A bull bellowed mournfully. Another replied, and then silence. The wind ruffled the olive leaves and lifted clouds of sand from the empty arena. Minutes crawled into hours. Pedro checked the sun's position. At least three o'clock.
Dust lifted beyond the hill, and then the clap of hooves neared. A team of harassed horses came into view. They pulled a crestless barouche, windows covered by black curtains. The coach winded down the road and halted at the building's main entrance.
Pedro held his breath, his finger hovering over the trigger.
The coachman jumped from his perch and limped to the door. Pedro stopped breathing. When Anne alighted, Pedro shuddered, his eyes closing briefly, and he released a painful breath. Thank God she was alive.
Ulrich exited the carriage next.
Pedro tensed to pull the trigger, but the slave trader flung his arm over Anne's shoulder, the black of his clothes engulfing Anne's slight frame.
Red hot rage clouded his vision, and Pedro cursed under his breath, lowering the rifle.
"Easy, brother. You will have another shot."
Ulrich led Anne through the entrails of the bullring, and Pedro followed their progress through the rifle's scope. The couple oscillated from Pedro's sight as they navigated the wooden maze below the tiered stands. Pedro's heart drummed against his chest, and he took measured breaths.
The slave trader emerged at the highest bleacher. Pedro kept aim as Ulrich circled the ring through the glaring light until his vision plunged into darkness. Panting, Pedro lowered the scope and realized his error. An error that could cost their lives. Ulrich had timed his arrival with precision. Unlike the noon's brightness, the three o'clock sun illuminated only three-quarters of the bullring. Ulrich had chosen the one quart plunged in shadows. Thesombra.
Pedro strained his vision but could make out only vague silhouettes.
Dread gnawing his stomach, he lowered his Chassepot and stood. "Signal the guard to wait. I will enter the arena."
Cris grabbed his arm. "This is utter madness. Ulrich will butcher you."
Pedro had no intention of dying today. But he could no longer let Anne remain at Ulrich's mercy than he could stop breathing. Pedro stared at his brother's red-rimmed eyes, the desperation in his familiar face tugging at his heart.
Pedro clasped his brother's neck, kissed his forehead, and yanked him in for a hug. His voice, when it came, was rough. "You were right. I never forgot Mozambique, and I didn't allow you to forget. I'm sorry."
"Why are you telling me this drivel?" Cris demanded, his eyes humid.
"Because I love you."
Cris nodded, his chin trembling like a child's. "You better bounce back alive, or I will chase you to hell."
Pedro held his brother's gaze, then ruffled his hair and handed him his rifle. "I will try to lure him to the light. When you get a clear aim, shoot the blackguard."
Chapter 45
UlrichforcedAnnetosit at the bullring's top. The sand glimmered white, the pureness marred by russet spots. Whose blood was it? The bull or thetoureiro? The relief of being spared Ulrich's proposition had worn out, replaced by dread. What kind of brutal act had Ulrich planned? She peeked at him, trying to glean his intentions, but since Ega had interrupted their meal, he had become a sphinx. Anne eyed the exit with longing. With Ulrich slouching by her side and the two guards flanking the bleacher, she had no chance of escaping.
A flock of doves flapped their wings desperately and took to the sky. At the opposite side of the ring, a wooden gate flung inward.
Ulrich stirred, and a demonic smile lit his face. "Querida, won't you look? The spectacle begins."
Pedro strode through the arena, his black clothes contrasting with the sand. Anne's heart sped as she drank in his beloved face, and without conscious thought, she rose to reach him.
Ulrich grabbed her wrist, grazing his nails over her skin, and forced her to sit. "Pets move when they are told so."
Anne cradled her bruised wrist and touched the knife resting in the folds of her dress. Hate for their tormentor poisoned her veins, and a vivid thought of her plunging the blade into Ulrich's flesh made her wince. Could she do it? Kill another?
Pedro halted at the arena's center, his posture regal, his chin lifted, his hair gleaming golden in the harsh sun. Didn't he see the trap? A scream locked in her throat, and she gripped the wooden plank to stay still. By God, wasn't he so clever? A strategist? She scanned the wings of bleachers behind him, looking for Dante, for Cris, anyone to help him fight the madman seated by her side. But he was utterly alone.
"Our major attraction has arrived." Ulrich placed his hand above hers and raised his voice. "I will have your weapons, Almoster."
The ferret guard dragged his feet in Pedro's direction. She couldn't see his expression, but she could bet he sneered. Still, he didn’t step close until her Pedro was disarmed, and then he hastened out as soon as he took the guns.
Pedro's gaze touched hers. Concern and desperation warred in his lovely eyes, and Anne managed a feeble smile, trying to reassure him.
