AllFreeNovel
Share Us
And for a second, I see my ex-fiancé’s features in the pilot. The messy light-brown hair, the rugged good looks, the inquisitive eyes. I have no idea if Charles is alive, or if his plane is missing somewhere in Europe, shot down by the enemy.
It’s not something I’ve given much thought to, and I won’t dwell on it now.
“Géraud and another man brought him here. He’s injured.”
“How bad is it?”
“I have no idea. They said something about his leg. And this man”—Jacques points at the man on the bed—“doesn’t speak or understand French.” The fermented disgust in his tone doesn’t hide his concern for the downed pilot. I can see it in Jacques’s eyes, in the firm set of his mouth.
A large proportion of the French don’t trust the English after the Great War. Jacques’s opinion has only recently softened towards those from the other side of the Channel.
“Can you boil some water so I can clean the wound?” I ask.
Jacques leaves, and I climb down the ladder leaning against the wall.
The pilot cocks his head to the side. “Hello? I don’t suppose I’ll get lucky and you speak English, eh?” His accent isn’t British. And he’s not American. Canadian, perhaps?
I smile, the tug on my mouth weary from my long day and my soon-to-be long night. “You’re in luck.”
“Ahhh, you’re English.”
“And you’re not. Are you Canadian?”
He pushes himself to sit, wincing with the movement. His injured leg remains stretched in front of him. “That’s right. I’m from Calgary, Canada, to be exact. My name’s Lieutenant Todd Matherson.”
“Nice to meet you. I’m Carmen.” He doesn’t need to know my real name or my alias. “And for now, your code name is Conrad. I understand your leg is injured.” From the looks of his torn trouser leg, he has bled a fair amount.
“That’s right. Sliced it open when I tried to evacuate my plane.”
“Can I see?”
He nods, and I peel back the ragged edges of the fabric and gently remove the bandage from his leg. A nasty opened wound cuts across his thigh. It’s bad, but it could have been worse. He’s fortunate to still have his leg.
The wound is no longer bleeding heavily, but blood oozes from it. I reach under the bed and pull out a small valise. The pilot isn’t the first injured ally or member of the local resistance circuit to show up at the safe house.
“I have the water,” Jacques calls down in French from the opening of the hiding space.
I climb up the ladder and take the small pot from him. Steam rises from the water. “Merci.”
“I will stand guard at the door.” He walks to the closed barn door and leaves, shutting it behind him.
I cautiously climb back into the hiding space, working hard to keep the water from spilling. I kneel next to the bed. The flickering flame in the lamp creates deep shadows on the walls. “This will hurt, but I need to clean the wound. And you might need stitches.”
“Can you do that?”
“No, but we have a physician in town who can.”
Todd’s handsome features pinch into a frown. “Is that a good idea? For him to know I’m here?”
I dip a clean dressing into the hot water. “He’s part of the local resistance group. I’ll fetch him once I’m finished with this.” I lightly press the cloth on Todd’s wound.
He releases a hiss.
“Sorry.” I carefully clean the wound, taking care not to cause it to start bleeding heavily again, then place a new piece of dressing to cover the gash.
“The two men who brought me here said you can help me return to England,” Todd says, questions filling his eyes.
“Yes, that will be the goal. But you need to recover first. The trip won’t be easy. I’ll arrange for a guide to take you over the Pyrénées Mountains, and then you’ll make your way to Portugal. You will need to remain hidden in here while you’re healing. I’ll make you some broth to eat once the doctor has seen to your leg.”
