A War Within (Epic WWI Love Story) Read online

  Holding her tighter, and grateful he’d found her in time, he continued searching through the storm for the cabin he’d passed in the woods. The trees gave him some shelter from the relentless rain, but her convulsing body indicated he needed to hurry. When he saw the outline of a small building ahead, he exhaled his first full breath of relief since he’d started his search for her. Auguste approached the small, wooden cabin surrounded by thick woods beside a stream. It would be the perfect place to hole up for the night while he tended to her injuries, hypothermia and shock.

  Pulling Beau up to the door, he slid off the saddle and lowered her down into his arms. He ran onto the porch and pounded on the door but from the looks of it, this place had been abandoned for quite some time. After attempting to open the beaten-up wooden door, he growled realizing it was locked. One glimpse of her blue lips and her trembling frame and he narrowed his eyes, leaning back and opening the door with a powerful kick. When the door flew open, he rushed her inside.

  Glancing around, he saw a small bed covered in dusty quilts. Knowing from his training she needed to be dry to warm up, he had no choice but to take off her soaking dress before he tucked her in.

  Doing his best to be a gentleman and not peek, he slipped the jade dress up over her hips and pulled it over her head. When she was down to her minimal undergarments, he pulled back the quilts and buried her beneath them. She still trembled but he could already feel her skin warming as her color crept back in.

  Stepping back, he stared down at the beauty in the bed before him. This was his fault. If he’d just allowed himself to kiss her this never would have happened. But his honor forbade him from claiming those lips until he delivered that letter... something he regretted deeply. It was a fool’s promise, and a man who’d spent the better part of five years living a lie shouldn’t have caused her pain by clinging to the last shred of honor he possessed. Waiting until his promise to the boy was fulfilled wouldn’t unravel the knot in his stomach that the guilt from betraying his men had wound. It wouldn’t remove the look in Jean-Luc’s eyes that night on the cliff. It wouldn’t redeem him or somehow wash away all his sins, leaving him an honorable man. He knew that now, finally understanding his desperate need to see the promise through. But he’d realized it too late, and not before he’d hurt her, adding her to the victims that multiplied in his wake.

  He should have kissed her. If he had, she never would have run off. She never would have gotten lost. Never been attacked by that disgraced and wicked soldier. Auguste felt the rage boiling back up inside. The fight had been an easy one for him. The man barely a worthy opponent. He’d felt the veins in his own arms bulging and pulsing when the life had slowly drained from the contemptible man. As much as he wanted to relive the joy in feeling his bones crack, he had no time to stew over what had almost happened to her and his part in it. The man was dead and Auguste had won. He’d protected Isabelle, and now he had to focus on starting her a fire.

  Auguste stepped outside and looked around, finding some chopped wood pushed up against the house. Though it had been abandoned for some time, he dug to the center and found dry logs untouched by the elements, and carried them back inside. Sweeping away the cobwebs from the fireplace, he set the wood on the dried kindling that remained. A tin was propped beside the poker and he was elated to find it contained an old pack of matches. But there were only three left, so he knelt down and held his breath while he struck it, careful not to extinguish it with a breath. It lit with a flash but quickly fizzled out. Auguste tried again with the second one but only got a flash and then a small puff of smoke.

  Auguste looked over his shoulder at Isabelle shivering in the bed. This was the last match, and he had to make it work. Holding it close to the dried kindling, he held his breath and struck the final match. It lit with a flash and this time remained burning. Careful not to move too fast, he placed it in the driest of the small wood chips and watched as they lit up with the warm glow of the growing flames. When he felt the warmth radiating into the cabin, he took a deep breath and sat back onto his heels, letting exhaustion slump his shoulders.

  After taking a moment to compose himself, he walked over to the bedside and knelt down beside her. Pressing his hand to her cheek, he was relieved to feel her skin warming beneath his touch.

  “I’m so sorry, Isabelle. I’m so, so sorry,” he said as he watched her trembling subside. Knowing she would be out for quite a while, and after such an ordeal she would need food and water when she awoke, with one last stroke against her sleeping face he headed back out into the storm to find supplies.

