you.” He smiled, embarrassed. Her mouth softened and her lovely green eyes shone with unshed tears.
Three days later, Gavin felt better. The rest, good food and companionship had strengthened him considerably, and he woke up feeling energetic and ready to rise. Swinging his legs carefully over the edge of the bed, he dressed in an old pair of gray trousers and a jersey that had once belonged to Franz and headed slowly down the large staircase toward the kitchen, filled with new exhilaration. The strain of the escape, followed by being bedridden and catered to hand and foot by Greta, had been getting on his nerves. At least now he could be of some use.
He reached the kitchen, guided by the smell of freshly baked bread that had become familiar over the past few days, and stood in the doorway. It was low-beamed and cozy. Sparkling copper pots and bunches of herbs and dried flowers hung from the ceiling. A pretty vase of wildflowers that sat on the large wooden table, which was covered in a bright checked cloth, gave the kitchen a homey feel. Greta stood over the immense stove, her back to him, stirring a pot. He watched her, aware all at once of her lithe, slim body, which even the faded blue cotton frock and woolen jacket couldn’t hide, and her hair. That amazing hair, like a princess’s in the fairy tales his mother used to read to them as children, fell smooth and golden down her back.
He thought sadly of Franz, a man he barely knew, who’d saved him, and realized he was partly responsible for her. Perhaps if he hadn’t planned the escape, Franz and her family would be alive. And Annelise. Surely that should have taught him what uncontrolled reactions could end up causing? He moved silently across the kitchen and came up behind her, peering over her shoulder to see what was in the pot.
“Mmm, that smells good.”
Greta squealed in surprise and upset the pan. It clattered to the ground, the contents oozing over the flagstone floor in a thick white puddle at her feet.
“How could you?” she cried angrily, fists balled, lips trembling.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you,” Gavin apologized.
“I don’t care how sorry you are. Look at the mess you’ve made!” she exclaimed. “You’re as thoughtless as Franz—” The words died on her lips and she began to tremble. Without a second thought, Gavin stepped over the spilled porridge and put his arms around her, holding her close, soothing her until he felt the shaking stop. Then, gently, he stroked her hair and neck, easing her head against his shoulder and wishing he could give her back what she’d lost.
He gazed angrily over her head at the bright autumn morning through the open window, so serene and far removed from the horrors they were experiencing. He kissed the top of her head and whispered to her as he would a child, while birds twittered and a plump gray squirrel scuttled up a branch. It was impossible to believe that, not many miles away, war was causing such endless grief and destruction. He stroked her hair tenderly, feeling her body against him, trying to keep the inevitable reactions under control. She was so brave, yet so vulnerable, and he raged at her life being so bitterly devastated almost before it had begun.
He felt her stir and eased his arms. As he looked down into her face, he became aware that these were the true casualties of this absurd war. The women, the children, the too young and the too old. He was only seventeen himself, but he felt and looked so much older. The past eighteen months of trench warfare had marked him forever. The naive boy who left Scotland now possessed more experience than most men encountered in a lifetime.
But he pulled himself together and showed none of his thoughts. Negativity was a killer. The trenches had taught him that. “Come on, Greta. I’ll clean it up later. Would it be safe to go for a short walk? I would love to go outside. You could show me around.”
She stepped back, gulped, then nodded. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have reacted like that.”
“Don’t be sorry. You had every reason to be upset, and I’m a damn fool for having surprised you in the first place.” He gave her a winning smile. “Let’s put it behind us and get outside. It’s a beautiful day, and I haven’t seen real fresh air for nearly two years.”
“All right.” She gave him a shy, tremulous smile, then slipped off her red-and-white flowered apron before heading through the kitchen door.
Gavin stood back and looked at the exterior of the hunting pavilion, a heavy structure built of stone and dark wood that was almost medieval in style, its gothic windows and thick walls reminiscent of a fortress. They walked through the overgrown gardens that stopped abruptly at the edge of the forest, trampling over weeds, daisies and grass that stood knee-high, and headed toward two stone benches shrouded by damp moss and clinging ivy. Beside them was a chipped Italian fountain with a dry spout that housed a family of toads.
“I’ve never seen toads in a forest before,” Gavin remarked, picking up a stone to throw at them.
“Don’t.” Greta stopped his hand. “That’s their home. They’re happy there. You have no right to hurt them.”
“That’s true,” he conceded, realizing how indifferent the war had made him. “Come on. Let’s run to the woods.”
“Run? You can’t run,” she exclaimed, her laugh girlish.
“Of course I can. It’s just a silly leg wound. I’m fine.”
“Really?” She arched an eyebrow. “Let’s see.”
With that, she set off, her long, full skirt billowing and hair flying like a young palomino’s as she set off toward the trees. Gavin followed her but knew he couldn’t make it. Damn. Would it never get better, he wondered, then laughed as Greta looked back triumphantly. He threw up his arms in a gesture of defeat and limped to where she’d stopped, flushed and breathless, conscious again of stirrings in his body that were becoming difficult to deny.
“There. You see? You’re not well yet. You have to take it easy, and I have to make sure that you do. Why, you shouldn’t even be walking around like this!”
“Right again,” he agreed, throwing himself down in the soft bed of grass and closing his eyes. “Ah, this is wonderful. Sun, blue sky and no guns, no rats, no damp, no death. Just the scent of life.” He inhaled deeply, aware of her next to him, her knees clasped up to her chin thoughtfully.
“It’s magical here, isn’t it? What happened to Franz, Mama and Papa seems unreal,” she whispered.
“Don’t.” He leaned on his elbow and took her hand. “I know this will sound cruel, Greta, but you have to stop thinking about it.”
“What a stupid thing to say,” she cried, snatching her hand away. “How can I think of anything else? I loved them. They’re my family.”
“I know. But you have to survive.”
“What for? There’s nothing left. They’re all gone. Dead. Murdered.” She pulled a wildflower raggedly from its roots. “What point is there to a life without those I loved?”
“Do you think that is what they would want?” Gavin retorted. “Is that what Franz died for? For you to sit here, blubbering and feeling sorry for yourself?”
“How dare you? What do you know about it? You haven’t lost your family. Perhaps, if it wasn’t for you, Franz might be alive.”
“Perhaps. But I did what I had to do. An officer’s first duty when
