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There was no reason he should have been allowed to stay at Las Colinas, poisoning every well he drank from.
“Roman.”
“Shelene,” he said at the same time, pulling his horse to a stop. “This is my fault.”
“No! It’s mine. You warned me. Repeatedly.”
“I dealt with this sort of element every day of my life for the past fifteen years. I should have known where his malevolence would lead. I should have done more to protect you and Antonio.” He leaned toward her, gripping her horse’s reins. “Whatever happens, it is my responsibility.”
He watched tears flood her eyes. “I couldn’t bear losing him. We must find our son.”
“I won’t stop until we do.”
They rode again, Roman pushing them hard the short distance to the town.
When the horses’ hooves clacked against the stone pavers, they slowed. Shelene followed behind him. They were known by many in Arco de la Frontera. Roman nodded, but they didn’t stop to converse. The church was in the town square ahead of them. He glanced left and right. Tension built in his body.
There did not seem to be anything unusual amongst the town folk. The butcher was outside his shopping arguing with a farmer over the price of two cows. The baker stacked fresh loaves in a bin at his shop door. Three boys shepherded twenty or so sheep through the street, accompanied by a small dog.
They dismounted in front of the church. Roman took Shelene’s hand. “Don’t be afraid.”
“I am afraid, but not for the reason you think. If I kill a priest in his own church, I don’t know if there is any forgiveness for my soul.”
“If that is so, what does a priest say at heaven’s gate when he explains his premature death is because he kidnapped an innocent child? If there is a God—”
“Roman, don’t say such a thing.”
“I was going to say, if there is a God, he knows exactly what will happen in the next few minutes. I don’t think anyone is going to have to explain on judgment day.”
They started up the stone stairs. As Roman stepped into the church, he saw Shelene pull one of the flintlocks from her leather pouch. “Leave it,” he whispered. “For now.” He peeked through the doors to see the church had only ten women seated in the nave, scattered and in their own spiritual world.
He glanced back at Shelene. “Father Etienne is still saying mass.”
“Do you see Durra or Antonio?”
“No,” he said, closing the door quietly.
“We need to go in,” she said.
He leaned against the door and heaved a deep breath. “Would you be willing to go in alone? And sit up front?”
“This is all wrong. Why would Father bring them here knowing he has to say mass? And why would he be so careless to let it be known he was the one who took Antonio?”
“It may be wrong, but we aren’t going to learn anything until we talk to him.”
Shelene pressed her hand to her chest.
“What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know. I feel giddy. Anxious. I want to laugh at the absurdity and cry with grief. What’s wrong with me?” She bent over. Roman ran his hand over her back.
“Take a breath. Going into battle, untried men are often weak with fear.”
“You are not afraid?”
“I’m terrified. Strong men are afraid too, but they often have experience on their side.”
“If this is how one gets experience, I never want to leave Las Colinas again.”