  PEELING OPEN HER EYES, Isabelle groaned and pressed her hand to her pounding head. She squinted at the flickering fire, blinking quickly to help her eyes adjust to the dimly lit room. An unfamiliar room. With widening eyes, she panned around the strange little cabin. There was a roaring fire, a small wooden table with two chairs, an old dusty rug and a small kitchen. Realizing she had no idea where she was, her heart raced while she tried to piece together how she got here.

  Her memories of her ordeal were sketchy at best and came back to her slowly. The fall. The storm. The... soldier. A long gulp slid down her throat when she remembered the terrifying experience. But then she remembered how it ended. Auguste. He’d appeared out of nowhere and saved her. It must have been Auguste who brought her here and put her in this bed. With a frisson of panic she noticed the absence of something important... her clothes. Whipping the quilt back, she looked down, horrified to see her near nakedness but for her small white underwear and the almost sheer white bra her aunt had purchased for her this winter. With a gasp, she yanked the covers up around her shoulders and pulled them up to her chin. She hadn’t undressed herself, so who had? Auguste? The thought mortified her.

  Across the room, she saw her green dress hanging over a chair in front of the fire. She pulled the quilt around her tight and made her way over to it, only to find it was almost dry. How long have I been here? Where am I? These were questions best answered with her clothes on, so she pulled her dress off the chair and let the quilt slip to the ground.

  As she held the dress up trying to determine the front from the back, the door directly in front of her swung open. The shock of it sent her stumbling backward, and she struggled to cover herself with the dress. Flashes of her ordeal filled her mind, and she reached for the nearby fire poker and lifted it into the air, pointing it toward the door while she waited for someone to enter. The shape of a large man filled the door, and she readied her fire poker in one hand while her other hand held the dress she attempted to cover herself with.

  “You’re up.” The familiar, husky voice from the door cut through the cabin.

  Isabelle squinted to see as the large male form step forward into the fire light.

  “Auguste,” she said with a deep breath of relief.

  The warm flames illuminated his white smile when he stepped inside, closing the door behind him.

  “I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you awoke. I can imagine you were scared. I went out to get us some food and water and get Beau situated in the shed with food and water as well. Are you all right? Are you hurt?” His normally brusque voice was soft and concerned.

  “Yes. I’m all right. I don’t understand. How did I get here? What happened? How did you find me?” She fired off questions while standing bashfully behind her little green dress, doing her best to cover up her private parts. When those icy eyes raked over her body, she realized she was failing and dropped the poker to use both hands to hold it up and cover more of her exposed skin.

  His gaze swept back up and met hers. “I was worried when you didn’t return in the rainstorm. I rode out to find you and saw your mare flying home alone. I followed her tracks and found you down by the stream. There was a... man. He was... he was... trying to...” Auguste’s voice trailed off.

  “I remember,” she said softly, her eyes dropping to the ground. “I remember now. I am so thankful you came. I don’t even want to think about what w
ould have happened if you hadn’t saved me.”

  “Neither do I, Isabelle. Let’s just say it’s a good thing I seem to have a knack for saving you.”

  “Saving me? What other time have you saved me, Auguste?” she said as she snapped her head up to find a cocky smile lifting the corners of his lips.

  “Well, let’s see,” Auguste said as he continued into the cabin, dead rabbit in one hand and a bucket of water in the other. “There was the time I saved you from the mud in the carriage... the first time we met, if I’m not mistaken.” He set the rabbit on the counter and the bucket of water on the floor. “There was the time I saved you from choking. Then there was the time I raced to your rescue and saved you from being forced to dance with that ridiculous pompous ass.” His lip pulled into a smirk.

  She scoffed. “Saved me? You saved me from the clutches of the smart, handsome, wealthy, well-bred gentleman who actually knows how to treat a lady, unlike you?” She stabbed back at him, her memory of the reason she took off in the first place returning to the forefront of her mind.

