She screamed and threw the bowl away, hugging her bound hands to her chest and rocking with horror. After a minute she looked up at Sam.
Her face twisted into a grimace of dread. She sat back on her heels, figuring a little distance between them was necessary for her safety.
The bowl sat atop his head like a papal cap. Globs of rice oozed from the bowl, sliding down his face and dangling from his clenched jaw. The only sound in the hut was the plop of rice hitting his chest and crossed arms.
He looked . . . upset. His neck was purple, like her brother Jed’s, only worse. In fact, she was certain his flared nostrils could have blown dragonlike smoke, except that the rice on his nose would have blocked it.
She opened her mouth to say something. Anything.
“Not . . . one . . . word.” He swiped the rice off his good eye with an obviously tensed hand. It occurred to her that he wanted to punch something.
Her mouth clamped shut. She scooted back again, still wary.
Without warning the black beetle scurried between them. She squealed, stiffening and squeezing her eyes shut.
One slow deep breath and she opened them.
Sam’s boot squished the beetle into the hard dirt. Revulsion on her face, she looked up. He glared at her and continued to grind the bug much harder than necessary. From his face she could tell he wished it was her under his boot.
Caution made her move away from him, which was difficult with her hands and feet still bound. She frowned at her hands, then glanced at the dagger next to his leg. After a thoughtful moment she said, “Would you—”
“No!” he roared.
She jumped.
His shoulders moved, his purple neck tensed. The panther was back, ready to pounce.
Fighting the urge to protect her throat, she scooted back across the room fast enough to give Madame Devereaux a goiter. Then she sat in the dark corner, feeling the way Eve must have felt after foolishly eating that apple.
Although the rice really was an accident, just like the slip of the knife, she wanted to apologize, but he wasn’t a forgiving man, so she chose to just keep quiet, a monumental effort when she wanted so badly to speak and be forgiven.
“So long, Lollipop.”
The exchange was on. Sam watched the guards cut the ropes that bound her feet. She looked up, her light eyes tentative and frightened.
“Good-bye, Mr. Forester,” she whispered, her eyes downcast.
They hadn’t spoken during the last day. Since she’d dumped the rice on him she’d stayed in her corner, he in his. All her snobbery was gone, replaced by a meek blond shell. He liked her better with a little spunk in her; as hard as it was to admit, her quietness seemed unnatural. He glanced at her again. An odd sense of guilt, something he hadn’t felt since he’d understood his uncle’s joke, swept through him.
With the exchange taking place today, he could afford to ease the girl’s fear. After all, he reasoned, she’d be out of his hair, and he’d be long gone by the time Luna returned. He had to be. Death at the colonel’s hands would be his only other option.
She stood so regally, yet her shoulders and demeanor screamed defeat. It touched the warrior within him.
“You’ll be back in Manila by tomorrow,” he assured her.
She gave him a weak smile, and her eyes misted. “Go home. Go back to Belleview.”
She sniffed. “Belvedere.”
He grinned in spite of his sore jaw and split lip. “All right, Belvedere.”
She looked him in the eye, an apology searching for forgiveness.
“Forget it, Lollipop. It was an accident.” He gave her a quick nod of his head, a mock salute of sorts. Her face lit with a blinding smile just before they led her away.
Sam stared at the closed door. He kept his severed ropes in place and listened to the sounds of them walking away from the hut. After a few minutes of waiting, he glanced up, figuring by the sounds that it was midmorning. Not long afterward he heard the guards change—the sound he’d been
Her face twisted into a grimace of dread. She sat back on her heels, figuring a little distance between them was necessary for her safety.
The bowl sat atop his head like a papal cap. Globs of rice oozed from the bowl, sliding down his face and dangling from his clenched jaw. The only sound in the hut was the plop of rice hitting his chest and crossed arms.
He looked . . . upset. His neck was purple, like her brother Jed’s, only worse. In fact, she was certain his flared nostrils could have blown dragonlike smoke, except that the rice on his nose would have blocked it.
She opened her mouth to say something. Anything.
“Not . . . one . . . word.” He swiped the rice off his good eye with an obviously tensed hand. It occurred to her that he wanted to punch something.
Her mouth clamped shut. She scooted back again, still wary.
Without warning the black beetle scurried between them. She squealed, stiffening and squeezing her eyes shut.
One slow deep breath and she opened them.
Sam’s boot squished the beetle into the hard dirt. Revulsion on her face, she looked up. He glared at her and continued to grind the bug much harder than necessary. From his face she could tell he wished it was her under his boot.
Caution made her move away from him, which was difficult with her hands and feet still bound. She frowned at her hands, then glanced at the dagger next to his leg. After a thoughtful moment she said, “Would you—”
“No!” he roared.
She jumped.
His shoulders moved, his purple neck tensed. The panther was back, ready to pounce.
Fighting the urge to protect her throat, she scooted back across the room fast enough to give Madame Devereaux a goiter. Then she sat in the dark corner, feeling the way Eve must have felt after foolishly eating that apple.
Although the rice really was an accident, just like the slip of the knife, she wanted to apologize, but he wasn’t a forgiving man, so she chose to just keep quiet, a monumental effort when she wanted so badly to speak and be forgiven.
“So long, Lollipop.”
The exchange was on. Sam watched the guards cut the ropes that bound her feet. She looked up, her light eyes tentative and frightened.
“Good-bye, Mr. Forester,” she whispered, her eyes downcast.
They hadn’t spoken during the last day. Since she’d dumped the rice on him she’d stayed in her corner, he in his. All her snobbery was gone, replaced by a meek blond shell. He liked her better with a little spunk in her; as hard as it was to admit, her quietness seemed unnatural. He glanced at her again. An odd sense of guilt, something he hadn’t felt since he’d understood his uncle’s joke, swept through him.
With the exchange taking place today, he could afford to ease the girl’s fear. After all, he reasoned, she’d be out of his hair, and he’d be long gone by the time Luna returned. He had to be. Death at the colonel’s hands would be his only other option.
She stood so regally, yet her shoulders and demeanor screamed defeat. It touched the warrior within him.
“You’ll be back in Manila by tomorrow,” he assured her.
She gave him a weak smile, and her eyes misted. “Go home. Go back to Belleview.”
She sniffed. “Belvedere.”
He grinned in spite of his sore jaw and split lip. “All right, Belvedere.”
She looked him in the eye, an apology searching for forgiveness.
“Forget it, Lollipop. It was an accident.” He gave her a quick nod of his head, a mock salute of sorts. Her face lit with a blinding smile just before they led her away.
Sam stared at the closed door. He kept his severed ropes in place and listened to the sounds of them walking away from the hut. After a few minutes of waiting, he glanced up, figuring by the sounds that it was midmorning. Not long afterward he heard the guards change—the sound he’d been
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