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Where
Angels Camp - Excerpt
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 The
unattended room contained many things to interest a man even if the idea
of going to war did not. Christian caressed an odd-shaped helm. An army wearing such a headpiece would frighten the enemy to death. He turned it this way and that, then slipped it over his head. The rusty visor snapped closed. Christian gave it a jerk. Stuck tight. Sucking in a breath of hot moist air, he fumbled with the lock, but the visor would not budge. He tried to shove off the infuriating chunk of metal. The helm clamped itself around his throat. In his shuffling about, his feet bumped something, and he nearly lost his balance. "Be still. You'll hurt yourself." Every muscle in his body tensed at the soft musical voice. Hot coals of embarrassment burned the pit of his stomach. "Stand still, now. Let me help," the female voice insisted. "I need no help." The helm's ventail, with only narrow slits for breathing, muffled his words. He felt a light touch on his shoulder and stilled. The working of the visor's spring pin pressed the helm against his cheek. "There. Now it should open." Christian jerked the visor. Fresh air cooled the top segment of his face. A pair of soft blue eyes gazed up at him. Surrounding her face was hair the color of golden grain. The eyes twinkled, and the woman's lips curved. She averted her gaze to the arming-nail, glancing up at him once or twice while she unfastened a clasp by his neck. Christian did not stir. "You may remove it now," she said, and stepped away. Slowly, he lifted. |
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