  “Yes,” Auguste replied, turning back to her and letting his smile grow.

  “Ugh!” she huffed, stomping her foot. The movement caused the dress to slip from her arm and drop to the floor. Isabelle’s eyes widened as she quickly covered her mostly exposed breasts and bent down to snatch it back up.

  “Don’t just stand there! Turn around!” she demanded, fussing to get herself covered again.

  “You do realize I’m the one who undressed you, so it isn’t anything I haven’t already seen.”

  “Turn around!” she shouted while she pressed the dress back up against herself.

  Auguste laughed and raised his hands in submission, turning around. She raced into the far corner and pulled the dress down over her head. Glancing over to make sure he wasn’t watching, she fumbled while she tried to fasten the buttons that went straight down the front of the fitted scoop neck dress.

  “Done yet?” he teased.

  “Don’t turn around!” Isabelle demanded as she got the last of the buttons done. “There. Done. You can turn around.”

  When they locked eyes again, his gaze swept back over her body and she knew even with this dress on he still knew what she looked like beneath it. Heat flooded to her cheeks, and she fidgeted with her skirt.

  “Go warm up by the fire. I’ll get you a cup of water and I’ll get this rabbit skinned so we can have dinner.”

  The thunder crashed again and with her frayed nerves it startled her and sent her jumping toward the fire.

  “It’s all right, Isabelle. It’s just the storm. You’re safe here with me. I promise. I won’t let any harm come to you. Ever.” With those words his playful demeanor disappeared, and she saw a flash of the hardened warrior who’d snapped the neck of a man with ease.

  “How did you learn to fight like that?”

  Auguste didn’t answer, instead slicing his knife into the rabbit he held on the counter.

  “Auguste?” she asked from beneath the quilt she had just draped over her lap as she stared into the fire. “Had you ever killed a man before?”

  His body stiffened and for a moment he paused from skinning the rabbit. It only took a second of seeing his tense response to determine he didn’t care for the subject. Before she could press him, he returned to his skinning and shook his head.

  “I’d rather not think about that man, Isabelle. He was a scoundrel, and he deserved what happened to him,” Auguste said, dodging the question. “I hope you like rabbit. All I had was a knife and there wasn’t a lot of game running around in this storm.”

  Following his cue, she allowed him to change the subject. “Rabbit is lovely, Auguste. You killed that rabbit with only a knife? How did you get close enough to it?”

  Auguste smiled and looked back over his shoulder at her. “I have many talents, Isabelle. I can do a lot more than muck out stalls, you know.”

  Somehow she didn’t doubt that, and she wondered what other “skills” he had. The impure thoughts filled her cheeks with heat again and she forced her eyes back to the fire instead of where they wanted to remain... on him. Ever since the day she’d seen him with his shirt off in the barn, and each time she’d seen him since, she pictured those bulging muscles hidden beneath his shirt. She wondered what they would feel like if she ran her fingers across them. Then she cringed, remembering how he’d callously turned her down and the anger she’d felt sparked inside her again. It would do her well to remember that scorching embarrassment the next time those blue eyes entranced her to leave her good sense behind.

  It had been awhile since she’d been with a man. Though she’d never given herself completely to Pierre, they’d had several heated encounters and she’d considered throwing her ideals of waiting for marriage out the window. But something stopped her from letting things progress too far, though she enjoyed the feeling of being underneath a man. She wondered what it would feel like to have Auguste’s weight pressing down on her while he ravished her with kisses.

  “I’ll get this cooking and then I’ve got to go wash my hands and check on Beau,” Auguste said, snapping her from those thoughts, and she growled at herself for lusting over him again. He placed the rabbit in the pot and stuck it above the crackling flames. “I’ll be right back,” he said, disappearing out into the storm.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  ISABELLE WATCHED HIM go and decided to get up and investigate this strange little cabin. Auguste may be avoiding her questions, but this one-room cabin couldn’t hide anything from her. From the dusty state and the cobwebs, it had been left unattended for quite some time. Picking up an old rag from the floor, she began dusting off the wooden shelves while she continued around the room.

