here.”
“I’ll find him.” I wrapped my arm around her waist to support her.
Through the dungeon, we made our way up and out, and then lingered at the top of the stairwell, waiting for our pathway to clear.
“I can’t leave without them.” She trembled.
“I’ll come back.” My gut wrenched when I realized Alicia didn’t look pregnant.
Gaunt, she became distant and tears soaked her pale cheeks. Then, as though coming round a few seconds later, she murmured, “Felipe sent his men to arrest us.” Her hand lay on her belly. “I lost the baby.”
I felt an awful, twisting grief and couldn’t imagine what she endured. “How did he know you were in Italy?”
“Felipe told me he intercepted a letter from Salvador’s mother.” She grasped my sleeve.
I let out a slow breath. “I’ll come back for them.”
When we reached the stables, I found what looked like a fast horse and bridled him. I patted his neck, trying to earn his trust as I slid on the saddle and then secured the girth around his chest.
I turned to Alicia. “Promise me,” I held her arm to make sure she listened, “you won’t stop until you get to Miranda’s home.”
Alicia nodded. “I remember it.”
With my assistance, Alicia grasped the reins and mounted.
“Neither of you can stay there.” With caution I led the stallion out. “Felipe may come looking for you.”
Alicia sobbed. “I can’t leave.”
“It’s getting dark. They won’t be able to catch you. Hold on tight.” I slapped the horse’s rump.
Alicia galloped off and I continued to watch her, making sure she didn’t turn the horse around. She rode well and was light in the saddle. I prayed she’d make it.
Two guards came from out of nowhere. A fist struck my jaw and an unseen foot kicked me forward into the dirt.
I spat out soil and then came an awful pressure of a man kneeling on my back, and hands choking me.
Muffled orders were shouted our way. The knee lifting its weight, the hands easing their grip, I sucked in air . . . and yelled my rage.
* * * *
A lone soldier was ordered to guard me. His gruff expression was all I needed to find something else to look at in the office.
My throat hurt so bad, I had trouble swallowing.
An oversized mahogany writing desk was positioned in the center, and pretentious leather-bound books furnished the shelves. Upon the wall behind the desk hung a painting, a portrayal of the biblical tale of Belshazzar’s Feast.
Prince Belshazzar’s morbid expression matched my own. He’d made the mistake of insulting God. He, his wives, concubines, and other cohorts had tasted from the sacred vessels stolen from Solomon’s temple. The prince glared back at a disembodied hand that reached out of a cloud of nowhere.
The guard coughed and I caught him wiping his brow.
I turned my attention back to the painting where God scribed in Aramaic that Belshazzar’s days were numbered.
The door opened and several men entered, closely followed by Felipe.
Salvador was somewhere within these walls, held prisoner, at Felipe’s mercy. I had to persuade Felipe to let him go.
Felipe followed my gaze. “You’re unable to appreciate the significance of such a portrait.”
A lump in my throat, I swallowed hard. “Where’s Salvador?”
Felipe neared the canvas. “God’s reckoning with an arrogant man,” he leaned in close, “Belshazzar believes himself greater than his creator. Sound familiar?”
“God destroys Belshazzar’s seat of power,” I said. “Sound familiar?”
“My men have gone after Alicia.”
Belshazzar’s eyes bulged and the petrified expressions of his guests reflected the horror of my own drama. I steadied myself.
“No reaction?” Felipe looked amused.
His men patted down my jacket and found my knife.
“Was that for me?” Felipe drew near. “I can add conspirator to your list of crimes.”
“Where’s Ricardo?” I asked.
“Home.” Felipe picked up a parchment from his desk and handed it to me.
“I’ll find him.” I wrapped my arm around her waist to support her.
Through the dungeon, we made our way up and out, and then lingered at the top of the stairwell, waiting for our pathway to clear.
“I can’t leave without them.” She trembled.
“I’ll come back.” My gut wrenched when I realized Alicia didn’t look pregnant.
Gaunt, she became distant and tears soaked her pale cheeks. Then, as though coming round a few seconds later, she murmured, “Felipe sent his men to arrest us.” Her hand lay on her belly. “I lost the baby.”
I felt an awful, twisting grief and couldn’t imagine what she endured. “How did he know you were in Italy?”
“Felipe told me he intercepted a letter from Salvador’s mother.” She grasped my sleeve.
I let out a slow breath. “I’ll come back for them.”
When we reached the stables, I found what looked like a fast horse and bridled him. I patted his neck, trying to earn his trust as I slid on the saddle and then secured the girth around his chest.
I turned to Alicia. “Promise me,” I held her arm to make sure she listened, “you won’t stop until you get to Miranda’s home.”
Alicia nodded. “I remember it.”
With my assistance, Alicia grasped the reins and mounted.
“Neither of you can stay there.” With caution I led the stallion out. “Felipe may come looking for you.”
Alicia sobbed. “I can’t leave.”
“It’s getting dark. They won’t be able to catch you. Hold on tight.” I slapped the horse’s rump.
Alicia galloped off and I continued to watch her, making sure she didn’t turn the horse around. She rode well and was light in the saddle. I prayed she’d make it.
Two guards came from out of nowhere. A fist struck my jaw and an unseen foot kicked me forward into the dirt.
I spat out soil and then came an awful pressure of a man kneeling on my back, and hands choking me.
Muffled orders were shouted our way. The knee lifting its weight, the hands easing their grip, I sucked in air . . . and yelled my rage.
* * * *
A lone soldier was ordered to guard me. His gruff expression was all I needed to find something else to look at in the office.
My throat hurt so bad, I had trouble swallowing.
An oversized mahogany writing desk was positioned in the center, and pretentious leather-bound books furnished the shelves. Upon the wall behind the desk hung a painting, a portrayal of the biblical tale of Belshazzar’s Feast.
Prince Belshazzar’s morbid expression matched my own. He’d made the mistake of insulting God. He, his wives, concubines, and other cohorts had tasted from the sacred vessels stolen from Solomon’s temple. The prince glared back at a disembodied hand that reached out of a cloud of nowhere.
The guard coughed and I caught him wiping his brow.
I turned my attention back to the painting where God scribed in Aramaic that Belshazzar’s days were numbered.
The door opened and several men entered, closely followed by Felipe.
Salvador was somewhere within these walls, held prisoner, at Felipe’s mercy. I had to persuade Felipe to let him go.
Felipe followed my gaze. “You’re unable to appreciate the significance of such a portrait.”
A lump in my throat, I swallowed hard. “Where’s Salvador?”
Felipe neared the canvas. “God’s reckoning with an arrogant man,” he leaned in close, “Belshazzar believes himself greater than his creator. Sound familiar?”
“God destroys Belshazzar’s seat of power,” I said. “Sound familiar?”
“My men have gone after Alicia.”
Belshazzar’s eyes bulged and the petrified expressions of his guests reflected the horror of my own drama. I steadied myself.
“No reaction?” Felipe looked amused.
His men patted down my jacket and found my knife.
“Was that for me?” Felipe drew near. “I can add conspirator to your list of crimes.”
“Where’s Ricardo?” I asked.
“Home.” Felipe picked up a parchment from his desk and handed it to me.
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