Bronson raised his chin and looked over at her with one eye open; she could see a small smile at the corner of his lips. But his lips were chapped, and he was too delirious to open his mouth to speak.
“I’m going to get you out of here, do you understand me?” she said.
Slowly, he nodded back.
Luanda removed the dagger from her belt, reached behind him, and cut the thick twine binding his arms to the cross. As she did, he suddenly slumped and fell over, collapsing onto her. The weight of him was unexpected, and sent her crashing down onto the podium with a loud noise, the hollow wood reverberating in the town square.
“Halt! Who goes there!” called out a stern voice.
Suddenly there was a torch in the blackness, and a horse came charging towards them. Luanda looked up, terrified, to see one of McCloud’s men, a royal guard, racing right for them.
She had to think quick.
Luanda jumped to her feet, pulled the dagger from her waist, and as the man charged for her, she reached back and threw it.
She prayed to God that her aim was true. It was a reflex, throwing knives, something she had done since she was a child. It was the one skill she had. And now, she prayed those years had paid off.
There was a noise of blade entering flesh as the guard screamed; she watched as the blade pierced his throat and sent him flying backwards, over and off his horse. The horse kept charging, though, right for her, and Luanda reached over and grabbed its reins, before it could take off again. She then grabbed Bronson, dragged him to his feet with all her might, and draped his body across the horse. She jumped on the horse, kicked it, and the two of them took off.
She heard a chorus of voices in the distance, behind her, but she did not stop or turn to see who was chasing her. She took off down the winding streets of this town, hoping and praying she could get out of here soon.
Her prayers came true. After several more turns, she found herself out under open sky, in the open fields, charging, heading West, into the setting of the second sun and the rising of the first moon. In the distance, as a silhouette, she could see the Highlands, and her heart soared. Just over those mountains, there was safety. If she made it, she vowed she would never cross to the McCloud side again.
She could hardly believe it.
They were free.
CHAPTER THIRTY ONE
Reece woke to the breaking dawn of another day, the first to rouse. He looked around the dying embers of the bonfire and saw all of his Legion brothers still sleeping around it under the open sky. He had been thrilled when Thor returned the night before, and the two of them had stayed up half the night talking. At some point they had drifted off, and Reece had been plagued by troubled dreams. He kept seeing Selese’s face. In one dream, he saw her in a rowboat, adrift at sea, drifting away from him on strong tides; in another he saw her dangling over the edge of a cliff, holding his wrist. In all these dreams she was slipping away from him, and he kept trying to save her, but it was always too late.
Reece had awakened sweating, looking frantically for her. Of course, she was not here. He had not spoken to her since she’d rejected him the day before; he’d tried to forget about her, spending the rest of the day throwing himself into his work, helping the villagers rebuild, trying to push her from his mind.
Yet with every stone he’d laid, with every bit of labor, he thought only of her. For some reason, he just could not shake her from his mind. Despite himself, he had grown fond of this little village, of this simple place beneath the wide open sky, its simple people, its calming ways. It was such a refreshing change from King’s Court. And yet he knew that his time here was almost done, and that he would likely never see Selese again.
Reece paced in the early morning light, tormented over it. She had left things off in an ambiguous way, and he could not be entirely certain if she did not like him. He knew that if he did not try to speak with her now, one last time, then he would never come back here, never take that chance again. He knew that if he returned to King’s Court without taking that chance, without closure, it would haunt him.
Reece felt stuck between two worlds, desperately needing to talk to her again, yet afraid, unsure if she wanted to see him. Her words had been confusing. On the one hand, it had felt like a rejection; but on the other, she had not entirely closed the door, and had made that cryptic reference to admiring persistence. She was a mystery-and that was partly why he liked her. He had never encountered anyone like her, who kept him on his toes as she did. He’d finally met someone who didn’t care about riches or titles or status, who could care less about who he was, or where he was from. She was as pure and genuine a person as he’d ever met-and that just made him love her all the more.
He did not know why he was so obsessed with her. Was it because she had brought him back from the dead? Or was there something else? He felt an intense connection to her, one he could not shake, and he had never felt anything like it before. He could not ignore it, no matter how much he tried. He was burning up inside.
Reece could stand it no longer. He had made up his mind.
He finally turned and hurried off, turning down the streets of the small village, marching with determination to Selese’s cottage. He was overflowing with things to say to her; he needed to know why she had spurned him, and how she really felt about him. He was carrying on a whole conversation with her inside his head, and by the time he reached her door and grabbed her knocker, he was already worked up.
He slammed her knocker several times, the only sound in the sleepy village, reverberating throughout its empty streets. It sounded way too loud, and as a dog began barking in the distance, he felt conspicuous, as if he might wake this whole town up.
He slammed the knocker again and again, until finally he heard a voice.
“All right all right!” came a sleepy voice behind the door.
Reece stood back, suddenly realizing what he had done, suddenly realizing that he was slamming on her door at the crack of dawn-and he felt embarrassed. Now he wanted to turn and run-but it was too late.
Selese yanked open the door and stood there, staring back at him in the early morning sun, wrapping a shawl tight around her shoulders, looking sleepy and very annoyed.
“What has gotten into you?” she asked. “It is not yet sunrise, and yet you slam my door as if an army is advancing.”
Reece stared back, tongue-tied.
“So?” she prodded, annoyed.
Reece stood there, forgetting everything he’d wanted to say.
“I um…” he started, then stopped.
Why did she have this affect upon him?
“I came to say good morning,” he said.
Her eyes opened wide.
“Good morning?” she repeated, incredulous.
Then she burst out laughing, right in his face.
“Have you lost your mind?” she added.
Now it was Reece’s turn to get mad.
“Listen,” he began, no longer able to contain himself. “It’s not right what you’re doing here. Playing games like this. I need you to be honest with me. No more of this.”
She looked at him, baffled.
“No more of what?” she asked. “Are you dreaming?”
“No more of this game we’re playing. I need you to tell me the truth.”
“I’m not playing any games with you,” she said. “I don’t even know you.”
He examined her, frustrated.
“So are you telling me you’re not feeling what I’m feeling?” Reece asked, wanting to get to the point. He needed to know, for his own clarity of mind.
She blinked, taken aback.
