For the Love of a Marine

by Sharon Kimbra Walsh

  Katie gently stroked his hair then put a hand against his face, feeling the wetness there. “No,” she said softly, “just tired and hurt.” She saw the empty look in his dull blue eyes, saw his scars and the haggard, exhausted look on his face, and was well aware of what the storm of emotions was about.

  “I have someone you should meet,” she said. “Can you get up?”

  Joe nodded, but his injured leg wouldn’t support him and Katie had to help him to his feet. Waiting until he was steady, she took his hand and led him slowly across the expanse of grass toward the pram. A few feet away, she dropped his hand and said smiling, “Wait here.”

  She went the rest of the way to the pram and peered inside. Josie was awake, waving her small fists in the air and kicking her small legs. Katie said, “Hello, little girl. Your daddy is here to meet you.” Using the words sent a thrill of delight through her and she gently lifted the tiny baby from her pram and, turning, walked back to Joe.

  Joe was standing where she had left him, an intense look on his face as he stared at the child.

  “Joe, meet your daughter, Josie Rebecca Anderson.” She held out the child, offering her to her father.

  Joe hesitated, looking from Katie to the baby, and then he tentatively took the small child from her mother. He studied the little girl in wonder, seeing the wide open blue eyes as they looked up at him, almost as though she knew who he was, and the fine copper-colored hair. There was a gentle expression on his face. “She’s beautiful, like her mom,” he said softly.

  Katie put one hand on Joe’s arm and the other on her child’s head and glanced up into Joe’s face, all the happiness that she could ever feel there in her heart. “She has her daddy’s eyes. That’s what makes her beautiful.”

  Inside the house, Jack and Maggie, observing the scene, clasped each other with happiness.

  “And now we help him to pick up the pieces,” Jack said.

  “Yes,” Maggie said. “Now the healing begins.”

  Coming Soon from Totally Bound Publishing:

  A Kestrel Rising

  S.A. Laybourn

  Released 15th September 2015

  Excerpt

  Chapter One

  “Is it the Germans, Ilke?”

  The low thrumming of an engine broke the afternoon silence, growing louder until the plane burst from beyond the trees with a roar that had Ilona and her sister scrambling for cover. Aislinn clung to her arm as they ducked behind the low wall of the terrace.

  Ilona gripped the warm brick, digging her fingernails into the moss when the ground trembled. The noise reverberated through her bones. “I don’t think so. I think there’d be more than one plane.” She glanced up as the plane swept into a banking curve above the house. It was low enough that she could see the RAF roundels on the underside of its elliptical wings and she took a deep breath. “It’s all right. It’s one of ours.”

  “Are you sure?” Aislinn’s voice quivered.

  “Yes, I’m sure.” She stood up, her fear gone, and shielded her eyes against the glare of the afternoon sun. “How beautiful!” It seemed impossible to her that it came from a factory. Its slender fuselage and upswept wings were something that nature would fashion. It echoed the shape of the kestrel that rose, screeching, out of the woods in pursuit of the intruder. Ilona watched the bird for a moment and wished she could fly with it, to follow the plane and chase off the enemy that waited in the east. She was twenty, old enough to volunteer.

  “Bloody cheek,” Aislinn declared as the plane straightened and launched into a steep, fast climb. The throaty growl of its engine stunned the squabbling blackbirds into silence and brought the girls’ parents out onto the terrace. “He nearly took the chimney off.”

  Ilona wasn’t listening to her sister. She stared at the plane while it continued its climb, rising into the sky before it turned and leveled, sweeping away to the south. The heavy purr of its engines faded away. Something inside her took flight, rising with the plane. The engine’s song was in her blood. She had to hear it again. She knew she would never be able to fly a plane like that, but to see one again would be enough. It thrilled her that such a marvelous plane belonged to her country. For the first time since the Government had declared war, Ilona knew what she was going to do.

  Her father put his hands in his pockets and whistled softly. “That was some machine.”

  “What was it, Papa?” Aislinn asked.

  “I think it was a Spitfire. They test fly them out of Aldermaston.”

  Ilona sat on the wall. “I didn’t think something like that could be so beautiful. It looked more like it was alive.” She hoped that the fleeting, heart-racing glimpse would not be all that she ever saw. The ease with which it had moved tugged at her. She had only ever loved living things—her family, her horses, her dogs and cats—never a machine. It didn’t seem possible that she could fall in love so quickly. She had to get closer to it, to stand in the grass and watch it soar overhead. It would not be enough to stay at home when there was a war to fight. She looked at her sister and her parents, her mind made up.

  “I’ve decided,” she said. “I’m joining the WAAF.”

  * * * *

  “Aren’t you ready yet?” Aislinn burst into Ilona’s bedroom.

  Ilona glanced up from her book and regarded her sister with mild annoyance. “For what?”

  “Aunty and Uncle Reardon, they’ll be here for drinks any minute now and here you are lounging around with your nose in a book.”

