At least the mission he had been sent to achieve had gone well, and she felt a surge of pride for his achievements and wonderful relief that he was alive. By the sound of it, the villagers would be reaping the benefits of his hard work for years to come. She wished that Simon would be around to witness his success first hand, but a small voice reminded her that he would soon be leaving. She had no idea who the other men were, but they would undoubtedly take him with them when they left and the thought that she was going to lose him anyway made her situation now even more miserable.
She had already known she loved him. The depth of that love shook her, at her physical reaction to the reassuring sound of his voice, and brought about a new, deeper despair. She had no idea how someone could choose a life of such cruelty and depravity as this, over a normal everyday life of happiness and joy. But it was Simon’s choice and there was very little she could do about it.
Simon continued his taunt, his voice coming from this way and that. Each time he spoke, Lindsay whirled around and around, the trembling in his hands getting worse. The arm around her waist was so tight that it was painful and she began to squirm against the restriction.
“Stand still,” Lindsay snarled, poking her hard in the temple with the end of the gun.
Francesca couldn’t reply.
“Of course, we could just let you go,” Simon drawled from somewhere at the back of the cellars.
Lindsay spun around again. This time Francesca didn’t bother trying to gain purchase with her feet, and instead went limp and heavy in his arms. He struggled to hold her weight upright and for one brief moment she felt the gun leave her temple. She didn’t know where it was pointing but fell to the floor and spun around on her bottom as she tried to crawl away.
A sudden grunt from above her, accompanied by the sharp retort of the gun going off, heralded the beginning of a flurry of activity that was confusing. She screamed when hands settled on her shoulders, only to find herself lifted gently to her feet. She couldn’t see who it was but she was gently swept off the floor and carried from the room as though she was made of precious glass. She was aware of the heavy thuds of flesh meeting flesh, and the groans and grunts coming from the men she left behind and began to pray that Simon was not the one on the receiving end of the masculine brutality.
“Get a damned light down here!” someone shouted, moments before someone else brushed past them and took the stairs two at a time, thundering back down moments later with a candle and a lantern in his hands.
Francesca winced against the sudden flare of light that hurt her eyes, and looked at the man who was carrying her so gently up the stairs. He was someone she didn’t recognise, but she knew he was one of Simon’s colleagues. Minutes later, he placed her on the chaise in the sitting room, before gently removing her bindings and the gag. She swallowed against the burning pain her throat and rubbed her sore wrists.
“Thank you,” she whispered, her thoughts locked on Simon who was still in the cellars.
“Jamie,” the tall man murmured gently. At that moment the door opened and Simon walked in.
Francesca gasped and stared at him in horror for a brief moment before lurching off the chaise and racing across the room toward him. He drew her against him with a soft moan, burying his face in her hair and taking a deep breath of her familiar scent. The joy that swept through him at the feel of her in his arms practically unmanned him and for several moments he simply couldn’t speak. He fought hard to gain control of the raging emotions that began to pour through him and wondered if he could ever bring himself to release her. Placing a gentle kiss at the base of her neck, he eased back, hoping she would move her arms from the particularly sore spot on his back.
“Oh God, Simon, what happened to you?” she whispered, taking note of the large gash above his swollen eye and the rapidly growing bruises that were mingled with the lavish spread of welts and grazes, and that was only on his face. She stood back and picked up his hand, feeling the sting of tears at the sight of his swollen knuckles.
“Archie? Pie?” she gasped, staring at him in horror.
“Archie is a bit worse than me and Pie decided to sit it out and play babysitter,” Simon growled hoarsely, assuring her that both men were fine.
“Bertie?”
“Here,” Bertie said, shuffling into the room and sweeping her into a bear hug. The deep affection they had for each other was humbling to see and, despite her own ordeal, Francesca helped the old man to the nearest seat before turning back to Simon.
“We need a doctor,” Francesca asked, turning to Jamie.
“That’s me,” Jamie replied, bowing slightly. “I’m the unofficial medicine man for the team when Harriett isn’t available.”
“I need to sit down,” Simon growled. He didn’t want Francesca to see him so weak and useless but had a choice. He could either remain upright and fall flat on his face, or retain some small measure of his dignity and take a seat while Jamie tended to his cuts and welts.
He slumped on the chair with a low groan, lifting his best eyelid to peer at Francesca who came to sit beside him. Despite the soreness in his ribs, he drew her against his side and simply absorbed the sheer pleasure of having her so close to him once more. He could hear the thumps and thuds coming from the kitchens and didn’t need to go there to see Lindsay, bound and gagged, being dragged up the cellar steps and out into the stable yard. He would wait out there under armed guard until the cart arrived from Launceston to collect not only Lindsay, but the men from the barn.
Francesca jumped when a steaming cup of broth was wafted under her nose, and she opened her eyes to see another stranger holding a cup out to her. The delicious aroma of vegetables and meat reminded her that she hadn’t eaten at all that day, and with a gentle murmur of thanks she began to sip the fragrant brew.
“Rupert, ma’am,” the man said, nodding kindly at her before turning to Simon with a sigh.
“How’s Archie?” Simon asked, when Hugo came to join them and had been introduced to Francesca.
