“I need to see it,” he reminded her.
Dori nodded and inched up the long skirts, bunching them in her hand until the length of her white, thin leg glowed in the meager moonlight. She saw the tracks of her blood, which looked black in the night, and the long, thin, arcing cut in her skin. It began to throb as soon as her eyes took in its full measure.
Constantine took her lower leg in his hands, his fingertips skimming alongside the wound, his warm, smooth palms cradling her flesh. She raised her eyes to over his head, looking at the dark barbican of Thurston Hold, her heart dropping into her stomach as she observed the lit torches on either side of the gate, the stones between them conspicuously bright and unadorned.
“It’s not deep,” Constantine said at last, lowering her foot to the ground and pulling her skirts down. He looked up at her. “I think it will be fine.”
“He’s not there,” she said and then turned her gaze once more toward the castle. “The banner is furled. Glayer Felsteppe isn’t at Thurston Hold.” She couldn’t bring herself to mention the little boy he kept always with him, her son, to the man before her. Constantine had already shown how little consideration he felt for her child.
“Well, I should say that makes things a bit easier for us,” he said to her surprise.
“Easier?”
“We certainly have a very good idea where he is, if he’s not at Thurston Hold, do we not?”
“With the king, I assume.”
“It must be,” he said, and then paused for several heartbeats. “Think you he would have left . . . your son behind?”
Dori shook her head.
“I’ll find out for certain,” Constantine said. “We must have mounts.”
Dori stared at him for several heartbeats. She could no longer contain the question. “Why did you come, Constantine?”
He met her gaze. “Because you were right in what you said at the cottage.”
She continued to look into his eyes, wishing him to say more, but her pride would not allow her to press him. Instead, she asked, “How did you know I had gone?”
“Christian told me.”
Dori blinked at him, and she knew her frown was obvious.
But Constantine only rose and placed the strap of his satchel over his head and then looked to the eastern horizon. “We have perhaps an hour before the sky begins to lighten.” He looked back at her. “Stay here. If you hear anyone approaching, hide as best you can.”
“Wait,” Dori called out. When Constantine paused and half-turned back toward her, her thoughts stammered with the sheer number of questions she wanted to ask.
Do you love me?
Will you love my son?
Where will we go?
She cleared her throat. “What did you do with Leland? I don’t want him sneaking up behind me after you’ve gone.”
“I doubt that will happen. I tethered his leg to a tree, then made a noose and hung it around his neck attached to his arm. If he attempts to get loose, he’ll likely choke to death.”
“Won’t someone come along and free him? Take pity on him for being a cripple?”
Constantine shrugged. “Leland’s future is not my concern.”
“How will you get past the portcullis?”
Constantine gave her a smile of the sort she had never seen cross his face before—sly and charming and confident, transforming his already handsome face so that Dori’s heart stuttered in her chest.
“I’ve learned a thing or two from my friends,” he said. And then he abruptly stepped toward her once more and leaned down, cupping her jaw and kissing her lightly on the mouth. “It’s time I utilized that knowledge. What sort of general would I be otherwise?”
Dori’s lips were still parted as he turned and walked boldly down the center of the road toward Thurston Hold.
