own, Susan rushed toward him, not thinking, not giving herself time to analyze the situation. One hand cupped the uninjured side of his face while she drew him down for her kiss. And in that instant, she knew the words weren’t important. All that mattered was that she knew he loved her. Her.
His response was immediate, searing. Susan barely heard the clatter of his crutches falling to the floor as he swept his arms around her waist and hauled her tightly against him, hissing slightly when her body crashed into his own. Mindful of his injuries, she braced her hands against the wall behind him, but allowed him to deepen the embrace.
Joy and desire intermingled with a hunger like none she had ever encountered before. The shock she’d felt upon hearing he had been so close to death, and then Paul’s subsequent rejection, boiled away, leaving the white-hot ardor that had simmered below the surface for so long. But this time, she met him without guilt and without reservation, her heart so filled with love she could scarcely breathe.
Tearing away, she gazed into his eyes, those rich chocolaty eyes, and smiled. “How long have you got leave?”
He grimaced. “Only a few days, I’m afraid. They wouldn’t have let me out of the hospital at all if the nursing staff hadn’t intervened in my favor.” He grinned. “They persuaded my superiors by saying there was an emergency in my family that needed my immediate attention. They assured my doctors that I would be in good hands since you’d proved yourself to be very level-headed when you came to Nocton.”
“Well, then,” Susan said softly. “We’d best get you off your feet.”
Taking his hand, she began to lead him down the hall toward the back of the house.
“My crutches—”
“You won’t be needing them.”
“But my hat—”
“You can leave it on the front table.”
“But your sisters—”
“Won’t be home for ages.” She threw open the door to what had once been the maid’s quarters and now served as her home away from home.
Paul’s eyes widened. “But…”
Drawing him inside, she closed the door behind them, then twisted the key. “I think you need to put your feet up for a while.”
He was regarding her with such a mixture of shock and hunger that she giggled.
“You needn’t look so surpri
sed, Paul Overdone. I’ve waited a long time to love a man like this. A lifetime.”
She gently pushed his coat from his shoulders, allowing it to fall in a heap at their feet. Then her fingers began working on the buttons of his jacket.
“I don’t feel inclined to wait any longer,” she whispered, pushing his jacket aside until it joined his coat. Kissing him on his cheek, his jaw, his lips, she made quick work of his tie, then began to unfasten the buttons of his shirt, following her progress with her lips.
He inhaled, shuddering.
“Am I hurting you?” she murmured against his skin.
“Not in the way you’re thinking.”
“Should I stop?” she asked, a scant inch above his navel.
His fingers twined in her hair, tearing the pins free until the tresses hung about her shoulders.
“No.”
The word emerged with such need, such utter adoration, that she laughed, feeling a surge of feminine power flooding through her body, and more…For the first time, she felt completely and utterly at peace with herself, her feelings for Paul, and her role as a woman.
Drawing the shirt from his body, she reached for the buckle to his belt. And as if the heat of her gaze had melted away the last of his resistance, he laughed, his hands eagerly tugging her own coat free before reaching for the buttons of her blouse.
“You’re sure?” he whispered next to her ear.
She smiled next to his skin, her hands reaching below the waistband of his trousers to cup the tight swell of his buttocks.
“Oh, yes.”
At that, there seemed to be no more need for words. There was only the need to touch and explore, to kiss and to stroke.
Sensing that Paul’s strength was nearly gone, Susan pushed him onto the narrow bed, then straddled him, grasping at his warmth pressed up against her most sensitive flesh. Bending forward, she kissed him inch by inch, tracing the recent scars, the fragile skin. Unbidden, she remembered the letter he’d sent where he’d voiced his greatest fear: Don’t let me burn.
She’d nearly lost him. Not just through deceit. He could have been trapped in his plane or drowned in the channel.
