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“It is not about betrayal; it is about survival, and I wish you to survive.”
She stared at him, his words haunting her thoughts. Did he care for her? Did he worry over her safety? Or was she merely a servant worth more alive to him than dead?
“You will do as I say and not suffer because of me.”
She lowered her glance to the paper where she had sketched his face. She felt tears rush up to wet her eyes. She fought them like a warrior bent on pushing back advancing enemy troops, and she held them at bay.
“You suffer.” She barely whispered the words.
He looked confused and was about to shake his head when she held up the drawing tablet for him to see.
He was stunned silent, for there in his face she had captured not only his strength but also his weakness. While his features were cold and hard and portrayed him capable of any command, she had captured in his dark eyes the heaviness of his heart when difficult decisions needed to be made. There was his suffering, his anguish of doing what was necessary but not necessarily right. There was the war he fought within himself. Good and evil. He possessed both traits, and they warred within him like vengeful enemies.
He could not take his eyes off the drawing. It was as if he was able to see the two men in one that he had become.
The troubled look in his eyes and the unease with which he shifted in his seat had Reena reaching out to him. She placed her hand over his, and he instantly threaded his fingers with hers and clung tightly.
“You are a good man and help many.”
“For a price,” he reminded her. The feel of her warm, soft skin against his was more comforting than he cared to acknowledge—or was it the thought that she cared enough to offer comfort? He had known such caring once and had desperately missed it when it had been taken from him.
She moved her hand off his, and though she remained close he felt an empty ache fill his heart.
“And what price have you paid?” she asked.
He stared at her strangely.
“You have suffered, have you not?”
His anguish was his own, and he never spoke of it to anyone. Yet she knew. She had captured it in his eyes, and he could see it clearly in his portrait. It was as if she could look into his soul.
Someone dear to his heart had borne a heavy burden for him, and he would not see her do the same. He took hold of her arms, his fingers firm in her flesh. “You will not suffer for me. If captured you will give whatever information is asked of you.”
“Why? So those who impose the torture can torture me more? If I were to do as you say, your enemy would not believe I tell him all. I would be tortured regardless of what information I willingly or unwillingly gave.”
He shook his head, then rested his forehead on hers. “What am I to do with you? You are much too intelligent for your own good.”
Her answer came easily. “You are to trust me as I trust you, for I would not betray you, as I know you would not betray me.”
“You are so sure?” Magnus whispered.
“Aye, I have come to know you these many winter weeks we have shared mapping the keep, though I honestly admit it isyou, Magnus, I have come to know. The Legend remains a mystery to me. I have had but a brief glance of him on occasion, and I know not of him what I know of you, and I wonder if he allows anyone to know him.”
He softened his hold on her. “It is best the Legend remains a mystery.”
“Why? Does he not feel lonely at times?”
“The Legend was born out of necessity and he does what he must.”
She moved away from him, his hands falling off her, but just before she moved out of his reach Magnus grabbed hold of her hand.
“Do you fear the Legend?”
Her nod was gentle as she approached him. “At times.”
“He would never hurt you.”
“Yet he has hurt others.” Her voice trembled in a whisper.
