"You took it off because you gave up your dreams for me." He was a selfish bastard.
"No! You’ve got it all wrong." She placed an icy hand on his arm, her eyes moving rapidly, trying to catch his. "I removed it because I found my dream suitor."
"Did you? Then why do you tremble?" Pedro extricated himself from her touch. "Ask me what you need to know about Mozambique, Anne."
She closed her eyes.
The absence of her gaze unmanned him.
"Is it true?"
Pedro pressed his fisted hands over his temples. "You wanted a noble prince and chose the villain."
"I know you. You are sometimes ruthless, sometimes cold, sometimes too sharp, but you are not evil."
"No? If you ask the one hundred and forty families I sentenced to a life of slavery, I'm sure they would disagree. But then, most would not be alive to share their opinions."
"I don't believe you," she whispered.
"They were not like the ones from the photo. Malnutrition did not assail my villagers. The tribe was healthy. At least compared to others in the interior."
Anne stood still, and a single tear sprang from the corner of her eye. He couldn't help but admire her courage. Others would have raced away, clasping their ears.
Pedro shut his eyes and dropped his weight on the bed. "If they could speak to you, they would tell you it was ten in the night when the shooting began. My troop had bivouacked at the arrowhead of the Zambezi, halfway between the village and the port. I formed the soldiers in two columns. The darkness was complete, and I marched toward the torches and occasional flashes of gunpowder. If the wind had not blown so heavily, we might have found the location sooner, but when we arrived, it was too late."
As if he had been transported to that moonless night, Pedro saw it again.
Orange light flickered over the hull and outlined the spiked masts. A slave ship, a human trap, bobbed on the Zambezi River. To the east, Chikunda warriors poked and bullied villagers, forming a thick line. Fires licked the tents, spreading cinders and illuminating their terror.
Hardening his heart against the screams, Pedro rallied his company to stop the captives from boarding. He could hear the rapid breaths of the young soldiers under his command.
Gabriel deployed by his side, his rifle pointed to the ground. "What is happening?"
"Slave traders."
"What will you do?"
"Fight."
No matter what happened on this side of the riverbank, he wouldn't allow the families to be taken from under his protection. His mission was to take them to a safe location, and he would see it to completion.
A white man disembarked from the ship. He strutted as if on a stage. The leader. An eerie silence descended on the riverbank as ashes floated on the wind like black snowflakes. Ignoring the soldiers, he inspected the lined Africans, brutally parting the old and the sick from their families.
The rage his father strove to make Pedro curb surfaced, heating his face and blurring his vision as the leader continued his stroll as if he owned them all. Pedro's soldiers stood their ground, pointing their guns at the Chikunda, waiting for his orders.
Pedro raised his voice above the wailing. "These families are under the Portuguese Army's protection."
The leader sneered. "Count of Almoster, right? Who do you think sold me this cargo?"
He opened his arms wide but kept coming closer. The man was too sure, too cynical.
Understanding spread over Pedro's chest like black oil. These people had been traded, and he had been the delivery boy.
He would persecute whoever had given the slave trader the information about their mission.
Pedro eyed his soldiers, reading the determination on their faces, and he knew what he had to do. "Slave trading is illegal. The king—"
The leader scoffed. "Go back to the coast, to the girls you soldiers enjoy so much. This is not a matter for boys. Visit thedanguro. Tell them João Ulrich sent you. They'll give you the house special."