“Jamie’s seeing to him now. Then, if it is alright with you, Francesca, he is going to bed. Once he has had some rest, I am sure he will be well enough to return to Launceston to continue his recovery.”
Simon nodded in relief, aware of Hugo’s careful study of the intimate hold he had on the woman in his arms.
“You are all welcome to stay for as long as you need to,” Francesca offered gently, wondering how much food they had in the cupboards to feed so many large and hungry men.
“One night will be all,” Hugo replied, moving to sit opposite them.
Jamie ran down the main stairs, a saddlebag of supplies in his hand. “Your turn,” he announced to Simon, who merely groaned.
“Do you need me to carry you up the stairs?” Rupert teased, and was rewarded with dirty look.
Once Simon had followed Jamie from the room, Francesca turned her attention to Rupert and Hugo. The camaraderie between the men was warming to see. Although they fought death and faced hardships nearly every day of their lives, they were still human and needed to feel close to someone. Even if it was a colleague who would watch their backs in times of crisis. She was aware that the men were waiting for her to leave before they discussed what happened in the mines, but couldn’t bring herself to move until she knew that Simon was going to be alright.
Hugo’s declaration that Archie would be fit enough to travel back to Launceston tomorrow also meant that Simon would be rested enough after a good night’s sleep and able to travel with them. She quickly blanked that thought out and rose to her feet.
She and Bertie had been halfway across the moors road when they had been stopped by a carriage heading toward them. At first they thought that the carriage had lost a wheel, but then Francesca had spotted Lindsay and she had known her day had just got considerably worse. Her return to Thistledown had been on the grimy carriage floor, bound by hand and foot and scrunched up as close to Bertie as it was possible to get. She had thought tha
t had been bad enough, until Lindsay had dragged her down into the cellars, shoving Bertie ahead of them. At first they had had a candle to light to banish the worst of the shadows, until they had heard voices from outside. The darkness they had experienced had been so thick, so suffocating that Francesca had struggled to keep her sanity. Even the knowledge that they were at Thistledown, her home, had not banished the fear. Her imagination had run riot and, if she hadn’t heard the sound of Simon’s voice when she had, she would have gone quietly mad.
“Is it over now?” she asked softly to nobody in particular.
Simon froze on the stairs and turned toward her. The gently spoken question had sounded so lost, so fearful that he felt his heart melt. “Yes, darling, it’s over now.”
Francesca sighed, unable to find the words to describe the depth of her emotions, and merely nodded her thanks.
“Get some rest,” Hugo ordered, pushing to his feet and glancing at Francesca. “We’ll talk in the morning,” he added, glancing at Simon.
Simon nodded, thinking back to their last meeting in the tavern. Although it had only been a few short weeks ago, he had changed so much that it felt as though it had happened to someone else entirely. He wasn’t altogether sure he was sad to see the back of the old Simon. If he had of quit that night, he would never have met Francesca. Never have experienced the depth of emotion he had once considered impossible.
Now though, he had a decision to make. Should he go or should he stay?
Lurching awkwardly as dizziness swept through him, he shuffled past Bertie, feeling as old as his friend was, and placed an affectionate hand on the old man’s shoulder. “Get some rest, you,” Simon murmured gently. “You’ve earned it.”
Shuffling up the stairs he paused outside his bedroom door for one brief moment, silently contemplating if he should stay there. He knew the bruising beneath his shirt was worse than the cuts on his face. Did he really want Francesca to see? But he knew that she would probably see him at some point during the night. If she didn’t come to him, he would go to her. It didn’t seem right for either of them to walk through the corridors late at night, especially with his colleagues on guard.
Passing his room, he began to undress before he had even reached the door to Francesca’s room. By the time he was at the side of the bed he was kicking his breeches off and sitting down on the edge of the bed wearily. He had barely been between the sheets for a minute before Francesca appeared in the doorway. She showed no emotion at the sight of him lying in her bed, merely closed the door carefully behind her and began to undress.
“Are you tired?” Simon murmured, watching the sensual display she was inadvertently giving him. If he didn’t hurt so much he would have taken great delight in taking full advantage of her willingness to lie with him. As it was, he was lucky if he didn’t fall asleep first.
“No, not really. Upset? Definitely. Shaken by the events of the day? Most certainly. Tired? Definitely not,” she replied, climbing between the sheets and snuggling against him.
It felt strangely audacious to strip and climb wantonly between the sheets. She sighed when he moved so she could snuggle closer to him. She placed a hand on his ribs only to glance up at him in concern when he sucked in a gasp of air.
“Don’t,” he protested when Francesca began to draw the sheet down.
Francesca ignored him and tugged the material off his chest, staring down in horror at the blackening flesh scattered across his body. Two particularly large patches along his ribs had been where she had placed her hand, and she wondered if he had broken some of his ribs. She sensed him looking at her and met his gaze.
“Are you really going to be alright?” she asked, not sure if she was asking just about his bruises.
“I’ll be fine,” Simon whispered gently. “Some tender loving care, a few good nights’ sleep and plenty of hearty meals would put me firmly on the road to recovery as long as I get as much bed rest as possible.” He smiled at the blush that added colour to her cheeks for the first time that day.
