Page 4 of A Christmas Love Redeemed
Hannah walked slowly, inspecting the detritus for anything that might be interesting or valuable. These days, her interest was not pure curiosity—anything of value could be sold, and with Christmas only a few days away, a few extra pennies for treats would be appreciated by her mother.
As children, she and her brother, William, had played pirates in the little cave concealed behind the fall of boulders at the end of the beach. Although no longer a child, Hannah still visited it on her rambles, sitting cross-legged on the warm, dry sand with her back to the rocks, listening to the crash of the sea and remembering those long-ago happy days. She used this precious time to write poems or little stories, taking gratitude that there were still things in her life to give her pleasure.
The words of a poem about the last battle of the French corvette had been tugging at her sleeve, and she clambered over the rocks, ducking her head as she entered the cave. As she reached for the tinder and candle she kept in a niche by the entrance, she hesitated, aware of an unfamiliar tang above the familiar smells of the sand and sea. Something… or someone… had invaded her private domain.
Before she could retreat to the open beach, a dark shape loomed out of the dark, catching her wrist and spinning her around as a hand clamped over her mouth and something sharp pressed against her neck. More out of anger than fear, she grabbed the hand and bit down hard.
The owner of the hand yelped and swore volubly in French, releasing her. He could only be a survivor of yesterday’s ship wreck. Frightened now, Hannah whirled on her heel and made a dive for the cave entrance, but the Frenchman moved swiftly, coming between her and the daylight.
They eyed each other across the distance of no more than two yards. With the light behind him, she could not make out any more than his silhouette. She deduced the man was tall, slight and, unless she was mistaken, he wore the coat of an officer of the line.
Not a common sailor but still an enemy on enemy soil and that made him dangerous.
She took a steadying breath and straightened. ‘Parlez vous Anglais?’
The man replied in heavily accented English. ‘I do. My apologies, mademoiselle. I did not mean to frighten you. I will not hurt you.’
She took a step back, but she knew the only way in and out of the cave was through the one entrance, the Frenchman now blocked.
‘Were you on the French ship that sank yesterday?’
He paused before answering, ‘I was.’ He let his hands drop to his side and took a step sideways, clearing the entrance. ‘You are free … to go … I …’
He faltered and slid to the floor with a groan, his back to the wall of the cave.
‘Mademoiselle, you have a duty to turn me in to your authorities. I pray you go now. I shall be here when they return. I have nowhere else to go.’
Hannah didn’t move. ‘Are you hurt?’
He looked up at her. His eyes were lost in the dark shadows of the cave, but she was conscious of his appraising gaze.
‘No, mademoiselle, your beauty has made me quite weak.’
Hannah bit her lip. ‘What is your name?’
A smile fluttered across his lips. ‘Forgive me for not rising. Fabien Brassard, et vous?’
‘Hannah Linton,’ she said. ‘I live close to here.’
She turned to the niche in the wall. Locating the candle stub and tinder she lit the candle and turned back to face him. In the thin, flickering light, she could make out a lean, handsome face with the stubble of a day’s growth of beard on his chin. His dark hair had been cut short in the new fashion.
It struck her how young he was, probably no older than William. Only a few years older than herself, perhaps.
In thel ight, he inspected the bite mark on his hand.
Hannah felt the heat rise to her cheeks. ‘Sorry, monsieur, I didn’t mean to hurt you.’
“I deserved it,’ he said. ‘I frightened you.’ A half smile softened the lines of pain on his face as he gestured at the candle. ‘You are well prepared, Miss Linton. I wish I had found that last night.’
‘My brother and I used to play in here.’ She set the candle in the sand and knelt down in front of him, keeping an arm’s length of distance between them.
Assuming her mother’s air of brisk efficiency, she said, ‘Where are you hurt?’
He drew back his uniform coat. The once white breeches were stained a dull watery brown, and it took a moment or two to see a jagged piece of wood protruding from his right side, just beneath his ribs.
She gave a sharp intake of breath and sat back on her heels. Was this what happened when round shot smashed into the fabric of wooden ships? Was this how William had died? She clapped a hand to her mouth to stop the tears that welled.
Fabien pulled the coat back across the wound.
