Son of a rogue and a gypsy, Hero Fiennes Tiffin was a notorious rake until a shattering betrayal left him alone and embittered in the Welsh countryside. Desperation drives quiet schoolteacher Josephine Langford to ask Hero Fiennes Tiffin to help sav...
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Knowing how exhausted Josephine was, Hero wrapped a firm arm around her as the creaking rope lifted them to the surface. After carrying her through the flooded mine, he certainly didn't want to lose her on the last leg of the trip. She leaned against him wearily, apparently glad for his support.
At the top, he swung over to solid ground, then helped Josephine dismount. The wind was freezing through their soaked clothing.
Huw waited anxiously at the top. His expression lightened when he saw Owen, who had come up at the same time as Hero and Jo. "It's glad I am that you're safe, Mr. Morris. This is a wicked place."
Owen patted the boy on the shoulder. "Mining is not so bad, Huw, though it's not to every man's taste."
"I swear to Lord Jesus that I won't go down there again," the boy said in a solemn voice that was vow, not blasphemy.
As he spoke, the whim gin brought several more men to the surface. One of them, a tall, lanky fellow with a red face, bellowed, "I heard that, Huw-boy, and I don't want to hear it again. To stop your whimpering, I'm going to take you down pit again right now."
The child's small face went dead white. Quavering but determined, he said, "Not ... no, Dad, I won't go."
"I'm your father, and you'll do what I tell you," the man growled. Stepping forward, he reached for Huw's wrist.
The boy shrieked and scuttled behind Owen. "Please, Mr. Morris, don't let him take me."
Owen said mildly, "The lad almost drowned, Wilkins. He needs warm food and his bed, not another trip down pit."
"This is none of your affair, Morris." Wilkins made another lunge for his son, almost falling over in the process.
Owen's face hardened. "You're drunk. Leave the boy alone until you're sober."
The miner exploded like gunpowder, waving a bony fist and snarling, "Don't tell me what to do with my son, you canting Methodist bastard."
Owen sidestepped neatly. Then, with visible satisfaction, he downed his assailant with a well-placed blow to the jaw. As Wilkins lay stunned on the ground, Owen knelt by the child. "You had best come to my house for tea, Huw," he said gently. "Your dad is in a temper today."
Hero winced at the distress in the boy's face, for it reminded him of his own childhood. And the way Owen talked to Huw made Hero think of Reverend Langford.
Not liking the memories stirred, he turned away in time to see Wilkins stagger to his feet, his short-handled miner's pick in his hand. Face ugly with rage, he raised the pick and started to swing at the back of Owen's head.
As shouts of warning rose, Hero stepped forward and wrenched the pick from the other man's hands, twisting it with such force that Wilkins fell to the ground again. Roaring, the miner started to scramble to his feet.
