Twenty-seven
Throughout the night Jonathan left Evangeline to patrol the perimeter only to return to her, tucking her against him. Once, she had turned into his embrace and burrowed her face into the crook of his neck. Her warm breath had skimmed across his skin, and he’d almost surrendered to sleep.
His eyes were gritty when he crawled from the tent at the first signs of dawn. He would let Evangeline and Timothy sleep until sunrise before packing up camp.
Sagging against the boulder, he blinked hard.
The burning eased. He blinked several more times, his eyelids heavier each time he opened them.
The hike down the mountain would be harder for him with no sleep, but once they reached the village at the base, he’d find lodging for them.
Evangeline needed a good meal to restore her strength before they continued on to Athens, too.
He exhaled.
Stinging pain exploded in his scalp as his head jerked back. Hard metal pressed against his neck.
“You in territory,” a man said in broken English. “Who are you?”
Faith! They knew he spoke English. How long had they been watching him and Evangeline?
Jonathan swallowed hard, the knife gliding over his neck. “P-performers.”
Five men towered over him with wide-legged stances, relaxed. They wore simple, dark clothing—tunics, loose trousers, dusty leather vests. Short swords hung at their hips alongside daggers or pistols. Men who fought for a living.
They had moved through the camp without a sound. Professional. Deadly. A cold sweat engulfed him.
One of the warriors crouched near the tarp, looking inside.
“We’re performing at a wedding,” Jonathan blurted. “My wife and I.”
The man in charge nodded. The knife fell away from Jonathan’s neck, and he was jerked to his feet and pulled away. The leader spoke to his subordinate standing guard over the tent. Before he could follow whatever order he had been given, Evangeline came out.
Jonathan’s breath froze in his lungs.
“I see we have visitors,” she said, her gaze sizing up the warriors. “How may we help you gentlemen?”
The leader’s mouth twitched as if he was amused. “Why you are in territory?”
“Oh, dear! Have we trespassed on your land?” She frowned at Jonathan. “I told you to ask for directions. We thought this was the way to Arachova.”
Jonathan simply stood there with his mouth hanging open.
“Why go?” the leader asked.
“To Arachova? We’re performing at a wedding. My husband plays drums and dances.” She nodded toward the frame drums leaned against a tree. One of the warriors went to investigate.
“And you dance?” the man in charge asked.
“No, no,” she said with a soft chuckle. “I’m an artist. I draw portraits. Do you want to see? My sketchbook is in the saddlebag.”
The leader barked an order, and the warrior inspecting Jonathan’s drums dug through the saddlebags. When he found her sketchbook, he brought it to the leader.
The leader flipped through the pages, pausing every so often to murmur with approval. Her drawings were magnificent. Her story was believable.
He closed the book and passed it to her. “Good.”
“Thank you,” she said, pink rushing into her cheeks. “I-I will draw you if you like.”
“No, you good, but me not good to look at. Too old.”
She smiled and politely disagreed. “Older faces are more interesting to draw.”
He chuckled, then must have repeated what she said to the hunting party. They laughed along. One of the warriors thumped him on the back, while another bent over, walking like he was decrepit. The leader fired back, but all of them were laughing.
Jonathan exhaled, trying to relax. If he and Evangeline remained calm, perhaps they wouldn’t be seen as a threat, and the warriors would let them go. Since she was doing a fine job of keeping them safe thus far, he let Evangeline do the talking.
“Is your man good?” the leader asked.
She tipped her head and studied Jonathan. Her expression was trusting, sincere. “Yes, I believe he is.”
Jonathan dropped his gaze. When she learned the truth about him, she would never look at him the same.
“My uncle is also performing at the wedding,” she said.
Jonathan’s head shot up. Her eyebrows arched ever so slightly. Asking him to trust her?
“He left before us,” she said. “Perhaps you met him, too? He demonstrates kicks and twirls. He calls it Wing Chun.”
The leader’s eyes narrowed, and Jonathan tensed again.
“Oh! And he throws knives,” she said. “But he isn’t very good. I wouldn’t want to be his assistant.”
The older warrior smiled. When he repeated the story to the others, they laughed heartily.
“I know him,” he said at last. “Old like me.”
Evangeline shook her head, returning his smile. “Interesting like you. Can you tell me how many days ahead he is? We were hoping to catch up to him.”
“You come to camp. Draw wife.”
“Not without me,” Jonathan said, straining against the warrior holding him back. “Husbands and wives stay together.”
The leader sighed and nodded. “You play drums at camp.”
He spoke to the man holding Jonathan, and the warrior released him. Evangeline rushed into Jonathan’s arms, collapsing against him.
“We can do this,” she whispered. “And I love you, too.”