  She looked at Aislinn again, all pretty and black haired in a blue dress that matched her eyes. “Why are you all dressed up?”

  “The Woodplumpton’s party, you ass. Ilke, honestly, you’re hopeless. Have you forgotten?”

  “Party? Why are the Reardons coming here?”

  “So we can meet their grandson. Don’t you remember anything Mama told you?”

  Ilona set her book down with a sigh. “Now that you mention it, I remember Mama telling me something last night on the way home from the station. I was really tired. I don’t think I took much in.”

  “Obviously not.” Aislinn opened Ilona’s wardrobe and started rummaging through the dresses. “You’d better hurry up and get changed. What do you want to wear?”

  “I don’t know. You choose.” She didn’t want to go anywhere. The Christmas Eve weather was far from Christmassy. The wind hurled rain against the window, and she wanted to stay in her room, curled up in the chair beside the fire.

  “How about this one?” Her sister held out a dark green dress. “It’s nice and warm and the color really suits you.”

  She eyed the wrap-around wool dress with little enthusiasm. “I suppose so.”

  “Oh, do snap out of it, Ilke. You can’t sit around all Christmas and read books.”

  Ilona slipped out of her trousers and jumper and stepped into the dress. “Why not? It’s not like I’m going to have much time when I go back to training. Why aren’t you tired? Don’t they work you as hard in the WRNS?”

  “Yes, they do, but I don’t want to sit around the house all the time. You know that Lady Woodplumpton’s parties are the only bit of excitement we get around here. Anyway, I want to meet this Francis person.”

  “Francis, that’s his name?” She tightened the dress around her waist and smoothed out the skirt. “What’s he doing here anyway?”

  “Don’t you listen to anything anyone tells you? He’s with the RAF. He’s a pilot. He’s Mama’s cousin’s son.”

  “The one that lives in America?”

  “That’s the one. He’s mad keen on flying and Lord Woodplumpton pulled all sorts of strings to get him into the RAF.”

  Ilona stooped to look in the mirror. She ran her fingers through her hair and tried to fluff out the unruly waves. The dress made it look redder and she wasn’t sure she liked that.

  “Are you ready?” Aislinn shifted from foot to foot. “That doorbell’s going to ring any minute and Mama will be beside herself if we don’t get down there.�
�

  The doorbell rang, sending the dogs into a frenzy of barking. Cries of delight filled the foyer as the guests walked in. Ilona followed Aislinn down the stairs and into the whirlwind of dogs and guests.

  “Here are the girls.” Father pushed the dogs aside to usher them forward.

  Ilona was swept up into Mrs. Reardon’s fierce hug. “Welcome home, dear. It’s lovely to see you again.”

  “It’s nice to be home.”

  “Good heavens!” Her mother exclaimed. “You’re your father all over again. I can’t believe it. He’s the image of Jon. It’s like going back in time.”

  Ilona noticed the other guest for the first time. He stood to one side in his dress blues and looked bored. She did see the resemblance that her mother was going on about, in his tousled brown hair and his eyes that were the color of strong tea. There were photographs in the sitting room of his parents. Anna, her mother’s cousin, was small and fragile-looking beside a tall, lean man with a haunted face. His son’s face lacked the ghosts, but he didn’t seem happy. She offered him a smile.

  “I’m Francis,” he said, not returning the smile.

  “Ilona.” It was bad enough that she had to give up a precious, quiet evening but his curtness annoyed her. “It’s nice to meet you.”

  “He doesn’t look too thrilled to be here, does he?” Aislinn took her arm as they headed for the sitting room.

  “No, he doesn’t,” she whispered back. “Too bad. He’ll have to drink cocktails and be polite like everyone else.”

  Ilona had always loved the sitting room. It was at its best during the long, brilliant days of summer when sunlight fell through the tall windows and tumbled onto the floor. There were plenty of places to sit but, the evening was cold and everyone sought refuge on the group of chairs and settees clustered around the fireplace. Ilona listened while Aislinn tried to engage Francis in conversation. His replies were monosyllabic and he kept looking with obvious longing at the door. The others were too busy talking to pay much attention to the strained silence in the chairs farthest from the fireplace and Ilona itched to be away from there. She tucked her legs underneath her and gazed into the flames, wishing that she was back in her room with her book. Instead, she sipped her sherry until her mother decided that it was time to leave for the Woodplumptons’ party.

  Everyone retrieved coats and umbrellas in a little flurry of activity. Her father announced that he would take the Reardons in the car and Ilona, Aislinn and Francis could walk.

  “After all”—he grinned—“you’re all young and fit and a little stroll in the rain won’t bother you much.”

