Chirps filled the trees' foliage. Still, Inês’s garden hadn't survived the drought. Her hyacinth had brown leaves, lifeless. She couldn't remain in Portugal, not without the hyacinth, not without happiness.
Hooves sounded outside her cottage. The baggage train had left for Albuquerque, but her escort was expected only tomorrow. Who could it be? Heart leaping, Inês dropped the baby cap she had been knitting and tiptoed to the front door.
Dom Pedro cantered inside the courtyard and halted, lifting plumes of dust in the bright morning. He vaulted from his steed and raced to her as if he had left for a hunt, not two seasons.
Inês lifted her fingers below her chin in the silent language for him to stop. Pain washed out the joy on his princely face, and Inês trembled.
For several months a widower, he could've made her his wife. His queen. Perhaps he never would. It was not in him to defy his father.
But he loved her, and her heart could not beat without him.
Inês opened her arms.
Anne closed the book and sprang to her feet. Dazedly, she left her bedchamber and climbed the stairs to the second floor. A sliver of light wavered from the master's bedroom, calling her in. The window invited inside a fragrant breeze, the gauzy curtain flowing like a bride's veil. Beyond, the ocean, blue and vast.
Anne swept her gaze over his possessions, the Almoster coat of arms carved on the four-poster bed, his guitar poised by the bedstand, the two sabers crisscrossed as if locked in perpetual battle. She picked up a linen towel, tracing the embroidered P and D, and raised the cloth to her face, but his cedar scent eluded her.
Pedro was everywhere in this airy chamber, but he was nowhere at all.
She closed her eyes, trying to picture the faceless gentleman that had accompanied her since her heart had begun dreaming of fairytale love. But she could only see Pedro's sharp edges—a warrior, a cynic, a fugitive. A future with him would not be the comfortable, gentle family life she had envisioned with her perfect gentleman. Pedro would be a dictator to his wife, but only when it concerned her safety. He would also demand a woman's constant guidance to understand his emotions and respect hers. A future with him would not be frictionless.
Still, he would be a fierce father, and nothing would bring her more joy than him falling in love with their first child. Fridays would be for riding, Saturdays for sea bathing. He could teach the boy how to fence and ride, eyes shining with the same pride he’d shown her when she had solved the code. She could teach their daughter to play the piano, and Pedro would follow with the guitar.
Tears slipped from her eyes, and she cleaned them with the cloth.
Inês had stayed for her Dom Pedro, and the obstacles to their love had not been the childish whims she carried around her neck or the shadows of Pedro's past. Inês had dared to fight for her love, risking her pride and her own life.
Anne's fingers shook as she opened the clasp and removed the chain. The gold locket's weight was slight compared to all the hopes she had placed inside it. She kissed the pendant and, smiling through her tears, closed the chain around Pedro's bedpost.
Beatriz burst inside the bedchamber, her pallor gray. "Thank God, I found you."
Anne dried her cheeks. "What happened?"
The maid leaned on the threshold, panting. "There are strangers. Outside."
Anne grabbed her skirt and rushed downstairs. She addressed the housekeeper, her voice cracking. "Have you discovered what they want?"
Dona Hilaria rubbed her thick arms, her face twisted in anguish. "They say they work for the king and are searching for the Count of Almoster."
"Did you tell them there are only women here?" Anne closed the French doors to shield the house, but its delicate portals and oversized windows would grant them no protection.
"Yes, Miss. But they are rude men. Quite insistent, one of them is. They say they won't go away until they see my employer."
Dante, a mean-looking rifle on his shoulder, stopped pacing and turned to the window. He tugged the curtain and stood there, trying to glimpse these strangers. Anne glared at the Italian's back. He had yet to speak since they had congregated in the parlor. Granted, he was a man of few words, half of them Italian imprecations, but this went too far. Would he be of no help? If Pedro were here, he would know what to do.
Beatriz touched her arm. Her face had lost all color. "Can't we let them in? Won't they leave us alone if they don't find His Excellency?"
Anne shook her head. "If they set foot inside the count's bedroom, they will realize the house belongs to him."
Pedro's warnings flashed in her mind. What if the men outside worked for Ulrich? Would they hurt them or take them hostage or worse?
A sharp knock on the door made her jump so high she almost bumped the chandelier. Anne calmed her breaths. Acting like a frightened hen wouldn't help.
Beatriz cried, covering her head with a pillow.
Dante pushed away from the window, his face impassive. "Miss Maxwell, go upstairs."
Anne stood but paused halfway to the landing. His grim expression chilled her spine."What will you do?"
