Page 5 of A Touch of Charm
Andre instinctively wrapped his arms around her, offering the little comfort he could. She burrowed into his chest, her soft hair brushing against his chin. A tiny figure clung to his leg—a little girl. Her brown eyes were wide, and she was sobbing with fear. Tears glistened in the moonlight as they ran down her cheeks, her sobs piercing the night. Around him, shadows morphed and flickered in the frantic dance of the carriage’s lantern light, the shouts and clamor spinning his senses into a dizzying whirl. The world felt as though it was teetering between reality and a nightmare, each breath laden with the weight of uncertainty and the urgent need to protect.
“Stan!” the woman shouted when he grunted with pain in response to a blow from one of the men. Something shiny caught the moonlight, and Andre’s heart froze when he realized it was a blade.
The woman tried to pull herself away from Andre, but he held her tight just as Stan had told him. Was she trying to help Stan?
Andre’s heart pounded like a drum as he gazed at the woman trembling in his arms. Her delicate frame quivered, and an almost primal need to shield her from the chaos surged through him. The girl clung tighter to his leg, her tiny fingers digging in as if she could anchor herself to him. Instinctively, he gently touched her head, shielding her hair against the dirt kicked up from the road as the men fought.
Time stretched. Each moment was an agonizing test of endurance. The gritty clash of bodies assaulted Andre’s ears, the metallic clang of a blunt weapon, perhaps the back end of a pistol, and the desperate, high-pitched whinnies of horses. Dirt from the road grated against boots, a harsh, abrasive sound that made him grimace and pull his shoulders up as if he could shield his ears while bending over the woman and the girl to protect them with his body.
The air was thick with the scent of sweat and fear, a pungent mix that erased the usually comforting earthy scents of the countryside. Andre tasted the dirt kicked up in clouds, its gritty tang invading his nostrils, mingling with the acrid stench of liquor. The girl whimpered softly, a sound so fragile it seemed ready to shatter at any moment, and it pierced Andre’s heart like a knife. He could feel her shaking, her breaths coming in quick, shallow gasps, each one a desperate plea for reassurance as she clung to him.
He couldn’t bundle them into the carriage for fear that the attackers would take control and whisk them away. Andre considered how long they’d been traveling—they were too far to walk back to the castle.
Finally, the sounds of struggle began to fade. The attackers retreated, their voices growing distant. Andre loosened his hold on the woman, feeling the tension in his muscles slowly ebb away. Stan stood at the open door, panting heavily, his knuckles bruised and bloodied, but he held two pistols and a knife in his hands. He’d removed the highwaymen’s weapons and stuffed them in his boots.
“E?ti ranit?” Are you hurt? Stan asked the woman in Romanian, his voice gentle yet firm.
Andre understood the question; though he could not speak Romanian, he recognized it quickly. He had heard Romanian many times when he studied in Vienna. It was the closest Romance language to Latin, which he knew, and several students spoke it at the faculty of medicine. That was when he discovered that he could easily understand most Romanian, a combination of his mother tongue, Italian, plus the language of medicine, Latin.
The woman shook her head, her eyes filled with gratitude and fear. She let go of Andre, her body still trembling, and she collapsed into Stan’s arms. Andre instantly missed her touch but didn’t have time to dwell on the sentiment when the little girl looked up at him and lifted her arms with the plea to be picked up, her tears beginning to run rapidly down her cheeks. Andre lifted her and instinctively hugged her, hoping to ease their fear. He didn’t know the girl, but he knew children. And this one needed his help.
Stan’s expression softened as he took in the scene before him, clutching the woman against his chest. “You’ll be safe now,” he assured them, his gaze lingering on Andre. “We must get back to London quickly.”
Andre nodded, his mind racing with questions. Who were these attackers? Why had they targeted their carriage? And most importantly, who was this woman who suddenly appeared and seemed to know Stan?
*
Thea blinked ather brother barely able to believe that it was him.
“How did you find me?” Stan asked her in Romanian, his voice gentle yet firm once they approached the carriage.
“They did! They pulled a sack over my head and said I’d make a handsome ransom,” Thea tried not to cry when she said the words, but she was still shaking with fear. “I didn’t know what they’d do to me or where they were taking us. And Mary, I am responsible for her safety. I only told her we’d face our fears because of the branch in the window—” Thea heaved for air. “What have you done that they need to blackmail you with my life?”
“How did they even know—” Stan paused and then kicked the dirt on the road. “List!”
“That’s why he was there uninvited!” Andre said. “List’s connection to the Prussian attackers is obvious and yet we have nothing against List to report to the authorities.”
“Again!” Stan growled.
Thea shook her head, her eyes filled with gratitude and fear, but she wasn’t sure she could tell her brother the truth before the stranger—certainly not in front of Mary.
“You can speak, he’s trustworthy,” Stan addressed her unanswered question. Then he turned to the man and said, “She is my sister.”
She had been astonished that Stan had trusted this man so much that he had thrust her into his arms, he was a stranger to her after all. But when she felt his embrace, she knew there was an unspoken truth and wisdom in relying on him. He was a pillar of a man, muscular, warm, and exuding strength beyond muscle—not the strength he’d used to hold her but the feeling of comfort he emitted.
“I lost my bonnet,” Mary cried.
“We will find another for you—a new one. With more lace,” Thea said, unsure how she’d make good on the promise. What was worse, she’d have to explain to Mary’s parents how the last bonnet was lost…
Stan’s expression softened as he took in the scene before him. “You’ll be safe now,” he assured them, his gaze lingering on Andre. “Andre, there’s no time to waste. We must get back.”
So that was his name, Andre.
“They were expecting us. They spoke like List. Who was that?” Andre asked, but Stan didn’t answer. He smacked his lips as if the truth tasted too bitter to say it aloud.
Then Stan ushered them back into the carriage. Thea nodded, her mind racing with questions. Andre handed her the little girl but didn’t follow them into the carriage. Looking out of the open cabin door, she saw Andre tending to the coachman.
“Can you move it this way?” He lifted the man’s arm, and the coachman nodded.
