Nicole Jordan (23 page)

She had accomplished her goal, Max reflected, for he clearly saw the import. What he’d thought was simply an arm of the Foreign Office held a far greater meaning: a secret society of valiant men and women dedicated to an epic mission, bound by honor to protect noble ideals.

He had suspected that the island held secrets. But this was far more than he’d bargained for when he’d accompanied Caro here.

“Max…” Caro paused, then said with quiet conviction, “We want you to join us.”

Turning away from the sword, he ran a hand roughly through his hair. No matter how special the order’s purpose, he was far from certain he wanted to devote himself to a future that could lead to a repetition of his worst nightmare.

“I don’t have to give you my answer now, do I?”

“No. We know this decision is not a simple or easy one.”

His mouth curved wryly. “I should say not. You’re asking me to wholly embrace your cause. To dedicate my life to the Guardians.”

“Not your life. Only a few years. You should know there are conditions for noble newcomers settling on our island. Except for those granted asylum, any outsider of noble heart who wants to remain must commit to at least five years of service. The island charter requires it.”

“And who enforces the charter? Sir Gawain?”

“Yes. He has the power of life and death over all of Cyrene’s inhabitants. The charter confers that responsibility on him.”

“Would he honestly sentence someone to death for choosing not to join?”

“No. But he can banish anyone he wishes from Cyrene, lock them away in chains, confiscate all property….”

“So if I chose to stay here, I would be required to join your order?”

“Yes. But our members see service in the Guardians as a calling. And you said you wanted a greater purpose for your life.”

“That was a long time ago. Before the war.”

She remained silent.

“I am honored by your faith in me,” Max said finally. “But I need time to decide something this momentous. Let me first get through this mission in Barbary.”

“Of course.”

With difficulty, Caro repressed the urge to argue further. At least Max hadn’t refused outright, as she’d expected. Yet she didn’t hold out much hope that he would accept. Knowing what she did about his past, she could fathom the effort it would take simply for him to participate in the rescue attempt.

Max was a lost warrior. An errant knight who had sentenced himself to emotional exile. She felt in her heart that he belonged here with the Guardians, but what she longed for and what he could bring himself to live with were two very separate things.

For Max to embrace the Guardian’s cause, he would first have to come to terms with his demons. And Caro wasn’t certain that would ever happen.

Either way, he had to decide his own future. She couldn’t push him into it.

She could only hope that in the end he would choose to join of his own volition.

Chapter

Twelve

Max drew rein before Olwen Castle two afternoons later, studying the massive stronghold with a fresh eye. Bathed in sunlight, the castle glowed golden, yet by some trick of light, it seemed almost ethereal.

His imagination, however, could be misleading him, Max admitted. After hearing the remarkable tale of the Guardians and viewing the legendary sword they protected, he was more open to the notion that the entire island possessed a special enchantment.

He was completely convinced, however, that Caro possessed a special enchantment.

He had admired her before, because of the odds she had fought, the challenges she had overcome, trying to enter the male field of medicine. Now that he knew about the Guardians, his admiration had only increased.

He hadn’t seen Caro since that night. They had planned to meet at the grotto yesterday, but she’d sent word that Dr. Allenby had taken ill—suffering from chills and fever—and that she would have to assume his rounds over the island for the next few days.

Max expected her to attend this afternoon’s conference, though, when they gathered to develop a preliminary plan of attack for rescuing Lady Isabella.

Caro was indeed already waiting in Sir Gawain’s study, along with John Yates and Alex Ryder. She looked a little weary, Max thought, as if caring for Dr. Allenby’s patients had already taken a toll. But her soft smile suggested that she was glad to see him.

By the time the room filled with Guardians, her smile had faded and her expression was completely focused and intent. From the strain on her face, Max could see that her urgency hadn’t diminished in the slightest.

Sir Gawain opened the meeting by making introductions. In addition to Santos Verra and Captain Biddick, a half-dozen other men were present. Max familiarized himself with their individual skills before taking control of the discussion.

“For the moment we will presume Lady Isabella is being held in the chieftain’s fortress,” he stated at the outset. “Our first objective is to find a way into the fortress. Our second is to extricate Lady Isabella safely and escape Barbary unscathed. There are three basic principles I like to follow when developing tactics,” Max added. “Keep our plan as simple as possible. If our original plan goes awry, be prepared for a swift change in execution. And plan our retreat as carefully as we plan our entrance. Before we can even begin to plan, we need to understand the challenges we will be facing.”

Drawing around a table, they poured over the map of the Kingdom of Algiers.

