Twenty-six #2
“Then we should find their camp and try to negotiate.”
“No, they will contact you and your sister,” he said. “We need to return to the villa and wait. You and I could be taken too, and the ransom will be even more.”
She nibbled her lip again, blinking as her gaze shifted around the small space. He could almost see her strategic mind running through scenarios and discarding them one by one. She released her lip, her shoulders sinking as she exhaled.
“You are right,” she said. “We know too little about them to outwit them, and I am not like Regina. I haven’t kept up with my Wing Chun training like she has. Not that it would do much good against a group of skilled warriors.”
He nodded grimly. “If you don’t receive a ransom request soon, I will come back for your uncle.”
“Are you sure the camp was his?”
He could lie to her, and to himself. He could say he was protecting her, but the burden of withholding the truth was weighing him down. “Some of the marks left behind lead me to believe it was.”
“What did I miss?”
“The heel gouge in the dirt.” He met her eyes. “It is from a Wing Chun defensive turn. And the knife mark in the tree, the angle of it. It wasn’t a common brawl."
She went quiet. Dusk was inching closer, the air cooling with every moment. “I wish we had made it further away,” she said softly.
He sat beside her to wrap his arm around her shoulders. She turned into him, letting go, her weight sagging against his chest. She slipped her arms around his neck, holding tightly—trembling as he held her.
“I promise to watch over you,” he murmured as he caressed her back. “At first light, we will leave.”
She didn’t let go, so neither did he. After a while, her breathing evened out, synchronizing with his.
She drew back slowly with her arms still looped around his neck.
Her cheek brushed against his. His fingers tightened on her waist. When she leaned her forehead against his, closing her eyes with a sigh, the world around them disappeared.
If he could be like this forever with her, he would fight off anyone—the mercenaries, Farrin, the entire Regent’s Consul. She was truly his other half. And they had no future.
He inhaled and released her.
“Are you hungry?” He ducked out of their makeshift tent to untie the donkey. “I will take Timothy to the stream first, then we can eat.”
“Oh,” she mumbled. “S-sure.”
He led the donkey to the bank where Timothy waded in and dipped his head to lap up the water. Jonathan kept checking the campsite and the surrounding area. Each time he saw it was all clear, his heartbeat slowed a little.
He wouldn’t rest easy until he had Evangeline back with her sister and brother-in-law.
You never should have brought her, fool.
But he had listened to her arguments. She had been logical, and a secret part of him had wanted to be alone with her—to see what life could have been like for him if he had never joined the Regent’s Consul.
A wife who loved antiquities as much as he.
Someone who didn’t grow bored with his talk of frame drums or his study of Athena.
Back at the campsite, Evangeline hadn’t moved from the tent. He secured Timothy and gave him a feeding bag before rummaging through the saddlebags on the ground.
At the last village they had passed through, he had bought loaves of bread, figs, and olives to last for a couple of days. He had found smoked lamb for Evangeline since she didn’t like salted fish. Grabbing an extra blanket on the way back to the tent, he ducked inside with their meal.
“I am sorry about the fire,” he said and laid out the food before wrapping the blanket around her shoulders.
“Do you want to share?” she asked, holding up an edge of the blanket.
He shook his head. “I am still warm from the climb,” he lied.
They ate in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. Every time he swallowed, it sounded like a cannon in the small space.
A jackal howled in the distance, but she didn’t jump like the first time she’d heard one. After they ate, he wrapped the remaining food to return it to the saddlebags.
“Do you want to freshen up in the stream?” he asked.
“Not tonight. It’s too cold.”
When she reclined on the pile of blankets and pulled the other up to her neck, he put the food away and walked the perimeter of the campsite, listening for any unnatural sounds. It was quiet, except for the trill of crickets and gentle burble of the stream.
He returned to the tarp but sat outside, his back propped against a boulder. A breeze blew across his warm cheeks, soothing now, but it would become uncomfortable soon.
It was quiet in the tent. Maybe she had already fallen asleep. After the strenuous climb and their discovery earlier, she deserved a night of oblivion.
Every half hour, he walked around the campsite to stay awake and check for danger. Timothy dozed lightly, his ears flicking with a soft swish-swish when a small animal rustled beneath a nearby bush. The deep-throated croak of a frog drifted from the stream.
Jonathan’s muscles relaxed. The familiar sounds were reassuring; nothing threatening was hiding in the dark.
He returned to his post and sank against the boulder. It was going to be a long night.
A while later, a murmur came from the tent.
“Evangeline?” he whispered.
She didn’t answer. He peeked inside and heard her teeth clicking together. She moaned, shuddering.
Damnation. He couldn’t let her freeze to death.
Before he could argue himself out of it, he crawled into the tent to lie beside her, tucking her back against his chest. When he draped his leg over hers, she sighed but didn’t wake as her shivering slowed.
After a few minutes, she stopped shaking completely and mumbled something in her sleep. He closed his eyes, soaking in the feel of her, her sweet scent. Her soft curls tickled his nose, and he smoothed them away from her forehead.
She settled. No more restlessness; no more murmurs. He stroked her hair again and lightly kissed her temple.
“I love you,” he whispered. So much that he ached with hopeless loneliness.