Jacquie D’Alessandro - Red Roses Mean Love

Stephen listened to her, his mind drifting back, trying to assimilate her words. At first he had no idea what she was talking about, but suddenly he remembered. Darkness. Danger. Someone following him. A shot fired. Scorching, white-hot pain burning in his arm. Racing on Pericles through the woods. A second shot. Falling.

Bits and pieces fell rapidly into place. Someone had tried to kill him. Again. This was the second attempt on his life in a month. But who would want him dead? And why? His stomach clenched. Whoever his enemy was, they would no doubt try again once they discovered their failure to kill him. He had to find out where he was.

"Where … am…?" Damn, his throat felt like it had been scraped with a rusty razor.

"In my home, Albright Cottage, just outside the village of Halstead, in Kent. About three hours southeast of London."

Good. Hopefully he'd be safe in a small village so far from Town. He opened his mouth to speak, but instead found himself staring at her, struck by her expression. She had the kindest eyes he'd ever seen. Warmth, compassion, and concern flowed from her gaze like a coating of honey. When was the last time someone had looked at him like that? Never.

A full minute passed before he rasped out, "My horse?"

A smile touched her lips. "Your horse is doing well. He's the finest animal I've ever seen. And one of the smartest-he led us to you. He suffered a cut on his foreleg and some minor scratches, but they're nearly healed. He is being very well taken care of, I promise you." She reached out and took his hand, gently squeezing it between her palms. "You must not worry about anything. Just concentrate on getting better and regaining your strength."

"Hurts." He swallowed. "Tired."

"I know, but the worst is over. What you need now is food and sleep. Are you hungry?"

"No." He watched her add several drops of medicine to a fresh glass of water. She lifted his head so he could drink, then settled him back on the pillow.

"I've given you some laudanum for the pain. It will also help you sleep." She laid a hand on his forehead.

Stephen felt her gentle touch and suddenly remembered why she seemed so familiar. "Angel," he murmured, his eyes drifting closed. "Angel."

Several hours later Hayley joined the family at breakfast.

"I have good news, everyone," she reported to the group, her face beaming a smile. "It appears our patient is going to recover. He awoke earlier for a short spell and we spoke. I checked on him just before I came down. He's sleeping and shows no signs of fever." And his eyes are green. A beautiful mossy green. Like a forest at twilight.

"That's wonderful news, Miss Hayley," Grimsley said, placing a huge platter of scrambled eggs and kippers on the table.

"Yes indeed," piped in fourteen-year-old Andrew. "Do you suppose the bloke knows how to play chess? Nathan's an awful player." Andrew shot his younger brother a withering glance.

"The man's name is Stephen, not 'the bloke,'" Hayley informed her brother with a warning glance. She supposed she should be grateful Andrew didn't call him the scurvy, bloody bloke.

"Do you think he likes tea parties, Hayley?" six-year-old Callie asked, her blue eyes shining bright with hope.

"Of course he doesn't like tea parties," cut in Nathan. He rolled his eyes with all the masculine disgust an eleven year old could muster. "He's a man, not a-"

"That's enough, Nathan," Hayley admonished in a tone that immediately halted the boy's words. She turned to Callie and rumpled the child's dark curls. "I'm sure he loves tea."

Nathan and Andrew grunted. Callie beamed.

Winston entered the room dressed in workman's pants and shirt. At Hayley's insistence, he and Grimsley took their meals in the dining room. No one stood on ceremony at Albright Cottage, and the two men were like members of the family.

She greeted the ex-sailor with a fond smile, forcing herself not to laugh outright at his expression. He looked grumpy. Just like a bear awakened before his hibernation was complete.

"Good morning, Winston. I have good news. The man is awake and his fever is gone."

Winston shook his head and pointed a beefy finger at Hayley. "Chain me to the gunwale and slap me with the sextant! I hope 'e ain't no murderer. We dragged 'im in here, saved 'is miserable life, and now we got to pray he ain't some criminal who'll kill us while we sleep. Looks like a cutthroat to me, he does. I traveled enough voyages with your pa, God rest his soul, to know a blackguard when I sees one. I'll kill 'im with me bare hands. I'll-"

"I'm certain that won't be necessary," Hayley broke in, barely suppressing her urge to laugh. "He looks like a very nice man."

"He looks like a scurvy bum," Winston grumbled.

"Did the man say anything, Hayley?" Pamela asked in an obvious attempt to change the direction of the conversation.

"He only spoke a few words. He was in pain, so I gave him a bit of laudanum. Perhaps he'll feel better later this morning."

Aunt Olivia looked up, her face a study of confusion. "Mourning? Why are we in mourning? Has someone died?"

Hayley bit the inside of her cheek to stifle a giggle. Aunt Olivia, who bore a striking resemblance to Hayley's father, always had her nose buried in a book or her needlework. With her attention fixed on her latest novel or sewing project and being partly deaf, she rarely heard an entire conversation.

"No one is dead and we're not in mourning, Aunt Olivia," Pamela answered for her sister in a loud voice. "We are hoping the man is better this morning."

Aunt Olivia nodded, understanding dawning in her eyes. "Well, I should hope so. Poor Hayley has worked herself to exhaustion caring for that man. A full recovery is the very least he can do. And what a relief that no one is dead. I do so hate funerals. So morbid and depressing." A shudder shook her ample frame.

After breakfast the group cleared the table then set about their chores. Everyone pitched in and helped around the house. With funds tight, they did not employ servants other than a village woman who came once a week to help with the laundry.

Ignoring Andrew's and Nathan's grumbles, Hayley herded her charges about. The boys had to beat the bedroom rugs, a job they hated, declaring it woman's work. Unimpressed, Hayley shooed them outside. It was Pamela's turn to feather-dust, and Aunt Olivia's turn to do the mending. Callie was to gather the eggs from the henhouse while Winston repaired the roof. Hayley would work in the gardens with Grimsley as soon as she checked on Stephen.

She picked up Callie's egg basket. "Have you seen Callie?" she asked Pamela.

"Not for the last few minutes. She's probably already on her way to the henhouse."

"She forgot her basket," Hayley said with a sigh. She headed out the door and struck off across the lawn. When she reached the henhouse, she poked her head inside.

"Callie? Where are you? You forgot your basket." Silence greeted Hayley. She looked all around, but saw no sign of her sister.

Now where in the world can that child be?

Stephen dragged his eyes open, blinking against the bright sunlight streaming through the windows. He took a silent inventory of his body parts and discovered to his vast relief that he felt better than the last time he'd awakened. His head still hurt and his arm still ached, but the bone-numbing pain that had suffused his entire body was gone.

He turned his head and found himself staring at a small dark-haired girl perched on the settee. He vividly remembered the young woman he'd seen there the last time he awoke, and this child was a miniature duplicate of her. The same shiny curls, the same startling light-blue eyes. They were obviously mother and daughter.