One of the men who knew the country well described the difficulty of the terrain southeast of Algiers. Two grueling days across an arid wasteland, then through several treacherous mountain passes before reaching the Berber chieftain’s fortress. Additionally, their expedition would be even more complicated by the unfamiliar customs and culture of a strange country. And the Berbers were considered the fiercest fighters in Barbary.

“It would be suicidal to try and blast our way into the stronghold,” Max said finally, “so we will need to rely on subterfuge to get inside.”

“But wouldn’t it be easier,” Yates asked, “simply to offer to purchase Lady Isabella from her captor?”

Sir Gawain shook his head. “We cannot run the risk of tipping our hand. If the chieftain refuses to sell her, then rescuing her will be all the more dangerous, for they will be alerted to our goal and be on their guard.” He turned his gaze on Max. “What do you suggest, Mr. Leighton?”

“That we bribe our way into the fortress.”

“What could a Berber warlord want enough to lower his guard and allow us inside?” Caro asked.

“Weapons,” Ryder said at once. “Rifles, specifically. There isn’t a Berber warrior alive who wouldn’t pay a small fortune to get his hands on the latest model carbine.”

“So we send someone in with rifles to sell,” Yates mused. “But who? Hawkhurst?”

Ryder responded to that question as well. “Not Hawk. He’s too well known in Barbary, and there could be complications the next time he returns. We need someone unknown.”

“I would be willing to volunteer,” Max said.

“You will need a credible reason for approaching the chieftain, then.”

“Perhaps a game hunter? I could pose as a sportsman eager to hunt the most dangerous quarry of all.”

“Lions?”

The expert on Barbary nodded. “That mountainous area of Barbary is prime hunting territory for lions.”

“What happens after you are admitted?” Yates asked. “As a man you would never have access to a sheik’s harem.”

“But I would,” Caro said. “I should be the one to find Isabella and determine how best to smuggle her out.”

Meeting her gaze, Max nodded reluctantly. He deplored the thought of Caro risking her life, but she was the only one of them capable of infiltrating a harem. “I suppose you could go as my slave.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Your
slave
?”

“It will be believable and explain your presence. Why else would a woman be in a party of sportsmen? Of course, you will need to undertake lessons in servility first.”

Her gray eyes flared for a moment before her mouth curved with unwilling amusement. “Do you think anyone will believe such an obvious pretense?”

Max returned a crooked smile. “Perhaps if you practice very diligently.”

“And what role do I play?” Ryder asked, breaking into their interchange.

Max shook himself. “You are the munitions expert,” he replied. “We will need you to create a diversion so we can escape the fortress undetected. And possibly to rig some explosives to cover our retreat in the event we are pursued.”

“If we must fight our way out, you mean?”

“Yes.”

Sir Gawain winced. “I would much prefer that you accomplish your mission without having to kill or wound innocent bystanders. The chieftain’s only crime was purchasing a slave. I would not like to see him lose his life over it.”

“Nor would I,” Max said with sincerity. “The fortress will likely be well guarded. If we could somehow incapacitate the guards…”

“Perhaps some kind of sleeping draught in their wine,” Verra suggested.

“Berbers don’t often drink wine,” the expert chimed in, “although they like fig brandy. They aren’t as religious as Arabs, but they still practice the Muslim faith, which forbids alcohol.”

“A drug in their water or food, then.”

Sir Gawain turned to Caro. “Can you concoct some kind of drug that can be used without causing permanent harm?”

“I’m certain I can.”

“If we could debilitate the warlord’s horses as well,” Max said, “then they would be unable to give chase.”

“Perhaps I can pose as your groom,” Verra offered, “in order to gain access to the chieftain’s stables.”

“Yes,” Ryder concurred. His brows narrowing thoughtfully, he gave a slow nod. “That plan could work. Leighton poses as a big game hunter in search of sport, while Caro and Verra accompany him as his servants.”

Yates nodded as well. “I can have a message delivered to Thorne, requesting him to arrange for horses and tents and a proper retinue for a wealthy British gentleman on holiday.”

“And I will take care of amassing the rifles and explosives,” Ryder said.

“So we have a preliminary plan,” Max said. “We can refine the details when we rendezvous with Thorne and Hawk in Algiers.”

His pensive frown easing, Sir Gawain looked at Max with a smile of approval.

Max glanced around the table, seeing agreement, satisfaction, even a measure of eagerness. Hope shone in Caro’s eyes.

“It is settled, then,” Sir Gawain announced solemnly. “Now we must confirm Lady Isabella’s location and you can sail for Barbary.”

