Yule be Home for Christmas: Christmas for Ransome, #2

By Katherine Bone

From the workhouse to the British army, then captivity courtesy of Napoleon's men, Lieutenant Daniel Barrett has never known the warmth or safety of a real home. But now, his training as a physician and loyalty to his captain, Sir Christmas Astley-Milne, have found him a temporary resting place. Having helped the wounded Chris escape to England, Daniel is sequestered at Milne Manor, caring for other soldiers who've returned across the Channel.

 

But it's not the place he can call home, where he can settle with the wife and children he longs for. For what can he offer a good woman such as Ivy Martin, the daughter of Milne Manor's stableman and his able medical assistant, for whom he's formed a secret affection, when he has no money and few prospects?  Once again, it's time to move on.

 

However, just before Christmas, Ivy's father is badly hurt, and Daniel finds himself comforting her—and kissing her under the mistletoe. This changes everything. Or does it, when he's preparing to leave Milne Manor for London come the New Year?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Katherine Bone
• Release date: Dec 13, 2022
• ISBN: 9780998657332

Katherine Bone

Bestselling Historical romance author Katherine Bone has been passionate about history since she had the opportunity to travel to various Army bases, castles, battlegrounds, and cathedrals as an Army brat turned officer's wife. Now she lives in the south where she writes about rogues, rebels and rakes, aka pirates, lords, captains, duty, honor, and country and the happily-ever-afters every alpha male and damsel deserve. Katherine would love to hear from you, dear readers! Send her an signal flag at: [e-mail] or join her on deck via Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/#!/pages/Katherine-Bones-Official-Fan-Page/134578253291785, or Twitter at https://twitter.com/#!/katherinelbone. If you'd like to hear about Katherine's adventures and new book offers, join her newsletter here: http://www.katherinebone.com/contact/.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

Gravelines, France, December 1812

Blood left a trail for enemies to follow as Lieutenant Daniel Barrett accompanied Captain Sir Christmas Astley-Milne through the alleys of the French citadel at Gravelines. Torn between a desire for freedom and serving the helpless men they’d left behind, already hobbled by guilt, he navigated the uneven cobblestones on bruised feet. Their weak legs were unreliable and unsteady. For five years, they’d been deprived of the barest of necessities because of Sir Christmas’s penchant for trying to escape at every opportunity. Never mind that Daniel had agreed to take part in the man’s life-threatening schemes.

Their relentless aim made it imperative they cover ground quickly. Duplicity was keeping them alive at a time when survival was essential if Sir Christmas ever returned to the woman he loved. It was Daniel’s duty to get the man back to Kent, given he himself had left no one behind to mourn his passing.

Escape hadn’t come without substantial cost, however. The French followed the tactical genius of Napoleon, losing a long and bitter war, and prisoners on both sides needed surgeons more than the enemy cared to admit. His very presence, as a co-collaborator, offered assurances that—if apprehended—Sir Christmas would most likely not be killed on the spot.

Daniel wasn’t a gambling man. He also wasn’t willing to risk his friend’s life in this game of chance.

Alarm charged his overwrought nerves. The surrounding air was noiseless, so quiet, even he could hear a mother singing to her baby in the night, the sound ethereal, poignant, a piece of humanity that he longed would become part of his new normality.

Dehydration limited his vision. His hearing had worsened since he’d been hit on the head one too many times by a heavy-handed guard. Still, every inch of him understood the danger that surrounded them as Sir Christmas led him further and further afield from the prison to the safety of a docked ship, its master plotting and lying in wait to rescue them from the clutches of the French.

Freedom. It was there, just beyond those trees.

Close, but so far.

There was no going back. Not this time. If caught, his surgical profession wouldn’t save them. The death of the guard who helped them escape, and the repercussions they’d face for their involvement was a tragic blunder.

There. Sir Christmas signaled as he advanced on bare feet to a small cottage, a faint light aglow in the window. Daniel trailed behind, coming to a stop beside him, flattening his back against the cold stone exterior. Here, the mother’s lullaby cast a surreal mask on the present, lovely and human, melodic in the night, juxtaposing their nightmarish lives with the bone crushing presence of serenity. Do you hear anything else? he asked, acknowledging the woman’s hypnotic voice.

Daniel listened to the best of his ability, having never admitted his infirmity to Sir Christmas out of pure stubbornness. No, he said.

Sir Christmas’s frown was telling. His friend knew, without ever saying so, that Daniel’s hearing was impaired.

Do you think they’ve discovered Barbaroux by now? he asked to circumvent the captain’s distress.

That no longer matters. This is our only chance after—

We had no choice, Captain, he calmly interrupted, knowing that Sir Christmas took every death hard, no matter on which side of the English Channel he stood. Their existence, however paltry for the past five years, had been confined to a cell, a marsh, and a patch of dry ground, unless a surgeon was required. It was the guard . . . or us.

Candlelight from within the cottage illuminated Sir Christmas’s face. Frown lines etched around his mouth, pulling the scar he’d earned in Madrid, clarifying that he thought their escape had been too easily obtained. Barbaroux had been attacked by the other guard shortly after opening the cell doors.

