Chapter Eight
Willow sat and spoke with the boy, Roland, into the night. He gave her some straw to rest on, and finally, he fell asleep.
She crossed the stables to Christian’s side.
He stared out of the window into the night. The rain pounded on the roof like hammers.
Her gaze moved over him, assessing. He had changed. He was now a man, muscled arms crossed over his broad chest. But his jaw was clenched. He was annoyed.
“We need horses,” he said.
“We can ask the innkeeper who can sell us one,” Willow suggested.
“We don’t have enough coin to purchase a horse,” Christian retorted. His gaze scanned the stabled steeds. “I was thinking of borrowing one.”
Willow shook her head as anxiety swept through her. “Roland will get into trouble if a horse is missing.”
Christian turned slowly to look at her. His lips were a slash against his face. “We need horses. It doesn’t matter if a boy gets into trouble. Wouldn’t you rather find your sister?”
Willow scowled. Hehadchanged. He used to care about people. Now, his only concern was his book. Part of her agreed with him that she should do anything to locate Sage. But that part caused her to feel guilty. “I want to find her,” she insisted. “But I won’t sacrifice a child to do that.”
He approached and stood over her. In the darkness, his anger boiled off him. “Marcus killed Brother Nicolas. What do you think he will do to Sage?”
Willow recoiled at his harsh words. She scanned a dark corner, considering. She would save Sage, but not at the risk of harming another. She just couldn’t do that. It wasn’t in her nature. Instead, she fell back on what had always worked for her, her looks. She softly sighed as if defeated and bowed her head, gazing at him through lowered lashes. “I don’t know,” she whispered. “But don’t you think it’s better not to hurt anyone else?”
Christian pulled back, narrowing his eyes suspiciously.
She blinked and angled her eyebrows into an expression of concern as a flash of lightning lit the room. “Haven’t enough people been killed already?” A lock of her long hair tumbled over her shoulder.
He lowered his head, shaking it. “Fine,” he relented.
His irritation had abated. Willow had learned long ago that people responded to a gentle voice and wide eyes. “We have to check the village, anyway,” she added, sucking in her lower lip.
Christian nodded, running his fingers through his wet hair. Then, suddenly, he straightened and took a step away from her. He held up a finger. “Don’t.”
Willow parted her lips in innocence. “What?”
“Don’t do that.” He signaled to her entire body. “The way you twist feelings.”
She frowned in mock confusion, but she had forgotten that Christian helped refine some of her looks. He called one puppy eyes.
“The way you use your charm to manipulate people.”
“Charm?” she asked. He thought she was charming!
“Your allure,” he clarified.
She couldn’t resist the half-smile that curled up one corner of her lips. “You think I’m alluring?”
“Stop. Stop it. I know you know what you’re doing. That’s how you stole the book.”
“With charm and allure?” He was complimenting her, even if he didn’t know it.
“Yes. No! With your guile. With the way you wet your lips, with the way you let a curl drape over your cheek.”
Her eyebrows rose. “I can hardly control the way my hair falls or that my lips are dry.”
“I know what you do, Willow. And I’m not immune to your lures.”