“Hugo is expecting you to leave tomorrow,” Francesca replied carefully, and felt her heart sink at the closed look that swept over his face. She knew she was going to lose him.
“I have to go, Francesca. There are things I need to tell the others, so they know what they are looking for. The papers we found tonight need to be gone through. There is so much behind the scenes work to do that it will take us a while to sort it out.”
“What about the men downstairs?”
Simon shook his head. “I don’t know how Hugo managed to get them out of deep cover, but I am glad he thought to bring reinforcements with him. Now that this job is over, they will return to their allotted tasks, whatever they might be. Nobody will really know, except for Hugo and of course, the men themselves.”
“What about you?”
Simon knew what she was asking but couldn’t make her empty promises he didn’t know if he could keep. He needed to speak to Hugo first about his options before he said anything to her.
Francesca lapsed into silence and tried to keep the tears at bay. He had been through so much already, she couldn’t expect him to deal with a weepy female was well. Within minutes she heard the soft rumble of his snores echo about her room. She lay there for a long time, just listening to the reassuring thump of his heartbeat and wondering about what might have been.
The traumas of the day began to creep up on her and at some point she fell asleep.
She awoke the following morning to find herself alone. Sitting up, she checked for his clothing anyway and was unsurprised to find the floor empty. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and simply sat there, her heart thumping painfully in her chest. Her attention was drawn to a single white piece of parchment sitting on the table. She picked it up, not wanting to read the contents and held it for several long moments while she tried to stop her fingers from trembling enough to unfold it.
Eventually though, curiosity dictated that she read his final words to her.
I’m sorry, I have to go. Simon x.
She wasn’t sure how long she sat there staring at the black scrawl standing so boldly against the white parchment. There were no tears, just an incredible sadness that settled deep within her and began to grow cold. She doubted she would ever be warm again.
When she arrived in the kitchen, it was to find Bertie stirring a pot of broth over the fire. His sad eyes told her that she didn’t need to look out of the window to know that the stable yard was empty. The men had moved out.
“At first light,” Bertie grumbled sadly.
Francesca nodded, offering him a bright smile that went nowhere near her eyes.
“Well, it looks like it is just you and me now, Bertie,” she declared softly, sitting down at the table before her wobbly knees gave out. “I think we need to decide what we are going to do, don’t you?”
“What do you mean, miss?” Bertie asked, with a frown. He sat down beside her. Francesca patted his hand and sighed.
“This house is far too big for just me and you. We can remain and let it fall into rack and ruin, or we can find ourselves somewhere much more manageable to live.”
“I can’t leave here,” Bertie declared, clearly horrified that she would consider such a thing. “Your uncle would roll in his grave.”
“But he isn’t here, Bertie,” Francesca replied sadly. “Nobody is.” The words dropped between them, leaving silence in their wake.
“He will come back, you know,” he said gently, patting her hand in an almost fatherly manner.
But Francesca wasn’t going to be so easily mollified. Shaking her head, she pushed away from the table and went to stir the broth. “No he won’t, we both know that. His life belongs to the danger. Once he is well enough he will return to his duties and forget all about us.”
Bertie wanted to argue, but knew she was most probably right. Men like Simon weren’t domesticated people, happy to spend their days in front of the hearth. He would be bored rigid w
ith a life in such a remote spot as Thistledown Manor, and Bertie couldn’t bear the heartbreak Francesca would experience if he turned to another woman to seek the excitement he couldn’t find at home. Feeling older than his eighty something years, Bertie went to fetch two bowls and help her serve up.
“Do you know what I think we should do?” Bertie declared moments later, slamming his spoon down on the table so suddenly that Francesca jumped.
“We should restore this place to its former glory. It looks miserable around here because it is so run down. Let’s put some life back into the old gal, and then you can decide whether you want to stay or not. After all, it isn’t as though either of us have anything else to do, now is it?”
Francesca’s brows rose and she studied the light in Bertie’s eyes that she hadn’t seem for some considerable time.
She wasn’t convinced, but was willing to accommodate him for now. “Alright,” she sighed. “First thing tomorrow we will go to Launceston and see if we can arrange for some workmen to come and take a look at the place.”
“Why wait until tomorrow?” Bertie argued, waving toward the door. “What’s wrong with today?”
“But - .” Francesca wracked her brain, trying to think of an adequate reason but falling short. The last thing she wanted to do was go to Launceston. It was the town that Simon and the men had gone to. She couldn’t bear to see him heading out of her life for good. Although she was incredibly hurt that he hadn’t woken her before he left, she was relieved that she had been spared the pain of watching him ride out of her life. “Alright,” she sighed, unsure whether a trip to town would have the desired effect Bertie was aiming for.
Within minutes they were trundling out of the stable yard in search of workmen.
The following weeks passed in a blur for Francesca. Their trip to Launceston threw her life spiralling out of control. Within days of their visit, workmen began to arrive to assess Thistledown and begin work on its foundations. Stonemasons set about measuring the stone blocks they would cut to replace the damaged ones. Carpenters measured for new beams and floorboards.
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