Who told the other guard about their plan?

The demmed truth was they were indebted to a dead Frenchman.

No matter what we do, Sir Christmas said, looking him straight in the eyes to ensure he understood, we must push forward. The ship will not wait until dawn. Our orders are clear. If we’re not aboard the galley by then . . . we’re as good as dead.

Daniel glanced down at Sir Christmas’s bleeding side, a jolt of apprehension racing through him. Was his friend already mortally wounded? If he didn’t stop the bleeding— You’ll be dead sooner than that if you don’t allow me to tend your wound.

Sir Christmas stiffened, glanced down at his torso, pulled his hand away from the wound, and then released a disgusted grunt.

I beg you, Captain, he said sternly. Let me dress your wound.

There isn’t time. I refuse to be the reason you do not make it back to England alive, Lieutenant. He placed his hand back over the lesion, wincing. You’ve suffered my schemes long enough. A time of ease will come. If we survive this . . . I promise you’ll be home for Christmas.

The captain set off at a wobbly run, blood loss finally affecting his balance and mobility. Mystified by the man’s stupidity, stamina and spirit, Daniel ran after him, catching up just as Sir Christmas dropped to his knees.

Barrett. He reached out a hand to steady himself. I cannot . . . go any further.

Aye, Daniel said as if he was assuring a dead man the end wasn’t near. You can.

Devil be damned if he was going to allow Sir Christmas to abandon him in a foreign country. The man was an escapologist, a talent Daniel sadly lacked.

Very well. Sir Christmas nodded willfully. Scout ahead. I will catch up to you after I rest.

By crock, Captain, he said through clenched teeth, seeing through Sir Christmas’s ploy. There isn’t time to rest. You never left me—once. I swore an oath to do no harm and I will not, especially to a man who is like a brother to me.

Go. Sir Christmas hissed. Save yourself. Dogs barked in the distance; the commander’s menacing horde sent to bring them down. They’re getting closer.

And so are we, Daniel said, pointing to the north-west. Look.

A light flashed multiple times through the trees.

The code for hurry.

With no other recourse but to plod on ahead or end up dead and drowned, their bodies washed ashore, Daniel hauled Sir Christmas to his feet and guided him across the meadow and into the tree line. Branches nipped at their flesh and briars at their shredded trousers. Underbrush took advantage of every vulnerability, assisting the dogs who smelled fresh blood; they were easier to hunt.

Daniel half-dragged his charge as they edged their way closer to the smuggler’s ship and sanctuary. According to the guard, bribed by a sea captain who’d had tremendous success delivering refugees and prisoners from Gravelines to Ramsgate and Sandwich on England’s south-eastern shores. All they had to do was get to the wharf by dawn. Their passage was to be an even exchange as the guard’s brother-in-law, smuggled out of England back to Gravelines, guaranteed their safety.

Sir Christmas’s legs weakened terribly as they broke through the trees. Before them, the quay appeared—decidedly too distant—and yet an encouragement to their defeated souls as they spied a galley moored nearby.

The tide was going out and the wind was brisk.

Salty air moistened Daniel’s lungs, reviving his spirits. Snow flurries trailed down from the sky as smugglers, sailors, and seafaring men hastened to their duties. One on the gangway signaled for them to hurry, his expression grave as he waved them on. Others worked the moor lines, trussing the ship to the dock.

Sails flapped in the breeze. The air sizzled with tension. Sir Christmas checked behind them one more time before collapsing to the ground, unconscious.

Daniel motioned to several men. He’s wounded. Help us.

The crew responded rapidly, and within a matter of minutes, he and Sir Christmas were safely aboard the pirate’s galley and guided belowdecks into a hidden compartment. The anchor was weighed, the sails set, and just before a deck beam was placed over their heads, Daniel spied the dogs breaking through the trees. His heart leapt, fear and paranoia fighting for control, as the ship sailed on and the English Channel broadened before them, the first dawn of freedom illuminating the horizon.

Home.

England.

He was an orphan, a man who’d grown up in a workhouse without a soul to lament his predicament. Still, the shores of the United Kingdom were part of him and dearly missed.

Putting pressure on Sir Christmas’s wound and waiting for the ‘all clear’, his life flashed before his eyes, albeit a short one. He’d been abandoned and forced to cleave out a living in the workhouse before apprenticing with a physician and joining the navy to make more of himself as a surgeon. No one awaited his return.

The ship swayed, vaulting over swells and troughs. The oars worked a steady rhythm, creating the swiftest passage he’d ever seen across the twenty-odd-mile distance between England and France.

"Welcome aboard the Siren, Lieutenant. Boots hammered on the quarterdeck. Someone navigated the thwarts, stopping above them. The deck beams lifted, and Captain Ransome sank to his knees. How badly is the captain wounded? Will he make it?"

Even if I have to kill him myself. Daniel shook off the thought as he elevated himself to his knees, then examined Sir Christmas’s injury. Sunlight illuminated the wound. It was deep, the captain’s breathing ragged. How long he could keep his friend alive was anyone’s guess. Much