Nicole Jordan (30 page)

Desperation ran through him like a sword as he rode closer. But he maintained formation and urged his mount after Isabella’s. When they had gone beyond the point where Hawk was positioned, Max braced himself for the imminent explosion.

Yet even though he was mentally prepared, when it came seconds later, he felt the reverberating force like a cannon shot directly through his heart.

And then an avalanche of rock and dust thundered down the side of the canyon, making the earth tremble when it hit, muffling the agonized cry that welled up inside Max when he acknowledged the terrible fact that Caro was cut off from him completely, trapped behind a wall of rubble with the enemy.

Chapter

Eighteen

In the aftermath the silence seemed as thunderous as the explosion. The acrid smoke of gunpowder hung in the air, reminding Max of other battles he had fought—of his helplessness, his powerlessness to change a tragic outcome. The dry dust choked his throat, making it a struggle to breathe.

He squeezed his eyes shut, striving for the strength to carry on.

When he looked back again, he was forced to face reality. This was no nightmare. The immense pile of rubble blocked the pass, isolating Caro and her friends from all the other Guardians.

He was grateful for the sheer numbness that overtook him. He watched Hawk scramble down from the ledge to the canyon floor. Saw the earl’s expression grow grim as Santos Verra reported to him what had happened.

But then Hawk nodded and mounted his horse, turning toward the north end of the canyon, evidently intending to proceed with the original plan and spirit Isabella away as swiftly as possible.

Max abruptly shook off his lethargy and spurred his mount through the crowd of horses and men until he reached Hawk.

“Where the hell are you going?” he demanded in a hoarse voice. “We can’t leave them behind.”

Hawk’s gaze held sympathy but remained unyielding. “Our duty is to our mission. And they may manage to escape.”

“How?”
Max rejoined.

“By way of the southern route from the valley.”

“Even if they reach it, the Berbers will follow and hunt them down.”

“Perhaps not.”

“And if they do reach it, how will they survive? They will need water, food, fresh horses.”

“If anyone can find a way, it will be those three.” Hawk’s penetrating gaze probed Max’s own. “Don’t underestimate our resourcefulness, my friend, or our strength of will.”

The muscles in Max’s jaw worked, but he forced himself to contain his frustration and fury. “So we intend to wait at the oasis for them to join us?”

“No. Once the rock is cleared, the oasis is the first place Saful will look. We will ride for the coast as planned. We’ll wait there for three days. If they haven’t made it out in that time, we will assume they have been captured.”

“And then?” Max asked dangerously.

“We will send Isabella back to Cyrene while we regroup and form a new plan.”

“That isn’t good enough!”

Hawk’s mouth tightened. “It will have to be, Leighton. Our first duty is to Lady Isabella.”

Santos Verra interrupted then, saying quietly, “It is what they would have wanted.”

Max bit off a sharp retort, knowing he couldn’t refute that truth.

“We will not abandon them,” Hawk promised. “I swear to you. Right now we need to get away from here in the event our Berber friends try to climb the wall of rubble we just created and target us with the rifles we gave them.”

Max had to be satisfied with that, even though every instinct in his body was screaming at him in denial and protest.

With Hawk in the lead, they wound their way carefully and quickly through the treacherous pass to the camp where the remainder of their party awaited.

The rescuers exchanged their weary mounts for fresh ones and then they rode north in earnest. By mid-afternoon they left the mountains behind and pressed on across the desert flats at a relentless speed.

They deliberately bypassed the oasis of Akbou, not wanting to leave any trace of their trail. At nightfall they made camp, more to rest the exhausted horses than for their own comfort. When they shared a meal, everyone remained silent, intent, watchful.

Too restless to sleep afterward, Max found himself pacing a stretch of arid earth some distance from the tents, staring out at the desolate moonlit desert, his fingers clenching Philip’s knife. He couldn’t bring himself to throw it, though, for it reminded him too much of Caro.

It was perhaps ten minutes later when Verra’s quiet voice broke into the turmoil of his thoughts. “You must have faith, my friend.”

Anger and despair clawed at Max’s chest, struggling to break free of his rigid control. “Do you have faith?”

Even in the dim light, he saw uncertainty flicker across Verra’s swarthy features. But his reply held a hearty confidence. “We have been in worse situations. And every one of us is prepared to die for our cause. Caro knew the danger. Thorne and Ryder did as well.”

“You realize Ryder may already be dead.”

“If so, then we must make certain he has not sacrificed his life in vain. Our mission must come first—but as Hawk promised, we will never abandon them. Sir Gawain would have our heads if we were simply to exchange their freedom for Isabella’s.”

Max gave a grim nod. “Yet if Caro has been captured, it will be a hundred times more difficult to rescue her now that Saful knows our game. Worse, he may be set on vengeance because we stole his prize possession directly from under his nose. He may very well take his anger out on Caro.”

“But you know her wishes in this matter,” was all Verra replied.

