The Stolen Years. Fiona Hood-Stewart

all right?” Franz asked him anxiously as Gavin flopped on his bed, cold sweat racking his body. He leaned back, his eyes closed, feeling nauseous. Was it possible his twin had left him to die? He squeezed his hands into tight fists, his knuckles white, seized by doubt.

      That night he barely slept, tossing and turning, positive one minute that Angus had betrayed him, convinced the next that it wasn’t so. To distract himself, he set his mind on ways of escape. Glancing at Franz, peacefully asleep in the next bed with his face etched by the light of the full moon, Gavin wondered just how far the man could be trusted. He seemed to be on their side, but could he be sure?

      At 3:00 a.m. in the pitch dark, he rose, stiff and restless, to smoke a cigarette.

      “Wo gehen siehen?” the nurse asked peremptorily.

      “Annelise?” he whispered, offering her a cigarette. She relaxed, smiled as his eyes lingered on her face and he ran his fingers though his hair. The patch that had been shaved was growing back, thick and black as ever, and she was obviously not oblivious to his Gaelic charm, whatever she might have heard about the British.

      He motioned for her to go to the far end near the door, where they could sit, the flame from the match lighting her face. She was pretty enough, he considered. Full, round breasts, a trim waist, shapely hips that could only be imagined under the stiff uniform. He went suddenly hard, picturing her skin melding to his. As though reading his mind, she leaned closer. It was a risk, he realized, blood pounding. A big risk, yet an enticing one. If she so much as squeaked, they’d shoot him. But for the first time since arriving in the godforsaken hospital, he felt alive, back in the game, dodging danger.

      He raised a hand to her cheek, his eyes mesmerizing. “Shön, beautiful,” he whispered, hearing the quick intake of breath and sensing no rejection when his hand dropped below the stiff edge of her collar toward her generous breast. He reached her nipple and she shuddered under the many layers of material that separated his fingers from her flesh.

      It was exhilarating to peer through the shadows and know that this enemy nurse, decked out in her prim stiff uniform, was hot, wet and throbbing for him. A rush of power, followed by the primeval need to possess her, overwhelmed him, and he wondered where he could take her to satisfy the urgent, consuming need.

      Pulling her close, he felt her breasts press against his chest. Then she led him by the hand, glancing about cautiously as they slipped from the ward, out into a muddied alley that separated the buildings. She pointed to a nearby hut some two hundred feet away.

      Making sure the coast was clear, Gavin followed her across the alley and slipped inside the hut, closing the door hastily behind him before striking a match. As his eyes became accustomed to the dark, he recognized a bed and what appeared to be piles of clean laundry in the corner. He laid the matchbox on the table, fascinated by the shafts of moonlight lighting Annelise’s hair. In one swift movement he reached up, pulled the pins from the neat chignon she wore and watched the thick, silvery-blond mass fall about her shoulders. Then their bodies cleaved impatiently and they tumbled onto the tiny bed, the need for one another too acute.

      He was about to undress her, but his hip brought him to a grinding halt. Swearing under his breath, he smiled apologetically, wondering what the hell to do. To his surprise, she turned her back to him and kneeled forward, leaning on the bed. Twisting her neck, she smiled invitingly. Gavin got behind her. Raising the stiff skirt above her waist, he gazed through the shadows at her pert, shapely bottom, encased in the ugly suspenders that held up thick regulation stockings.

      Fumbling with excitement, he undid his pajamas, all danger forgotten as she raised her buttocks in a brazen demand for satisfaction, and slipped his fingers between her firm thighs, savoring her need, her stifled gasps, prolonging the moment for as long as he could before entering her with a swift, hard thrust. She moaned softly, writhing as he grasped her waist, and they fell into a frantic rhythm. When he came, he spewed all the pain, doubt and anger of the past months, and let out a sigh of satisfaction as he leaned against her, still feeling her throb. Then, as he opened his eyes, he heard Annelise mutter a strange name in a muffled whisper. All at once, he realized with a shock why she hadn’t wanted to look into his eyes. They were the wrong ones.

