“ ’Tis safer if I take her through the alley to the ship. I will meet you at the other side of the pier.”
The stranger nodded.
With a hard thrust, Colyne drove his sword into another attacker and then withdrew his blade. He grabbed Marie’s hand. “Run!”
The slap of their steps echoed around them as they sprinted toward freedom.
“Why did you leave the cathedral?” Colyne demanded.
“I told you,” she said between breaths, “I must return to France.”
He shot her a hard look. “Once we reach the Kincaid, you will explain what was so bloody important that you would risk your life—all our lives—for it. Is that clear?”
Marie kept running, resigning herself to her fate. Once onboard, she would tell him the truth.
Embraced by the decaying streets, with the clang of swords their backdrop, the love they’d made seemed but a dream, his tenderness more so.
The ship’s whistle pierced the air, announcing the vessel’s imminent departure.
They weren’t going to make it. Marie slowed, but he tugged her forward.
“We have to return to the docks. Otherwise we will be too late!” Colyne pointed toward a dilapidated building a short distance ahead. “We can cut through there. Then we will circle back.”
They neared the hovel and found the door ajar.
He slipped inside, with her close behind, and then jerked the door shut. Darkness enveloped them, ripe with the scent of stale bread and ale. He navigated through the broken beams and rubble with sure steps, then led her into the next alley.
In the distance, the dark-haired stranger Colyne had called Logan stood at the edge of the dock. He waved them forward and then slipped over the edge.
The rub of wood groaned against the pier. Ropes splashed in the water.
Heart pounding, she shook her head. “The ship has left the pier!”
Colyne sheathed his sword. “Go!”
She pushed her tired body to keep pace. At the edge of the weathered dock, a small boat nudged the wooden post below. Relief swept her when she saw Colyne’s friend sitting inside, hands ready at the oars.
The stranger glanced toward the other side of the pier, where a melee of men and swords continued. “Hurry!”
Colyne jumped into the craft, turned, and braced his feet against the hull. He reached for her. “Come.”
She didn’t hesitate, thankful when his powerful arms wrapped around her waist.
The small boat listed as Colyne shoved them from the pier. “Row!”
Water slid from the bow against the stranger’s efficient strokes, each cutting deep into the sea to heave the sturdy craft forward.
Colyne helped Marie sit on the slatted wooden floor. With a relieved sigh, he dropped beside her.
She prepared for Colyne’s wrath, evident by the deep lines on his brow. Instead, he embraced her, held her with such fierce compassion tears burned her eyes. Shaken at how close they’d come to dying, she sank against his chest, his strength a welcome balm against the day’s uncertainties.
“When I saw the knights dragging you into the alley, I thought . . .” Colyne’s lips trembled as he pressed a kiss against her brow. “You are safe now, ’tis all that matters.”
“You were boarding the ship when the knights caught me,” she said. “I did not think anyone saw me.”
“I heard you scream.” He cupped her face, his worried gaze addinganother layer to her guilt. “Bishop Wishart would have made arrangements for your passage.”
“I know, but I could not wait.”
