Sage loved a man? The thought was almost incomprehensible to Willow. Sage had never shown interest in men, only books.
“Wait a minute,” Raven finally said, rocking her black-haired head in confusion. “What is going on? Sage, you told me you and Marcus left the chateau together.”
Sage nodded. “We did.” She took a deep breath and captured Marcus’s hand in hers.
Emotions churned inside Willow. Happiness, confusion, unease. She backed to Christian’s side for comfort, peering at Sage in understanding.
You can’t pick who you love.
“It started with the book,” Sage admitted.
“The book Willow stole from me,” Christian added.
“Stole?” Sage and Raven echoed, and their gazes fixed on Willow.
Willow’s jaw dropped guiltily, and then a smile slowly stretched across her lips, and she bit her lower lip. “I’m just so happy to see you both.”
“No,” Raven said firmly. “Don’t distract us. You stole that book from Christian?”
“You said it was a gift,” Sage added. “I knew it wasn’t.”
“When did you see Christian?” Raven asked.
The dark-haired man behind Christian sheathed his sword and crossed his arms, sneering at Marcus. “Apparently, there are many misunderstandings.”
Willow sighed. “Remember that inn we were at with Father?” And then, she recalled Verm’s words and straightened. She tilted her head to see behind them into the dark shadows of the barn. “Where is Father? Verm told me he was dead.”
Raven cast a troubled glance at the dark-haired man beside Christian. Dread and sadness filled her eyes.
The man went to her side.
“Father is dead,” Raven announced.
Stunned, Willow froze. It couldn’t be true.
“What?” Sage asked, confused. “How? When?”
Sorrow crested over Willow. She had known, but she hadn’t wanted to admit it. She searched the landscape for answers, her gaze shifting from the barn to the fields and the night sky without seeing them.
Christian put an arm around her shoulders.
Raven was silent, pursing her trembling lips together.
“Pierre Boucher killed him,” the man with Raven explained.
Willow inspected him. His black hair came to his shoulders, and he had a square jaw. She didn’t know him, but Raven was comfortable with him. Still, how was he so knowledgeable about her father?
“Who is Pierre Boucher?” Sage inquired.
Willow shook her head. “How could he have killed father? I mean…” She ran a hand across her runny nose. “He’s John Hawke.”
“Willow,” Raven whispered sympathetically and stepped toward her.
“Boucher captured him, and while his men held him, he ran him through,” the dark-haired man answered Sage.
Willow flinched as if she could feel the sword strike.
“I couldn’t help him,” Raven admitted, her voice thick with regret.
