"Preoccupied with matters of estate. I wonder how he gets the time for you." She tapped her chin, the strong, square chin that gave her face too much personality, and then her lips contorted into a sneer. "Of course. You are the perfect son. And I... I'm just the unwanted daughter that took Mother away."
"Manu, please."
She shoved him away and raced inside the house.
If only she knew who really mattered to their father. She had been blessedly too young when Pedro was around. Before Mozambique, Fontes had eyes and ears only for the golden boy, his precious godson. Gabriel exhaled long and hard. If he could not make their father care, he must be the one to care for her.
Hooves clattered outside his gate. Lieutenant Lopes, his second in command, limped inside the courtyard. What was he doing here so early? He was supposed to be escorting the king. Had he deserted their monarch? Gabriel opened his mouth to reprimand him when he noticed the state of his uniform. Blood stains marred his white trousers, and his coat had gunpowder burns.
Gabriel's heart ricocheted inside his chest. "What happened?"
"We've been ambushed."
Chapter 8
Erebusgallopedatfullspeed, his hooves battering the macadamized pavement. A pained moan escaped the girl's lips. Pedro tugged the reins to the left, guiding the horse away from the road and over the hayfield. When the horse’s gait turned smoother, her body went lax in his arms. How many times had he seen head injuries in soldiers? The consciousness loss, headache, and somnolence faded after two days. But they were men, stronger, used to battle.
What if she didn’t wake?
She must lie in a proper bed, to be cared for away from the unprotected road. Any moment in the open left them vulnerable to further attacks. Without delay, Pedro needed to collect his brother at the brothel and retreat to the coudelaria. His horse breeding property near the border with Spain was impregnable. Once there, he could plan their next steps.
He pulled the edges of his black cape, protecting her from the wind and curious eyes. If there was someone's life more in danger than his, it was this girl. A nameless, angel-like whore with the devil's own luck.
That voice. The dagger slashing through skin. João Ulrich.
Flashes from Mozambique bombarded his skull—whimpers echoing in the bone-dry ravine, a whittled bird trampled on the trail, hungry flames licking the huts.
Pedro squeezed the reins, his palm moist. He kept his gaze ahead, counting the cork oaks on the field. Still, the memories came, threatening his sanity. Pedro gulped air and tensed the arm that held the girl, bringing her closer. Her warmth seeped inside him, and the past receded enough for him to concentrate on the road.
After they crossed the bridge over the Douro, Vila Nova's whitewashed lodges appeared in his line of vision. Pedro took the path hidden among a grove of pines. The madam's cottage stood away from the village's hypocritical sight but within walking distance.
Pedro reined in, lifting dust from the shabby entrance. A stable lad came running.
"Bring my brother. And the madam."
"Yes, Your Excellency." He bowed and scurried away.
The two-storied house had yellowed walls cracked as if shaken by an earthquake. Near the front porch, magnolias, roses, and daisies, their stems bent, wilted petals lolling, split the parched earth of terra-cotta vases.
He opened the cape. Without the flush of his kiss, the girl's skin was pale. Pedro traced her golden brows, the feathery lashes, but he refrained from touching her lips with his blood-splattered glove. How could she belong in this house? She’d said she was new to this, no doubt turned to this life by a desperate father or a debt-ridden widow.
A frown marred her forehead, and she groaned, her eyes shifting behind closed eyelids. Fighting the attackers in her dreams? Ulrich was a perverted, shrewd blackguard. If he wanted her dead, he would scourge the countryside until he found her.
The brothel slumbered this time of day, but the madam would appear any moment, and he would have to relinquish the angel's weight. Another man would press against her, tainting her with his lust, abusing her until her innocence would harden into greed.
If Ulrich didn't get to her first.
Pedro's shoulders tensed, and he brought her closer to his chest. Not in his lifetime.
Cris exited the porch, coat disheveled, shirt open. Pedro covered the angel with his coat, so not even her glorious hair showed to the outside world.
His brother stretched his arms, a grin flashing his teeth. "You joined me after all."
"Salgueiro was attacked. Take your horse. We need to regroup. Now."
Cris halted, his smile fading. "Attacked? Are you all right? And the servants?"
Pedro shook his head.
