Page 13 of Bloodlines and Birthright

“You can read my mind, can you?”

“Don’t be churlish. I do know you well enough to guess how you would have reacted to me wanting to coincide our visit here with Miss Wheeler’s.”

“And Defoe’s. Or have you forgotten the robber baron she works for, the one who tried outbidding us for the Mackenzie book in Scotland last year?”

“Tried and failed. And no, I didn’t forget about him. He was at the forefront of my mind.”

I snorted. “As was Miss Wheeler, evidently. Don’t pretend this isn’t about her and your ridiculous feelings for her.”

He stopped. “Ridiculous!”

I stopped too, and apologized. I hadn’t meant to be cruel. “Not ridiculous. That isn’t the right word. All I mean is, first you fall in love with India, then Lady Louisa, and now Miss Wheeler. You’re fickle at best, Oscar, and…” I trailed off and resumed walking.

“Pathetic?” He fell into step alongside me. “Is that what you were going to say?” When I didn’t answer, he added, “I was never in love with India. I admired her. And the way I feel about Miss Wheeler is different to how I felt with Louisa. I can’t explain it, but I do know that even after a year of not seeing her, I can’t stop thinking about her.” When I still didn’t respond, he continued. “I may blindly follow where my heart leads, but at least I do something about the feelings bubbling away inside me.”

My jaw dropped, but I quickly closed my mouth. I had no desire to continue with the argument we’d started after returning from Scotland. I’d said everything I wanted to say on the subject of my nature, and it was best left at that, particularly when Brother Eduardo’s intense gazes were still fresh in my mind.

We fell into a strained silence, our strides purposeful as we followed the sloping road back to Monteoro. Olive groves gave way to the lush vegetation rising up on either side of the road. The trees were at their densest where the road forked into two branches, one leading to Pecco, the other Monteoro. The tree canopies almost met overhead, blocking out the remaining light. All around us it went dark, as if the remaining candle in a room had been existinguished.

Oscar suddenly caught my arm, forcing me to stop. “Did you hear that?” he whispered.

I had heard the distinctive clink of coins, too. I also saw the two men standing several feet away among the trees. One had been handing the other a pouch when they spotted us. They both squared their shoulders. The larger of the two cracked his knuckles.

Then they charged toward us.

Oscar swore and pushed me ahead of him. I ran, relieved to hear his footsteps right behind me. Although he probably had a knife on him, he’d have been foolish to attempt to fight off two brigands. Even if they weren’t armed, they looked like they could do a lot of damage with their fists.

I wasn’t as athletic as Oscar and he soon overtook me. “Faster Gavin!” he urged with a glance over his shoulder. His pace suddenly slowed, however, allowing me to catch up. “They’re not following.”

I slowed too and sucked in several deep breaths. We walked swiftly the rest of the way to Monteoro, keeping one eye on our surroundings lest those men jump out at us. Thankfully we reached the village without incident.

We spotted two Carabinieri chatting in the piazza outside the church where we’d stopped to drink from the fountain earlier. Oscar suggested we report the incident.

“There are two highwaymen on the approach road,” he told them.

At their shrugs, I said, “It’s not a highway, Oscar. They may not be familiar with the word highwayman.”

“Good point.” He turned back to the Carabinieri officers. “Thieves.”

They shrugged again.

“Robbers. Brigands. Bandits.” At their somewhat bored looks, Oscar made a slicing motion with his finger across his throat while pointing with his other hand in the direction we’d just come from.

“The robbers cut your throat?” one of the Carabinieri asked, proving he spoke English after all. “I do not see blood.”

“They may have slit our throats if we hadn’t run off,” Oscar said, defensively. “The point is, there are two unsavory men on that road. You should move them along before the next people pass.”

The Carabinieri exchanged smirks. “Only a fool is on that road in the dark.”

Oscar bristled.

I grabbed his shoulder and pulled him away. “They can’t arrest the men anyway,” I said as we walked off. “They didn’t rob us.”

“In England, they’d be moved on, away from a main tourism center.”

“We are not in England.”

He gave a grudging laugh. “Indeed.”