Christian watched Marcus retreating. “I don’t trust him.”
Sage narrowed her eyes and tilted her head in irritation. “Because he hasn’t proved himself, despite teaching Willow to swim?”
Christian scoffed. “If you could call it that,” he muttered.
She nudged her horse forward until it was even with his. “Because he brought us to a safe place?”
“It’s difficult for me to believe he has changed,” Christian admitted.
Sage leaned toward him. “Believe it. Because he has changed.”
Raven gestured to a grove of trees in the distance and steered her horse in that direction.
Willow followed, her gaze lingering on Christian. She smiled, her lips quirking up in amusement, as she directed her horse toward the beckoning shade.
“What does he have to do to prove to you he’s changed? That he’s on our side?” Sage demanded.
Christian inhaled, considering her question. “After everything he did, I’m not certain he can.”
Sage ground her teeth. “He’s proven it to me,” she said softly. “And that should be enough for you.”
Christian bowed his head. It should be. But he couldn’t forget how de Nogaret had relentlessly pursued him, how he had killed Brother Nicolas, and how he had stolen the book. “I’m not blinded by love.”
“I’m warning you, Sterling.” Sage’s voice had taken on a dangerous tone, her eyes blazing with a fire that could almost be felt. She jabbed a finger at Christian. “We’re all working together. Put this out of your mind.” She spurred her horse after her sisters and threatened, “Don’t make me thrash you.”
Christian smiled. The thought of her thrashing him, a grown man, was incredibly entertaining. Memories of when he was a child and had been taken to task by his father came to his mind. That was a long time ago. He shook his head in amused disbelief, the word “thrash” echoing in his head.
Willow sat nestled at the foot of the towering tree. Raven stood a few feet away with her arms crossed firmly over her chest, examining the town with an intense, expectant gaze as if she thought it would erupt in flames at any moment. Sage was leaning back against the tree trunk beside Willow with her eyes closed as if in meditation.
Willow’s gaze lingered on Christian, standing a few paces away from her, surveying the forest with a sharp gaze. His black leggings hugged his muscular thighs, and she followed them up to admire the round firmness of his bottom. His beige tunic draped over his broad shoulders, and his hands rested on his waist, tensing his biceps so that they pulled against the fabric. He turned his head, giving Willow a view of his profile. His strong jawline was lightly dusted with stubble. His long chestnut curls swooped down to his shoulders, and one suspiciously familiar curl dropped over his forehead, mesmerizing Willow. She felt the urge to reach out and touch him, to bask in the beauty of his being. He was magnificent.
Sage elbowed her.
Jarred out of her reverie, Willow turned to her.
“I said, ‘do you hate Marcus as much as Christian?’” Sage repeated with annoyance.
Willow shrugged. “Of course not. You love him, and that’s good enough for me.”
Sage nodded.
Willow removed the etching of the flower from her boot. She unfolded the parchment page. “What’s our plan?”
Sage softly exhaled. “You’ve given us a place to start.”
“Hertford. In England.”
“But once we get there, I don’t know where the directions start,” Sage admitted.
Willow studied the beautiful image of the flower, grateful Sage had made it for her. She ran her thumb lightly over its raised borders. “May I see the book of maps?”
Sage reached into her armor and pulled out the book of maps. She handed it to Willow.
Willow opened it to the map of Hertford and placed the etching over the map. They matched perfectly, the edges fitting along the borders of the map. The interior of the flower image was blank. Willow picked up the parchment and studied it. There had to be some indication, some clue, of where to begin. Squinting, she peered at it more closely and noticed a faint dot—a small, raised mark in one corner of the map. She traced her fingertip over the spot and wondered why it was there. Was it a mistake? There were no other blemishes on the etching. “What’s this?”
Sage leaned in, inspecting the etching. After a moment, she snatched the book from beneath the parchment.
Willow lost her grip on the parchment, and a gust of wind carried it away. She made a desperate grab, but it sailed up out of her reach. Willow leaped up, stretching for the paper as it twirled in the air.
