A Nightingale Christmas Carol by Donna Douglas

Author:Donna Douglas
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Random House

Chapter Twenty-Five

‘What do you mean, you don’t want to get up?’

Stefan turned his head away so he wouldn’t have to see Kitty Jenkins standing at the end of his bed, the calliper in her hand. How he’d come to hate that damn thing over the past few months!

‘It’s Christmas morning,’ he muttered.

‘Yes, but you haven’t been out of bed in two days,’ Kitty said. ‘It’s not like you. You won’t get better if you don’t put weight on that leg, you know.’

She was trying to encourage him, but this morning her cheerfulness only grated on him.

‘Please, Fraülein, do not waste any more time on me,’ he said. ‘There are other patients who need you more than I do.’

‘But I want to help you,’ she said plaintively. ‘We’ve worked so hard . . .’

He saw the hurt in her eyes and felt his treacherous heart melt.

Seeing her face, so open and filled with trust, Stefan realised that he could easily fall in love with her. Perhaps he was already in love with her. He had never been in love, so he couldn’t tell. But he knew how it would end if he allowed himself to submit to his feelings.

He should never have let his guard down. But he was like a dog, starved and beaten throughout its life, who had suddenly been exposed to kindness and a gentle hand. It was only natural that he would want more.

But he couldn’t allow it to happen. It was wrong and it was dangerous. Cruel as he was, Felix had made him realise how reckless he had been to let his guard down, and now it had to end. Better to cut himself free now than to live with the lingering pain.

She was still holding the calliper out to him. Stefan looked at it, then back at her. ‘Why?’ he asked.

She frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

‘It is a simple question, Fraülein. Why do you want to help me? I know how much you and your family dislike the Germans, and with good cause. Surely you would rather I was in my grave than on my feet?’

Kitty opened her mouth, then closed it again. ‘You’re not like the rest of them—’ she started to say.

‘Why? Why am I not?’ He saw her flinch at his harsh tone, but he couldn’t help it. Suddenly her answer was very important to him.

Kitty was silent for a moment, searching for an answer. ‘Well . . . you’re not from Germany, for a start—’

‘No, but I am still a German. I am an officer in the German army.’

‘But they made you join up. You said so . . .’

‘Perhaps, but I still fought for them. I killed for them.’ He saw her flinch but he knew he had to say it, to push a final wedge between them, to destroy any lingering shred of feelings they might have for each other. ‘I have killed a great many men, Fraülein. Young men, like your brother—’

‘No!’ she cut him off.

‘You do not want to believe me.

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