  Ilona opened her mouth to protest. A sharp glance from her mother put paid to any objections. She shrugged into her coat and wondered if it was worth wrestling with an umbrella on such a windy night. Instead, she wrapped a scarf around her head and followed Francis and Aislinn into the darkness. She took her sister’s arm as they picked their way along the drive while their companion walked slightly behind them in silence. The wind roaring through the trees did little to encourage conversation. They hurried along the lane and through the quiet village. It was a relief to reach the warmth and light of the Woodplumptons’. Ilona hoped that Francis would be lost in the crowd because his silence unsettled her and she didn’t feel like working hard to get a word out of him. Aislinn had already spotted some friends of hers and disappeared into the noisy chaos of the drawing room.

  Francis looked at her. “Would you like a drink?”

  She hurriedly glanced around, searching for someone that she knew. There was no one and she mustered a smile. “Thank you, yes. That would be nice.”

  Perhaps he’ll open up with a drink.

  Francis handed her a sherry. “Are there any quiet rooms, do you think?”

  “I doubt it. Lady Woodplumpton’s parties are usually noisy. I suppose we could try the conservatory.”

  He walked altogether too close behind her while they squeezed past knots of people in the hall. Every now and then, someone would reach out, grab her arm and pull her into a conversation. Ilona tried to involve her companion but he hovered on the edge, gazing into his whiskey and saying nothing. She silently cursed her sister for abandoning her.

  The weather had discouraged many people from lingering in the vast, Victorian conservatory. The blackout curtains didn’t stop the damp drafts but Ilona found a pair of old wicker chairs in the corner where it wasn’t quite so cold. She sat down and sipped her sherry.

  “So,” she ventured. “I’m told you’re a pilot.” It seemed a safe enough subject, guaranteed to get him talking.

  “I’m trying. I’m still in training at the moment.” His voice was gloomy.

  “Have you flown at all?”

  “Back in the states. I was in the University Flying Club, so I’ve flown trainers.” He sighed, shrugged and took a mouthful of whiskey. “Right now it’s all paperwork and tests. I’m a good pilot. I could do without the training.”

  What an arrogant… She took a deep breath. “What do you want to fly? Fighters? Bombers?”

  “Fighters. I want to fly Spitfires.”

  Ilona remembered the Spitfire with a chill. “They are beautiful planes.”

  He looked at her. “What about you? What will you be doing?”

  “Driving. I’m going to Driving School in a few days. I’d rather do that than sit at a desk, like Aislinn. Mind, she seems happy enough.” She studied at her glass and realized that it was nearly empty. Getting it filled again would give her a chance to escape. There was something in him that would not let her get comfortable. She wanted noise and chatter, not the sound of the rain spattering against the glass.

  “There you are!” Aislinn swept into the room. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” She hauled Ilona to her feet. “You have got to come with me. Lawrence Winters is home on leave. You would not believe the stories he’s telling.”

  Ilona glanced at Francis. “Will you join us? Lawrence always tells funny stories. You’d like him.”

  “Nah, I think I’ll just stay here and enjoy the peace and quiet.” He smiled. “Go on. See your friend. I’ll be fine.”

  She felt a tug of guilt for abandoning him but she had tried and he wasn’t interested. She let her sister drag her away and tried to feel all right about it.

  Order your copy here

  About the Author

  Born Sharon Kimbra Walsh (and using her maiden name as her pen name) in Essex, England (a typical Essex girl) on 30 September 1959, Sharon was brought up on Canvey Island, Essex by her parents together with her young sister Tracy.

  As a teenager, Sharon wrote stories on anything that would take a pen or pencil, from horror stories to children’s stories, driving her parents to distraction in the process. A bit of a rebel, and much to her parents’ disbelief, at the age of fourteen, Sharon fixated on the idea of joining the Women’s Royal Air Force. At that age and armed with everything that might impress the RAF recruitment office, she dragged her wary parents along for moral support and presented herself for an immediate sign up. She was advised that she was a little too young to join the military and was sent away, a little disheartened and invited to come back when she was eighteen. This she did and on 6 June 1978, took the oath to fight and protect Queen and country.

  Sharon spent eight and a half years in the Women’s Royal Air Force and was finally honourably discharged in August 1986. She thereafter trained as a Legal Secretary, firstly working in London and then when she met her husband in 2002 online, moving to Scotland to work in Edinburgh and to settle there. Already loving the country after having been stationed there during her time in the military, Sharon has never looked back. She lives with her disabled husband Peter and rescue West Highland Terrier Snowie (who thinks that she is a Rottweiler in disguise) in a semi-rural town called Glenrothes in Fife.

  In 2014 and after decades of not having the ‘urge’ to write, Sharon started to have day and night visions of writing a contemporary military romance. The id
eas started to pile up and there was nothing for it but to get them down on her laptop, regardless of time and place.

  For the Love of a Marine—her debut novel—was written in the early hours of every morning for six months, huge headphones plugged to her ears writing each chapter to inspirational music and loving writing every minute of it as she drew on all her memories and experience of military life and writing from the heart.

  Email: Shazza3059@googlemail.com

  Sharon loves to hear from readers. You can find her contact information, website and author biography at http://www.totallybound.com.