Copyright 2014 by robindavisfiction. This story may not be republished or posted on other websites without the written permission of the author.
Dear Readers: I was uncertain about which category this story best fits in, so in the interest of helping you to use your reading time well, I chose this category more for the reluctance aspect than the non-consent aspect. The story could probably have also been placed in the loving wives category or maybe others. I appreciate your time and hope you enjoy the story.
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Gabriella stared beyond the surface of the dark window without focusing on anything. She brushed her long thick hair and began to braid it. She could easily braid with her eyes closed and didn't pay attention to her nimble fingers reflected in the glass. She didn't care that it was too dark to clearly see anything the train was passing as it steadily made its way through rugged canyons and deep forests. The images flitting through her mind were of the village she had left many hours before, perhaps forever. She closed her eyes and prayed to a god in whom she no longer had faith to help her keep her husband alive.
Although Antony had not been her first love, nor ignited in her breast the fires of irresistible passion, he was the man she had agreed to marry and the man who had taken her virginity. Her father had been pleased with her marriage to a good man from the church, and she quickly settled into a comfortable routine with a caring and kind husband for whom she gradually developed sincere affection. They enjoyed each other's company and looked forward to a pleasant life together. But, that was all before the war.
Now, she was alone in an empty dining car, exhausted after a full day caring for wounded soldiers. She was too tired to eat. Even if she had been hungry, most of the remaining food in the dining car had been consumed by the boisterous young men who had come onto the train at the previous station. Now, it was well past midnight, and she had at least three hours of solitude before the train reached its destination.
When she had become a volunteer nurse, she had been assured that government soldiers would treat her with respect, but from the start of the rebellion, the regime had employed other men, cruel men, to carry out tasks good soldiers were unwilling to do. There had been rumors of widespread murder and rape in some of the villages that supported the rebellion, and even though all the men on the train appeared to be soldiers, Gabriella was glad when the last one finished eating, drinking and finally left to sleep. The hungry look in their eyes as they watched her work made her nervous, and she always worried that someone would eventually recognize her as the wife of a rebel.
Like most citizens, Gabriella was not interested in politics. She had been apathetic about the corrupt regime that seized power several years before until her husband was drawn to talk of rebellion. It wasn't long before Antony began disappearing for hours late at night to attend clandestine planning sessions, and soon the country erupted into full-scale civil war. Antony's knowledge of engineering made him a valuable member of one of the sabotage groups that drove government troops back decisively at the beginning of the conflict. But now, regime forces were advancing steadily into rebel-held territory, and each day brought more news of rebel deaths and atrocities committed against civilians.
Eventually, Antony's influence and her disgust with regime atrocities led her to become active in the rebellion. She decided to put her training as a nurse to use helping to evacuate wounded rebels before they could be found and executed by government loyalists. She successfully evacuated several rebel fighters, some of whom were friends, and she grew comfortable with the routine of the two-day round trip by train and the precautions necessary to avoid discovery.
But this trip, the last one she would ever make, was different, and her anxiety was at a much higher level. This time, she was smuggling two wounded men to safety whom she cared about deeply, her own husband and her younger cousin Andre. Although both men would eventually recover from their injuries, it would take many months before either could fight well again. If discovered, they would undoubtedly be tortured and killed. Until they were safely off the train, she would remain far too anxious to sleep.
Tonight, her sole focus was keeping their secret safe until the train stopped at its destination shortly after dawn. Once safely off the train they would find a place to hide until they could leave the country. They would join a few trusted comrades who had already escaped, and then they would help to raise money for the rebellion from sympathetic foreign supporters. The two men preferred to fight with guns and explosives, but the rebels were dangerously short of weapons, and they knew that financing the fight was as vital as actually fighting. They agreed that Gabriella, with her striking good looks and intelligence, would make an appealing face of the rebellion in the foreign press. Gabriella found it amusing that she would serve her people by becoming a model.
She felt the fatigue more fully now that her work was done until morning. She didn't want to risk sleep but leaned against the window for just a few moments to let the steady rhythm of the train calm her anxiety. She closed her eyes and thought about happier days when her country was not embroiled in civil war. In her mind's eye she saw herself as a teenager sitting under the big apple tree on the hill above her village watching the bustle of activity in the market below. She thought of her school friends and wondered about the ones who had left the village to seek success in the capital. But those days were gone, and now. . .
She smiled at the sound of a familiar voice from the past. At first, she thought it was part of a dream, but when someone called her name a second time, she sat forward and looked around quickly, exhaustion forgotten.
"Ah, Gabriella. You're as lovely as I remembered."
"D-Dmitri?" Gabriella's heart raced and she felt warmth rise to her cheeks as she stared at the ruggedly handsome face she had given up ever seeing again.
