Pedro tensed his finger, the rifle's stock biting into his shoulder.
With a curse, he lowered the gun. The Duke of Titano would sneer at his useless morality, but Pedro would not attack unprovoked.
The sun reached the mountain’s crest, coloring the river and the devil's bridge in the ember colors of hell. Gabriel raised his arm above his head. An infantryman raced to the Misarella, two more behind.
"Leave it to me." Pedro aimed at the soldier's bearskin and fired.
With the shot's impact, the hat flew and sailed to the riverbed below. His second discharge landed on the bridge's stone railing, an inch from the officer's torso.
Pedro watched as Gabriel shaded his eyes and gazed at the tower. "Go ahead; step over the bridge."
Clouds blocked the sun, plunging the ravine into shadows. Pedro held his breath, daring Gabriel to move.
When Gabriel signaled a recall, the three infantrymen abandoned their advance, and the regiment moved to their saddlebags, withdrawing supplies and faded bivouacs. It worked.
They mounted a siege.
Pedro released a pent-up breath and lowered the Chassepot. "Shoot in the air every hour, Jair. Light the torches and keep them awake all night. Tomorrow afternoon, I want you to send an informant, alerting them I escaped to Spain."
It would give them enough time to board the yacht.
"Yes, sir."
Pedro glanced at the Lusitano mares grazing, the lake reflecting the century-old cork oaks, and his fields of corn and rye. "Jair."
"Yes?"
"Keep the bridge, no matter the circumstances."
Chapter 12
Annehalted,herlegsfrozen. The mountain crest ended ten feet beyond her, giving way to a dome of blue. A group of horses awaited by the coudelaria’s stone wall, their harness jingling. They couldn't leave through here. It must be a mistake.
Mr. Cristiano Queiroz took hold of her elbow. "I know it seems... er, daunting, but my brother is in control—"
Anne pulled away from him and plastered herself on the stones of the coudelaria, her safe place in the past day's turmoil. Cold seeped into her spine, her skin tingling. "The horses can't fly. No matter what your brother says. Please. There must be another way."
"Ana."
She startled. That voice. The Count of Almoster loomed on her front.
Pedro Daun. Half prince, half ruthless fighter.
"We spoke about this. Those men will not let you live. You are only safe with me. Now come."
She lifted her eyes to him, her chin trembling. His stern facade offered no comfort, no warmth.
Cristiano cleared his throat. "Pedro, I think she needs—"
"Ride ahead and scout the embankment."
The cheerful brother huffed, but then his shoulders drooped, and he collected the basket with James and mounted his horse, leaving her alone with the count.
Anne exhaled and forced her gaze to meet his. "I've been thinking. If they blame you for trying to end the king's life—"
"It's called murder."
"Yes. That. Won't the king still be in danger? Shouldn't we try to save him?"