  Noticing several boxes nearby, she decided to look inside. When she opened the first one, she saw three dusty bottles of wine laid out on their sides. Pulling the wine out of the box, she recognized the label as one of her family’s bottles. While she examined it, the door swung open, and she spun to see him.

  “Well, well, well. What did you find?” he asked as he shook the water off his head and rung out his shirt, striding over to look at the bottle she clutched in her hands. “May I?” He reached out, and she placed the bottle in his hands.

  “It’s one of our family’s lines. I think it’s actually from when my grandfather ran the winery.”

  “An aged wine? Didn’t we get lucky.” With a grin he pulled the knife off the counter and placed it in the center of the cork. A firm push drove it down, a loud pop resounding through the room when the cork plopped down into the bottle.

  “You do have many talents, Auguste,” she said with a smile. Auguste smiled back and poured the wine into the little metal cup he had pulled from the cabinet and dusted off.

  “Watch out for pieces of cork,” he joked as a broken chunk of cork landed in her glass.

  Isabelle took her wine and snuggled under her quilt by the fire. After pouring himself a glass, he walked across the room until he stood at the chair beside her.

  “Mind if I join you?” he asked, gesturing to the chair.

  “Of course not. Please. Sit.”

  Auguste pulled up a chair and leaned forward to warm his hands at the fire. Isabelle glanced over at him. Her eyes followed the sharp angles of his face that showed in the warm firelight.

  “I don’t want to offend you like I did that day in the hay barn,” he said, turning toward her. She wasn’t sure if there was a sparkle of mirth in his eye or if it was the flickering of the fire. “My shirt is soaked and I would love to take it off so it can dry and I can warm up. Do you mind?”

  She swallowed a long gulp. No, I don’t mind, she wanted to say but instead she lifted her chin and looked away. “I suppose you earned a chance to warm up having come all the way out here to save me. Go ahead.”

  “Thanks.”

  Trying to fixate her eyes on the fire, she watched him pull the shirt over his head. Even staring away it was impossible not to no
tice the muscles rippling and moving beneath his tanned skin. Using her peripheral vision she soaked in the sight of him, an inward groan almost escaping when she remembered his disinterest. It was like having her favorite candy dangled in front of her face and then having it snatched away.

  When her disobedient eyes drifted over for a quick peek of the full view, Auguste looked over, catching her wandering gaze. Quickly turning away, she cleared her throat and looked back into the fire as he tossed his shirt over the vacant chair.

  “Thanks, I already feel better.”

  “Mmmhmm,” she replied, several octaves too high and her voice cracked while it squeaked out. Flustered, she cleared her throat again and tossed back a big swig of wine. He watched her now and while she forced her stare toward the fire, she saw the corner of his lip quiver. He’s laughing at me. Again! It enraged her that once again he was toying with her. How dare he flaunt his lack of desire for her in her face? He’d made his intentions known enough times that she wasn’t going to fall for it again, no matter how good he looked sitting next to her without a shirt on.

  Auguste leaned forward and turned the rabbit over. It was cooking slowly and dinner would be awhile yet. He took another sip of his wine. “Tell me, Isabelle. What do you want to do with your life?”

  The random question startled her from her thoughts. She looked into the fire as she reflected on the question. “I’m not sure, Auguste. There was a time I wanted to be a writer. I would race horses professionally, if I could, but women aren’t allowed. So, I guess someday instead of racing them, I’ll take over for my father when he retires, if he ever retires, and learn to breed them and run the family business.”

  “Interesting. So you want more than just to make a society match with a man like that one you were dancing with or –?”

  Her enraged glare shot over to him and impaled him with her anger before he could finish the question. By the look on his face he was taken by surprise, but that didn’t stop her from spitting out her response. “Excuse me?” she snapped at him. “Do I want to be a society wife? Of course I want to be more than a society wife!”