"Do you know how the church says when a person," she swallowed, "ends her own life, she won't go to heaven? Do you believe it?"
"I must believe all are bound to the same place, angel."
"My father… he killed himself." Her pained breath spread over his chest. "I should have helped. Prevented it. But I wasn't attentive enough. I wasn't listening."
He searched her face. Where did she hide such grief? She didn’t possess a trace of hardness or bitterness. As gently as he could, he traced her heart-shaped scar, wondering if it still pained her. "You were but a child."
Chin trembling, she shook her head. "Griffin believed Father thought only of himself when he left us behind, but he was wrong. That morning, Mother asked me to cheer him up, but I didn't go. If I had not left him alone, he would be here. You were right. I'm not truly noble. Deep down, I'm selfish."
Eyes moist and red-rimmed, she sighed. Pedro stared at the bulkhead, exhaling through his mouth. He knew guilt's faces intimately, knew how it consumed a person’s joy. Unlike him, she had no reason to carry such a burden.
"Your father's problems must have loomed higher than the giant waves we crossed today. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have left you."
She lifted shimmering eyes to him. "You think?"
If he had one certainty in this world, it was this. Anne's nobility shone brighter than any star. Pedro tucked hair under her ear. "I know."
She smiled that wobbly smile that was hers alone, and then she sighed, a deep sigh that emerged from her soul. She gazed at him as if... as if he was the man he was meant to be.
Pedro's breath caught, and he dove into her eyes. The Atlantic depths accepted him. The restlessness, the vise roping his lungs, ruptured. One thread snapped, then the other. Pedro inhaled, letting her acceptance fill him, willing it to last.
God, it felt good to be that man.
He placed her palm over his chest, where his heart beat, and brought her flush against him, trapping her hands between them.
Outside, the waves quieted. Anne's breathing turned even, soft bursts of air over his skin. Pedro joined her in Orpheus's realm, confident sleep would bring no nightmares.
Chapter 31
Theirsmallpartyrodeover the chalky path, the clatter of hooves buffed by acacias lining the road. A soft breeze rustled through the fernlike leaves and cottony blooms, exhaling a sweet, jasmine-like scent. Hemera fought with the bridle, wanting to stretch her legs after so many days confined. Anne didn't care, the jarring impact of the trot infinitely better than the languid rocking of theDawn Chaser. The azure sky had pushed yesterday's storm into the past. All had survived, and the memories of the waves would fade.
Hemera tugged the reins from her hands. The jerk made the leather rasp on Anne's injuries, and she flinched. The salve had done wonders, but it still hurt. Her days with Pedro, and especially the nights, had brought to light a surprise. A warrior who could also heal?
Pedro had mended more than her fingers with whispered words in the dark of his cabin.
He rode by her side, his posture straight, carrying aloofness like a mantle. By now, she was familiar with his moods. He was preoccupied. She couldn't blame him. So much rested on his shoulders. The need to search for Braganza's evidence and the situation with his brother.
"It's my fault, isn't it? Cris’s departure?"
A heavy exhale. "You are not the reason for our disagreement."
The usually cheerful, boastful brother had left after they’d disembarked this morning, cantering away without a goodbye.
Anne fidgeted with Hemera's mane. "Does it have to do with Mozambique?"
Pedro glanced away from her, ostensibly to inspect the horizon. A sudden rustling in the bushes made Erebus prick his ears and dance to the side. Whispering in Portuguese, Pedro quieted the stallion. "How are your hands?"
Anne raised her brows. "Just fine, thank you."
She let the matter drop. For now. Were they not friends? How could a friend watch another suffer from a sore in the past and not try to relieve it? What could have happened between the brothers so far away, so long ago, and still carry such weight in their lives? With any luck, she could ease his burden after they arrived at his villa.
Anne peeked at him from below her eyelashes. "You owe me a lesson on Lusitanos."
"What do you wish to know?"
"The English thoroughbreds are bred for racing. What are the gifts of the Lusitano?"
"War and bullfights. The Lusitano has innate courage and obedience. Both traits needed to face a raging bull or charge a plain stormed by heavy artillery."
