Thirty-six
Later that night, Jonathan sat across the campfire from Evangeline and her uncle as they shared smoked goat that was as tough as leather and bread that could be used as a weapon. It was the best he could find in the last village.
His and Evangeline’s gazes clashed over the flames.
Her silence was killing him. He had grown accustomed to her cheerful discourse and the warmth of her laughter.
On the journey into the mountains, they spent hours discussing tactical warfare of the Spartans and exchanging ideas on how their individual studies intersected.
In ancient cultures, there would be a ceremony for returning warriors involving dancing, chanting, bellowing at the sky.
Perhaps it was a way to tell the stories of their battles without needing words, she had offered.
He was fascinated by her insight. In those moments, he fantasized about working alongside each other in the field, knowing it could never happen but wishing it nonetheless.
She glanced away. He studied her, memorizing the roundness of her cheeks and how the firelight illuminated her curls, making them appear more red than blonde. He’d thought her pretty when he first spotted her at the docks, but now she was stunning.
Hair mussed and wild.
Dust stains on her gown.
Skin pink from the sun.
“How did it happen?”
Jonathan jumped. He cocked his head, trying to make sense of Wedmore’s question. How had he fallen for Evangeline?
“Farrin recruited you,” Wedmore said, “because I didn’t.”
Evangeline lowered the skewered meat, lips parted.
“He always went after vulnerable young men,” her uncle said. “What happened in your life before he recruited you?”
“My—” He coughed into his fist. “My parents died, but it wasn’t like that. Farrin knew my father from Oxford, and he came to pay his respects after my mother passed.”
Both parents had developed a lung fever soon after their last expedition as a family, but Jonathan never contracted it. The illness took them within a week of each other, and his world flipped upside down.
Wedmore’s lips thinned. The earth shifted beneath Jonathan again, and when Wedmore spoke, his voice was faint as if Jonathan was deep inside a cave.
“Farrin never attended Oxford.”
Evangeline set her food aside.
“What did he promise you?” Wedmore asked.
“Uncle Charles.” Her tone was a gentle rebuke that didn’t stop him from digging.
“I’ve witnessed Farrin do this time and again. Sir Jonathan needs to know the truth about whose orders he’s following. Farrin is conniving and—”
“Give him a moment.”
She held Jonathan’s gaze a breath before looking away. The loss of her warmth left him hollow. He had felt the same when Farrin called at his family’s country estate.
Alone, empty, a gnawing at his insides.
In those first weeks, he’d retreated to the meadow and raged toward the stars.
The sounds were animalistic. Raw. He hadn’t wanted the servants to hear.
They already avoided him or looked through him like he was a ghost if they were unfortunate enough to cross his path.
Then Farrin had shown up, and he saw Jonathan.
“He told me stories about my father I’d never heard. From when he was younger.” He rubbed his itchy eyes. “Are you certain about Oxford?”
Wedmore’s face softened, his eyes dulled with pity. “I’m sorry.”
Jonathan notched his chin. “I’m not a victim. Farrin gave me an opportunity to continue my father’s work and serve my King.”
“And he lied to you.” Wedmore sighed. “It’s what he does. He is a predator, and he has proven it more than once. He waited until I was out of the country to recruit my godson.”
Evangeline gasped. “Margrave too? Heavens above! Do I know any men who aren’t spies?”
“Your father wasn’t,” Wedmore said.
“Your brother-in-law,” Jonathan added.
“That’s a short list.” Evangeline’s eyes narrowed. “Does Lord Dominic know the truth about you? He opened his doors to you.”
Jonathan didn’t want to alarm her, but he couldn’t lie again. “He is one of us, but your sister is safe.”
“Blast!” She hopped up from the ground. “Do you expect me to believe anything you say now?”
“No, but I’m telling the truth. Dom is disciplined about following orders, and he has none concerning your uncle.”
“Only you do.” Her voice was rising. “The man who pretended to love me when really he wanted to get close to my uncle. You’re a liar!”
“I wasn’t pretending.” Jonathan stood, too.
Wedmore tensed, but stayed put.
“Do you think falling in love with you made any of this easier?” he asked. “Do you believe I wanted any part of this damned assignment? I didn’t. I want a wife—a family. I want to study drumming and go on digs without always looking over my shoulder. I want you.”
She drew back. “Th-then why haven’t you resigned? Why not refuse the orders?”
“I tried.” Jonathan walked around the fire to stand in front of her. “I wanted to marry a nice young woman and put this behind me, but Farrin wouldn’t allow it.”
“You could have walked away, even if he refused your resignation.”
He moved closer, longing to hold her. “You don’t understand, love. The only way out is death.”
Her eyes widened.
“Farrin threatened my betrothed. If I’d refused orders, he would have killed her.”
The fire popped. An owl hooted in the distance. Tears misted her eyes, and she exhaled.
“A-are you promised to someone else?”
“I— That isn’t—”
She spun around and ran into the dark.
Wedmore grabbed his arm before he could chase her. “Let me talk to her.”
“I’m not engaged,” Jonathan said. “Miss Thorne cried off before I left.”