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He heard the crackle of the fire. Then her warm hands were on him, rubbing his calves with some kind of oil. It smelled of camphor and something like ginger. It was probably just his stomach imagining food and, oh, what he wouldn’t give for a pork pie right now. Slowly, the room came into focus. He turned his head and was confronted by the apron of his angel. He looked up, and for the first time, saw her face.

“Bueno,” she said. “I’m glad to see you finally awake.”

She was like a dream, shimmering before him. “Elena?”

“You remember? That is good.”

“You are a very pretty sight, indeed.” It was true. She was like dawn over the lake in the village where he grew up. Even her sun-kissed skin gave her an ethereal glow. The healing angel of his drug-induced dreams. Elena.

She ignored his compliment. “We have a long night ahead of us. I’m going to help you sit up, but you must tell me if you feel dizzy.”

Elena sat him up in slow increments. Every muscle in his body screamed in protest. He tried to stifle his groans of pain, but he could not. She would give no quarter. Eventually, he was able to lean against the wall with a blanket behind him. Both of them were panting from the effort.

“You must be starving.” She brought over a bowl of broth.

It was heavenly. Not a pork pie, but better than anything he had eaten in however long he had been here. He had two helpings, but she would allow him no more. It was time for more discomfort as they swung his legs over the edge of the table, then he slid inelegantly to his feet. She was holding him in place to give his legs time to adjust. He was holding on to her with his lesser damaged right arm, and it should have been a lovely experience having a beautiful young woman in his arms, if not for his battered body. Now he knew why she had been massaging his legs, to prepare them for walking.

After an eternity, he took a few steps, then a few more. There was no way he was ready to run a marathon, but he was surprised he could stand or walk at all. He suspected it was all due to her diligence. She helped him to a chair and put stockings and shoes on him. The shoes were a little big, but better than nothing.

“Here, let me put this shirt on you.”

“I feel like a child again, being dressed by my nanny.”

“You had a nanny?”

“Well, yes.” After he said it, he realized how pompous that sounded.

“What is your name?” she asked as she did up the small buttons on the cuffs of his shirt on his right arm while she rolled the other sleeve up over his makeshift cast.

Now she wanted to know his name. “Captain Thomas Markham, ma’am.”

“To-mas?” She frowned.

It sounded different when she said it. He decided he didn’t mind the mispronunciation. “Yes. That is correct. Of the British Army.”

Elena put a finger to his lips. “I have no need to know anything more right now. We must hurry, Tomas. The guards could come in at any time. We must be through the hole by then.”

Thomas had a thousand questions he wanted to ask her, but she was a woman on a mission and until that mission was accomplished she wouldn’t dally over specifics. He had to respect that.

She moved over to the table and lifted the cloth that was over it. “This hole is how we leave.”

He looked at said hole. Even in full health, he would find that a tight squeeze.

“We go through the hole and then fill the hole. Entender?”

Oh, he understood, but he still doubted his ability to go through it. He nodded. Thomas watched in amusement as she hitched up her skirts to reveal a pair of breeches that nearly matched his own. Nothing like a practical woman when one was attempting to escape.

Elena helped him off the chair and told him to lie on his back on the blanket on the floor that went through the hole in the wall and to push with his legs to get through. It didn’t look any bigger from this vantage point, but he had little choice. Thomas raised his arms above his head, as if to dive into the river that ran through his family’s land. Pain sliced through him, but he took a few deep breaths and scooted. Every muscle in his body protested. Scooted a little farther, panting for breath the whole time. Shimmied a bit more and groaned as pain sliced up his back.

“You are nearly there. Keep fighting, Captain,” she urged.

Easy for her to say. With a moan, he scooted again. He could feel a slight draft. Was he almost through? With one last push, his head came out the other side and into another room, not unlike being born again. Exhaustion made every move difficult, and the pain from his injuries made him gasp, bringing tears to his eyes.

Elena’s encouragement kept him going. Finally, he could roll onto the less abused side of his body to make way for her. He might have passed out for a short time from the excruciating pain in his ribs, but he had made it. When he came to, she was through the hole.

Who was this woman? She would make an excellent spy. Once she had checked on him, she turned and retrieved a wooden pail and added water to it. Thomas watched as she then took stones piled on one side and began placing them, using what he could only describe as some kind of mortar to secure them. It was as if she had done this many times. Once she filled the hole, she wiped her brow and looked back at him.

“Once this dries, they will never know we went through.” She laughed. “They will think we have gone ‘poof’ into the air.”