Thunder & Roses

Chapter Ten

With an attempt at lightness, Josephine said, "You, praying? I must have water in my ears."

He chuckled. "My friend the notorious Michael was a soldier before he decided to become rich instead. He said once that there are no unbelievers on the battlefield."

He felt a small ripple of amusement from her, but it passed quickly. When she spoke, her voice was tight. "Do you think Owen and Huw were able to escape the flooding?"

"They should be safe," he said, hoping his optimism was not misplaced. "Owen was some distance ahead of us, and I don't think it was much farther to the door the boy operates. They may be clinging to a prop, like we are, but with luck they made it through the door and closed it behind them. That would have slowed the water and given them time to reach a higher level."

"Dear God, I hope so," she whispered. "But there may have been other miners caught by the flooding. Bodvill probably didn't withdraw this far when he set the charge off."

She was shaking violently. Guessing why, he asked, "Was your father killed in this area?"

"No. That happened at the other end of the mine." After a long silence, she burst out, "I hate this place! Dear God, how I hate it. If I could close the pit tomorrow, I would. So many have died here. So many ..." Her voice faded away and she hid her face against his shoulder.

"Did you lose someone else special?" he said quietly.

At first there was silence, except for the ripple of moving water. Then she said haltingly, "Once ... once I had a sweetheart. We were both very young—I was fifteen, Ivor a year older. But I admired him, and he admired me. We watched each other. Sometimes after chapel we talked, trying to say what we felt, using words anyone could overhear." She shuddered, then finished in bleak words more vivid than melodrama. "Before matters could go very far, there was a gas explosion. He was burned alive."

Growing up in the valley, Hero had seen the innocent passion of the young villagers as they found their life's partners. Though a cynic would say that such affairs were rooted in mere animal lust, Hero had known better; he had only to think of Owen's courtship of Marged. From the beginning, the two had been bound by such sweet, awkward radiance that it had hurt to see them together. Hero had been bleakly envious; he had never been that innocent.

At fifteen, Josephine would have been much like Marged—pure of spirit and loyal of heart. Would young Ivor have been worthy of her gift of first love? Josephine would never know, just as she would never have to risk betrayal, for her sweetheart had died when their budding love had still had infinite possibilities.

Ever since they had reached the pit, Hero had been forcing himself to suppress his protective instincts for Josephine. Now he abandoned the struggle and offered what solace he could. He whispered, "Such courage you have to venture into the depths." Inclining his head, he touched his lips to her wet face, tracing a path across the curve of her cheek.

She gave a soft, wondering sigh when their lips met, her head falling back against his shoulder. Her mouth was warm, a tantalizing contrast to her cool cheek. The water supported her weight, and it was easy to mold her yielding body against his. Their saturated clothing compressed and warmed where they touched, creating a feeling of nakedness. She didn't seem to mind that his thigh was between hers, or that her breasts were flattened against his chest.

At first he kept the kiss simple, almost chaste. But there was nothing chaste about the desire she aroused in him. Experimentally, he parted his lips a little. Her mouth opened under his and there was a delicate exchange of breath.

Emboldened, he touched her lips with his tongue. She made a small, surprised movement, and for a painful moment he thought that she would decide that she had had her kiss for the day. But instead, her tongue shyly touched his, and her hands made light brushing motions down his back.