      The sound of boots squelching in the mud had him extricating himself hastily. He pulled up his pajamas, while Annelise straightened her skirt and fumbled on the floor for her hairpins. Retrieving them, she gave her hair an expert twist, and he handed her the cap, laying a finger over his lips and listening carefully as the footsteps came closer. She trembled, and he slipped his arm around her as the sound grew louder. When the footsteps stopped outside the hut, she began to shake. A nurse who betrayed the fatherland would be shot, just as he would, if they were caught. Gavin felt suddenly ashamed for allowing instinct to overcome reason, annoyed that he’d put her in danger. After all, she was just a young girl, suffering the ravages of war.

      All was silent now except for their heartbeats. He leaned forward against the rickety wall of the shanty, ears tuned, and peered through the darkness for another way out, reluctant to strike a match. As far as he could see, there was only the flimsy wooden door by which they had entered, and that opened onto the muddy path leading to the ward. He couldn’t risk letting her leave alone, he realized, squeezing her close. If she were caught she might scream rape to save her skin. Damn. He could tell by the sudden darkness and chill in the air that day was about to break. He was almost certain there was only one man out there. Probably the sentry, doing his last round, had stopped for a smoke. Gavin held his breath, feeling the girl’s heart beating wildly and her teeth chattering.

      “Annelise, we must raus,” he whispered. “If they find us here, they will kill us.” He drew his hand across his throat, then pointed to her and at himself. She nodded tearfully and the trembling increased.

      As a tiny sliver of gray light appeared, Gavin pressed his eye between the slats but could see nothing. Withdrawing, he turned again to Annelise. Then, as dawn broke, he distinguished clothing, hanging on hooks on the opposite wall and piled in a number of baskets. Looking closely, he saw they were freshly pressed German uniforms. He turned Annelise around by the shoulders and pointed silently to the baskets, indicating that he needed something to wear. She nodded, moving quickly, while Gavin picked up a heavy, unlit gas lamp from the shelf and stood with it raised behind the door, in case it opened.

      Annelise rummaged through the piles, then turned, holding up a German uniform that looked about his size. He smiled and their eyes met as he laid down the lamp and took the uniform from her, putting it on over his pajamas.

      “What about boots?” he whispered, pointing to his feet, clad in felt army slippers. Gavin watched in amazement as she opened a locker, where several pairs of immaculately polished boots stood in a symmetrical row. She went straight to the largest pair and handed them to him, along with some heavy, gray, knit socks. He pulled the boots on, ignoring the steady increase of pain in his hip and thigh. Finally, she handed him a cap. Gavin put it on, then grinned and raised an eyebrow. Annelise smiled despite herself, easing the tension as they tiptoed to the door. Gavin pointed to himself.

      “Ich first. Count to ten minuten.” He held up all his fingers and she nodded. When she grabbed his sleeve, he saw the fear in her eyes and held her close, then dropped a hard kiss on her mouth. “It’ll be okay.” He used the universal American expression and raised a thumb. She nodded. Then he edged the door open and sent up a silent prayer that it wouldn’t creak.

      Peeking through the crack, he saw the sentry’s back turned toward the telltale smoke rising above his shoulder. Gavin guessed that he was probably three-quarters of the way through his cigarette. The seconds dragged as they waited anxiously for him to finish. Other than the sentry, the coast seemed clear. All that lay between him and the field hospital was a muddied stretch of dirt.

      Finally he saw the cigarette butt tip into the mud, and the sentry tramped off. With a sigh of relief, Gavin slipped outside and walked purposefully toward the ward, realizing he had no idea what rank he held. Two soldiers passed and saluted respectfully. He returned the salute, struck by the humor of it. This was easier than he’d thought. The other uniforms in the hut had set his mind working. As he walked quietly through the silent ward