The setting sun made a bronze mirror of the lake’s surface as Max waited for Caro to arrive several evenings later. Plucking a pebble from the bank, he tossed it toward the water’s center, watching the flaming ripples spread.

A faint smile curved his lips when he realized he was throwing pebbles instead of knives. In fact, he hadn’t thrown Philip’s knife in some time.

The blissful moments of abandon he’d shared here with Caro had gone far in easing his dark restlessness, and the grotto itself seemed to be having a healing effect on him. Even without Caro’s presence, Max had found himself frequently drawn here, as if lured by some intangible force. And each time his spirit grew a little lighter.

For the first time in a long, long while, he was able to notice the beauty surrounding him. Could feel sensations returning that had been numb during so many years of war. Feel the bleak ache inside him diminishing.

The nightmares had almost vanished as well. Only once recently had he awakened in a whimpering sweat, feeling the oppressive darkness closing in, but the intensity wasn’t as severe as in the past. And when he closed his eyes, Caro had taken his hand and led him from the battlefield….

He owed her a debt of gratitude for prodding him to confront his demons. Somehow she’d coaxed him to speak openly of things he’d tried to repress. To confess his dreaded secrets. Because of her, he was coming alive again. He felt more at peace now than he had in years. He was even allowing himself to remember the good times he’d shared with Philip.

He hadn’t seen Caro since their conference at the castle. In the interim he’d refrained from thinking too closely about the Guardians and their invitation to join their order.

He didn’t want to disappoint Caro, but he couldn’t give her an answer just now. Couldn’t make that kind of monumental commitment.

It was a noble ideal, fighting tyranny and saving lives. And he couldn’t deny his instinctive need to slay dragons and battle evil for Caro’s sake. But he might never be able to dedicate himself to the Guardians’ cause, as she had done.

He’d seen the camaraderie among them, the close friendship they shared. It was the same fraternity he’d known with his fellow officers, with Philip. He wasn’t certain he could open himself to that kind of pain again…If he could endure becoming part of a brotherhood again, letting himself grow close, only to risk watching his friends die.

He was having a hard enough time controlling his concern for Caro, trying not to think about the danger she could face in their upcoming mission…in every mission she attempted.

That kind of apprehension could paralyze a soldier in battle, could paralyze
him
, Max knew.

He hadn’t expected ever to be in this situation again. He’d simply tried to take one day at a time and had avoided contemplating his future beyond his sojourn on Cyrene or the mission to Barbary. But he would soon have to consider his answer…indeed, what he intended to do with the rest of his life.

For now, though, he just wanted get their mission over with and bring Lady Isabella safely home. He was beginning to feel the same urgency as Caro. They’d heard no word from Barbary since Thorne’s last communication, but a storm had swept across the Mediterranean three days ago, no doubt delaying any ships. The storm had also drenched the island with much-needed rain and turned the waterfall at her grotto into a torrent, although the flow had almost returned to normal by now.

Shifting his gaze from the waterfall, Max glanced up at the sky, aware of the gathering dusk and his disappointment. Caro had expected to attend a lying-in all day. Her message had said she would try to join him at the grotto before nightfall but that it might be much later.

A low hoot sounded just then from the oak tree on the bank behind Max. He didn’t flinch this time, for he’d grown accustomed to the brown ball of feathers interrupting his peace when he least expected it. In Caro’s absence, the owl had kept him company.

Max glanced over his shoulder and nodded in sympathy. “You miss her, too, don’t you, George?”

When the owl hooted again in response, Max scooped up another pebble and tossed it at the lake, watching the ripples spread out over the darkening surface.

When Caro arrived at nearly midnight, she looked exhausted but pleased.

“Mrs. Tompkins gave birth to a beautiful baby boy,” she said as he helped her down from her horse.

Max felt desire knife through him as Caro slid down the length of his body, but he repressed his craving and unsaddled her horse before leading her inside the grotto.

She stopped short when she saw the welcome he had prepared for her. The candles he’d lit around the grotto gave off a golden glow, while the feast he’d laid out—roasted chicken and saffron-spiced rice and Spanish
truita
—filled the air with a mouthwatering aroma.

The lovely smile Caro gave him trapped his breath deep in his chest.

“Hungry?” he asked, drawing her close.

“Yes, but I think I am too weary to eat.”

Max felt an immediate tenderness. He wanted to pull her beneath him and drive himself into her body until they were both mindless with pleasure, but he ruthlessly quelled the urge and merely kissed her gently. “Never fear, it is your turn to be cared for.”

He settled her on the pallet among the pillows and fed her by hand until her hunger was sated. Then he undressed her, leaving only her shift, and took down her hair before stepping back to shed his own clothing.