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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The explosion was heard throughout the valley, and able-bodied men for miles around converged on the mine to help with rescue operations. Since the Bychan shaft was irrevocably closed, Hero ran to the main premises and joined the first group of rescuers to go below ground. Though a couple of men recognized him with surprised glances, no one questioned his right to be there. In the pit, he was not an Earl but another pair of needed hands.
In a rage of energy, he shifted broken stones for hours, until his hands were raw and his muscles trembled with exhaustion. Once he crawled into a precariously balanced tumble of debris and managed to free a youth who was still alive. More often, the men uncovered were beyond help.
After uncounted hours of labor, a new man coming on took his arm and led him back to the lift, saying that he needed rest or he'd be more harm than help. When Hero reached the surface, he found that the fog had burned off and the sun was setting, flooding the valley with a blaze of blood-red light. Somewhere nearby an authoritative voice was barking orders, but he was too tired to pay attention to the words.
As he squinted against the glare, another good Samaritan pointed him toward a table where sandwiches and hot tea were being served. The thought of food turned his stomach, but he accepted a mug of steaming tea that someone pressed into his hand. It was heavily sugared, and the heat and sweetness cleared his head a little. Though he had numerous scrapes and bruises, he felt no pain. He felt nothing at all.
The premises teemed with people. Though some moved purposefully, more were family members hoping for news of the missing miners. Some wept while others waited fatalistically. Hero would never forget their faces for as long as he lived.
He was unsurprised to see Josephine. An island of calm strength in the midst of chaos, she seemed to be in charge of providing food for the workers. Though she was fifty yards away, she must have sensed his glance, for she looked up. For a moment their gazes held as a complex current of grief and compassion flowed between them. Abruptly he turned away, knowing that in his present state she might slide through his barriers. If that happened, he would break down entirely.
Reluctant but unable to stop himself, he walked over to the results of carnage—two rows of bodies that had been laid on the ground and covered with empty coal sacks. He counted twenty-eight. As he watched, another victim was laid to rest at the end of a row. The body was badly burned, but a frantic woman knelt and looked at a ring, then burst into wails of grief. As the body was covered, an older man led her away, tears streaming down his own face.
Sickened, he turned away, and found himself face to face with Marged Morris. At sixteen she had been the prettiest girl in the valley, and she had grown up to be a lovely woman. Now her face was haggard and she looked twice her age. She whispered, "Owen is missing. Is ... is there any chance for him?"
Hero would rather have died in the mine than have to answer her question. Yet answer he must, for only he knew where Owen had been at the time of the explosion. "I don't think so, Marged," he said painfully. "The Bychan shaft is blocked and the tunnels beneath it must have collapsed at the same time." His throat closed. After swallowing hard, he finished, "The engineer doesn't expect any survivors from that part of the mine."
