If You Dare by Kresley Cole Page B

never made it out of Andorra.”
    Niall whistled and said, “Pascal’s a clever bastard. He’s going after Isabella’s crown.”
    â€œBut that would mean Annalía’s useless to him while her brother’s still alive. The minute he has her, Llorente’s dead.”
    â€œNo, he won’t be,” Vitale declared emphatically. “Pascal will try to use Master Llorente as a figurehead.”
    â€œWrong.” Court shook his head, giving Vitale the same expression he knew his five men were giving him as well. “Your master’s going to be killed if he is no’ already.”
    â€œAnd you just ensured she’d go,” Niall muttered from behind him. “Good on you, Court.”
    He shoved a hand through his hair. “Damn it! Why did she no’ ask again or explain everything?”
    Vitale cast him a black look. “She told me just before sherode for Pascal that she would rather be a murderer’s wife and possibly have access to free Llorente than be a mercenary’s whore and have to trust a fiend like you with her brother’s life. She said six or half a dozen—either way was unbearable.”
    When Court pictured her alone and afraid in Pascal’s always darkened home, he had an off feeling in his chest, like a painful shifting. “Oh, bloody hell, Vitale. You might’ve mentioned this earlier.”
    â€œSix or half a dozen?” Niall swore under his breath. “Court, you really are cursed.”

Nine

    L ast night for the dinner welcoming several odious supporters of the general, Annalía had been given a demure yet luxurious gown. Tonight Pascal had sent her a wholly red, ridiculously low-cut farce to wear. While everyone else enjoyed the village festival, she and Pascal were to have a private dinner. Just the two of them. With a dress like this, Annalía could guess why.
    She was endeavoring to work it higher over her breasts with hopping and yanking when Olivia entered without knocking. The witch strolled straight to the wardrobe to survey Annalía’s clothes with an acquisitive gleam in her eyes. This morning her jewelry had suffered the same indignity.
    â€œWhat do you want?”
    â€œTell me,” Olivia said casually as she took out, appraised, and returned a gown, “why he is unmarried.”
    In an instant, Annalía had her whirled around and her hands clenched around Olivia’s arms. “You’ve seen Aleix?” She could tell she’d surprised her. “Have you?”
    Olivia shoved her arms loose. “Why isn’t he married?” she stubbornly asked again.
    Did her curiosity mean she was attracted to Aleix? All the women in the village thought he was handsome with his tall build and his somber, golden-colored eyes. Mare de Déu, could this spawn of Pascal have feelings for him? And how could she use that to their advantage?
    â€œHe’s a widower,” she admitted, though she felt as if she dangled a bare foot to a viper. “His wife died in childbirth.”
    Olivia’s face was a blank slate. Annalía couldn’t read her. “He has a child?”
    â€œNo, his daughter died as well.”
    Olivia shrugged. So that Annalía wouldn’t slap her, she forced herself to imagine that Olivia hiked her shoulders every time something particularly upsetting was said.
    â€œWhy are you interested?”
    She ran her finger across the coverlet on her way to the window. “I was merely curious about my father’s prisoner.”
    â€œLet me tell you more,” Annalía said as she perched on the edge of the bed. Olivia turned to stare out the window, but she didn’t say no.
    â€œAleix is a good man, a strong man. He lives in a beautiful manor overlooking pastures filled with his champion horses. Each day he watches them run, and though he says nothing, I know how pleased he is with them.”
    Had her shoulders relaxed somewhat?