Cate laughed, despite the horrors, despite the shuddering and squealing of war so close to them that all she wanted to do was curl up in the bathtub upstairs and pretend none of it was real. But it was real. Painfully, viscerally, bone-chillingly real.

Hours earlier, she’d watched as the walking wounded had shuffled, limped and hobbled alongside nurses, doctors and orderlies, headed for the beach. Soldiers who should have been bedridden had managed to haul themselves up to their feet, not about to be left behind if there was even a chance of being on a ship headed for home, one using a garden rake as a crutch. And Lilly, who had been part of that procession, had somehow ended up back at the hospital to transport an ambulance full of men who obviously hadn’t been able to walk even as far as the gate. Had she already taken men to the beach and bravely returned for more? She hadn’t thought even Lilly would be so brave. Or stupid.

But if Lilly had space for one more man, then she was going to make sure that Jack was the one who made it. She would do anything to give him a fighting chance.

She cringed as she heard a cry and then yelling, both British and German, and fear raced through her.

“Cate, hurry!” Lilly screamed.

Cate lifted her skirt and raced to Jack’s bed, slipping on the floor as she grabbed hold of the metal railing. He was pushed up on his elbows, the sheet thrown off him. She held out her hand and gripped his arm to help him sit up properly. He hadn’t joined the walking wounded because the doctors had told him he wouldn’t make it, but now she regretted not encouraging him to go.

“What the hell’s going on?” Jack asked.

“The Germans are here already,” she whispered. “We need to go. There’s space on an ambulance for you.”

“Go?” He stood and she grimaced at the way he wobbled, unsteady on his feet after so long lying in bed. “We’re leaving now?”

Cate dropped low and looked for his things, knowing she’d stored his boots beneath his bed for him. She fumbled with the laces and put them down, tapping on his right leg for him to lift it and struggling to get the boot on, then doing the other. He was only wearing a shirt and some long pants, but as the commotion outside the chateau became louder, she knew there was no time to look for anything else. Cold was better than dead.

“Quickly,” she ordered. “We don’t have long.” She prayed that Lilly was still outside, that she hadn’t already been shot waiting for Jack.

“No, Cate. You go,” he protested, pushing at her, the desperation in his eyes only adding to her terror. “I’ll only slow you down.”