"You do remember me, don't you Little Kitten?" he asked, leaning casually against a window on the other side of the dining car.
How could he think she might not remember? Only one person had ever called her Little Kitten, and hearing his voice and that nickname after so long unleashed a flood of memories—her first dance, her first kiss, and how persistent that boy had been in trying to persuade her to ignore the teachings of her parents and the priests. Suddenly, she felt like an innocent teenage girl again, the way his voice still made her feel like liquid heat was moving slowly through her body.
She took a calming breath and forced the memories from her mind. The past was gone. She was a happily married woman now. Dmitri's unexpected presence on the train was a danger to her, to Antony and to Andre. She had to focus on what was important in the present, not on what might have been in the past.
"You're in the army now?" she asked.
Dmitri grinned as his eyes roved slowly down her body before returning to her face. He walked from the window and sat on the edge of one of the tables. She noticed he had gained weight since their younger days, but the new weight was all muscle. He was a tall man with broad shoulders and a strong jaw.
"I'm a patriotic man," he said, "loyal to my president." He chuckled and asked, "You aren't surprised, are you?"
"No, no, of course not," she said glancing away from his face and toward the window. She sensed she should steer the conversation away from politics.
"Let's put it another way," he said with a sarcastic grin. "To hell with patriotism. Fuck the president. I wear the government's uniform, rank of captain, no less. But I'm loyal to no one. I'm a soldier and an information trader. The army pays me a salary, and government agents and rebels both pay for my secrets."
He watched her impassively, waiting for her to comment. She couldn't read what he was thinking and wasn't sure what to say. "You sell secrets?" she finally asked, trying to keep her tone as neutral as possible.
"I have no interest in the cause of either side," he replied. "But, this idiotic civil war is making me a lot of money. I learn fast, move fast, and deal in the items my buyers are most willing to pay me for—guns, information, even drugs or women from time to time."
"It must be dangerous working for both sides."
He smiled slightly and said, "My men are loyal to me, and I treat them very well, but you'd be surprised how little I have to pay to run my business without taking undue risk. For example, I've got one especially reliable sergeant who'll do anything for me, even kill for me, as long as I supply him with a good looking woman every month or two."
She made no comment, only watched, waited.
"But tell me, Little Kitten," he continued. "You don't mind if the rebel leaders buy a little information from army officers to help them fight the evil regime, do you?"
Gabriella heard the sarcasm in his tone and felt a twinge of fear. What did he mean by that? Could he know the real reason she was a volunteer nurse on a government train? His voice had the calm, smooth quality she remembered, but this was not the Dmitri of her youth. The first boy she had ever loved—gentle, intelligent Dmitri—was now a man, an attractive rogue who had figured out how to prosper in a country trapped in chaos and brutality. Now, he both scared her and somehow thrilled her, and the latter feeling she found very confusing.
She had to be careful what she said to him—especially since he wore the uniform she was fighting against. She would protect her secrets. She would not linger with him, perhaps using fatigue as an excuse to politely get away. But, she was also curious and reluctant to appear rude.
She walked to stand across the table from him. "It's good to see you after so long, Dmitri. It's too bad the day has been so long, and we have so little time before dawn. It would be pleasant to talk a little longer, but I'm very tired." She smiled nervously as she noticed his eyes roaming over her body. She tried to ignore both his seductive smile and the tingling sensation in her belly and breasts.
"Tell me, do you still go to church to hear that pattering fool of a priest?" he asked as his eyes moved to the top button of her blouse.
"No, I don't go to church anymore." She paused and watched him watching her for a few seconds. "Father Philippe was murdered - killed by a young man in another village who caught him naked with his little brother. The child was only eleven, and I...I guess I don't really believe some of the things I used to."
He remained silent, gazing at her as though deep in thought. His eyes moved briefly to her face and then boldly caressed her breasts. She crossed her arms as though for warmth. He dropped his eyes lower and moistened his lips with the tip of his tongue.
She felt herself blushing at how he was undressing her with his eyes and hoped he hadn't noticed the color in her cheeks. She didn't want him to think she was flirting with him. "Did you hear I got married?" she asked softly.
"Of course—to Antony, a good little altar boy. He was always more Christian than I was, by a hell of a margin. By the way, is his wound healing properly?"
"What do you mean?"
He scowled at her. "Don't pretend you don't know. You changed his dressing two hours ago and then tended to your cousin, the one with the broken leg. They're both asleep in the next car."
Gabriella stared and opened her mouth to speak, but no words would come. Tears sprang to her eyes. Dmitri smirked at her. She took a deep breath and forced herself to stay calm.
"Please, you won't tell anyone, will you?"
