LITMIR.BIZ

      6

      The Black Forest, Germany, 1917

      Somewhere in the recesses of his brain, Gavin heard a voice speaking German, then shivering and pain took hold as he was slowly moved. He heard a woman’s voice whispering to him. “Not a word. Pretend you’re out still.”

      Gavin closed his eyes once more and fell back into a semi-comatose sleep, too weak to think, haunted by Angus’s indifference, Flora’s smile and Annelise’s fear-filled eyes. Frustrated, angry dreams, where his twin became a different being to the brother he knew, were followed by soothing images of Strathaird, standing high above the cliff with the sea churning below.

      The next time he woke, Gavin knew at once something had changed. He sniffed, eyes closed, recognizing the subtle scent of crisp, fresh linen and lavender. When he opened his eyes, sunlight poured through a window onto a bright patchwork quilt. Taking stock of his surroundings, he wondered how he got here. The room was low-beamed and filled with heavy, rich furnishings, relics of a past era. He felt weak, but the excruciating pain in his hip and thigh had subsided somewhat. He tried to sit up and winced. For some reason, his arm lay across his chest, bandaged and wrapped in a neat sling. This must be the hunting lodge, he decided. Franz and Miles must have brought him here.

      After a while he heard footsteps approaching and warily closed his eyes, unsure of what to expect. It might be someone other than his friends, someone who believed him to be a wounded German officer. The door opened, followed by a whiff of delicate perfume. A soft, cool hand stroked his forehead, lifted a strand of hair, then touched his cheek. A woman’s voice whispered something soothing in English before straightening the sheet and placing two fingers on the inside of his wrist. Finally, curiosity won and Gavin squinted warily. He stared in surprise at a pair of bright green eyes and high cheekbones that reminded him immediately of Franz.

      “Shh. Stay quiet.” The girl stood, looking sad and serious as she measured the beat of his pulse. Gavin watched, fascinated, as the sunlight brushed the golden strands of hair that cascaded over her shoulders down to her waist, glinting like a burnished mane. Her face was youthful, and he guessed that she was no older than sixteen. He swallowed, taken aback by her beauty.

      “Your pulse is regular now,” she said in perfect English, laying his arm back on the quilt. “Don’t worry. You are quite safe here.”

      “Who are you?” he asked, trying to sit again.

      “Don’t. You’re still weak. I am Franz von Ritter’s younger sister,” she said. Leaning forward to assist him, she plumped the fat goose-down pillows before retreating a step from the bed. He noticed how slim she was, her gray skirt too big and the woolen sweater too loose.

      “Is this the hunting lodge?” he asked, looking at her curiously.

      “Yes. You’ve been here for almost a week.”

      “Where are Franz and Miles?”

      She hesitated, then gave a sigh. “Franz is dead, and Miles has been taken prisoner.”

      “Dead?” Gavin sat up, shocked, then fell back in pain. “But how? When? It can’t be!”

      She seemed suddenly frail and he leaned forward as best he could.

      “Sit down. I don’t even know your name. But please, you must tell me.”

      The girl reluctantly perched on the edge of the bed, twisting a handkerchief and speaking in a controlled voice, as if trying to suppress all emotion. “The car broke down, they went to get help.”

      “I know that,” Gavin interrupted. “I hid in the woods.”

      She paused, swallowed, then continued in a trembling voice. “As Franz was about to go and fetch you, he and Miles were intercepted by three army officials called in by one of the locals. I believe someone must have overheard Franz and Miles speaking to one another in English, otherwise it is incomprehensible that anyone would have suspected. But they did. It was impossible for Franz and Miles to keep up their disguise for long. They brought my brother before a military tribunal.” Her voice went hoarse and her hands trembled. “He was sentenced to death by firing squad.” She swallowed again, tears pouring down her cheeks, while Gavin remained in shocked silence.

      “Out of deference to my father,” she continued shakily, “the Haupt Kommandant allowed Franz to see me and my parents before his execution. They brought him to Hanover before they killed him. It was in those last moments that he told me where you were. He said you had Mama’s hankie and told me where they had left you. He begged me to save you,” she whispered, choking on the words. Gavin’s hand covered hers, horrified. “He…he thought of you till the end. He said you were his responsibility.”

      “My God. I’m so sorry.”

      “Sorry?” She turned on him angrily. “Sorry? Do you think that will bring back my brother? Or my father, who died of a heart attack shortly after? And my mother, who put a pistol in her mouth and pulled the trigger? You say you are sorry? Perhaps if it wasn’t for you they could have got away. But no. He waited, did everything he could to save you, and now he is dead.” She broke down, buried her face in her hands and sobbed, as Gavin sat in helpless shock. He reached out a hand tentatively but, realizing he was doing more harm than good, he leaned back, eyes closed, incapable of assimilating the spectacle of Franz’s death that played out in his imagination.

      Slowly the girl’s tears subsided and she wiped her face with the hankie. “I’m sorry,” she gulped. “I know it isn’t your fault. But I can’t believe they’re gone. All of them. Just like that. I can’t believe it. And he was so brave, so heroic. He kissed my mother, he…he was the brave one, not me. He went to his death a hero, while we were all destroyed.”

      “I’m privileged to have known him and called him my friend,” Gavin said, throat tight, watching her tear-blotched face. “What’s your name?” he asked, gently touching her hand once more.

      “Greta.”

      “I’m Gavin MacLeod.”

      “I know. He told me in a whisper as we were kissing goodbye. He said, ‘Take care of Gavin, little one. I know I can count on you.”’ Her voice broke again and she twisted the damp handkerchief into a knot. “It was so terrible, but I knew I had to find you. I had made that final promise to Franz. I left by car the same day. They don’t know that I can drive, but Hans, our chauffeur, taught me. I drove to where Franz told me. I made sure no one was there. Sure enough, you were in the exact spot.”

      “But how did you manage?” Gavin asked, amazed at her courage.

      “I dragged you and heaved you into the car. You are quite heavy,” she said with the first trace of a smile.

      He squeezed her hand. “How can I ever thank you, Greta? You and Franz saved my life. What a brave woman you are.”

      “No, I’m not. It was not bravery. I was merely fulfilling a last promise to the person I loved most. He told me he will come back.” She shifted and sighed. “We used to talk a lot about metaphysics, about spirits and whether, if he died in the war, he could return to visit me as a soul. Do you believe that can happen?” Her face was childlike in its hope.

      “I don’t know.” Gavin hesitated. “I have a cousin whom I love very much. She believes that people come back. She is convinced of it. Personally, I’ve never experienced it,

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