“Yes. Hell and damnation,” Max said quietly, “I do.”

“You should get some rest, my friend,” Verra added as he turned to go. “You may need all your stamina in the coming days. And if you know any good prayers, now would be an excellent time to voice them.”

The soft laugh that escaped Max held bitterness. There had been so many times when prayer had had no influence whatsoever on the outcome he wished for. And yet all he could do was pray desperately that Caro and her friends would survive.

They reached the coast by noon of the third day and set up camp a few miles distant from the seaport of Bougie, in the shelter of a grove of wild olives. But the atmosphere among the Guardians remained tense and uncertain, with little of their usual jovial camaraderie to break up the long, monotonous hours.

Max especially felt the strain. Even with all his experience of waiting for battles to begin, he found it impossible to summon any patience, or to hold his tormenting thoughts at bay. And his nightmare returned with a vengeance…Caro returning to save him, her blood and life draining away right before his eyes.

Had his worst fear come to pass? Caro could be dead. And he hadn’t even tried to help her.

He had dreaded facing this possibility. Over the years he’d lost countless fellow soldiers and friends to death. But what he felt for Caro went far deeper than the brotherly or fatherly sentiments he’d felt for his men, deeper even than the kinship he’d felt for Philip. Caro was his lover, his solace, his guardian angel. With their passion they had formed a bond more intimate than Max had known with any other human being.

What if he truly had lost her? The very thought made him want to rail at the fates. Made him want to do violence. If she had been killed, Max vowed, he would tear Saful’s stronghold apart with his bare hands.

But no vow of vengeance could mitigate the sickening dread roiling in his gut as he waited for news, or ease the terrible apprehension that tore at his insides. He’d thought that when the war had ended, he would be finished with uncertainty, with fear, with grief, with loss. But until he knew without a shadow of a doubt that Caro was safe, he would be haunted by the nightmare of losing her.

And even then he might still never again know another moment’s peace.

Two mornings later still had brought no signs of the missing Guardians. Breakfast consisted of couscous with milk and honey, liberally sprinkled with dates and almonds, but it might have been sawdust for all the pleasure Max took in eating.

Needing to work off some of his fractious energy, he saddled his horse. He would have liked to ride a great distance until he was too exhausted to feel, but he had no wish to rouse the suspicions of the local inhabitants, so he settled for riding the perimeter of the camp numerous times.

He felt like a caged animal, though, forced to keep to the boundaries of his confinement. Upon his return, when he caught sight of Lady Isabella entering her tent, it struck him that this was possibly how she had felt the past two months as a captive.

He had nearly finished untacking his horse when he was surprised to see Lady Isabella approaching him, as if he’d conjured her appearance with his mere thoughts.

She had donned Arab dress, with scarves covering every part of her face except for her dark eyes.

“I wished to thank you for rescuing me, Mr. Leighton,” she began, those lustrous eyes probing his.

Max felt his jaw hardening. This was the first time he’d spoken privately to Isabella. He had subconsciously avoided her—or perhaps she had avoided him. Either way, he had no desire to accept thanks for a rescue that he considered a disastrous failure.

“Think nothing of it, my lady,” he replied tersely, offering her a brief bow only because he professed to be a gentleman.

When he would have walked away, Isabella touched his arm lightly. “I can understand if you hold me to blame.”

Strangely disturbed by her searching appraisal, Max hesitated to reply. He wanted to refute her, but in some uncharitable, angry part of his mind, he did blame this woman. Her rescue had put Caro in danger.

Yet his view was hardly fair. Isabella hadn’t arranged her capture by Algerian pirates, any more than he himself was responsible for Boney’s rapacious assaults across Europe.

Max blew out his breath in a slow exhalation. “You are not to blame, my lady. Caro made her own choices. And she could never have left you imprisoned—not and be able to live with herself.”

“Even so, I pray she is unharmed. I love Caro like a daughter, and I could not bear to live with the guilt if something terrible befell her because she acted for my sake.”

Max remained silent, although he could fully sympathize; he knew a great deal about guilt. But he was under no obligation to bare his personal demons to a perfect stranger.

Isabella, however, hardly seemed a stranger to him, Max admitted, aware of the unsettling way she was looking at him, as if trying to understand his character.

As he stood suffering her scrutiny, he wondered what had driven her to seek him out—whether it was her need for absolution for herself, or her desire to offer absolution to him. Both, perhaps, he thought, recognizing the shrewd perceptiveness in her dark gaze.

When some unspoken communication passed between them, it occurred to him that Lady Isabella Wilde was a formidable woman. He could suddenly understand why the Guardians thought so highly of her.

A brief smile curving her lips, she nodded, as if coming to a similar positive conclusion about him. But her smile disappeared just as suddenly.

“I do not wish to leave on the morrow,” Isabella said earnestly. “Perhaps you could convince Hawk to permit me to stay.”

Max shook his head, knowing Hawk was right. “You must leave. Otherwise this entire mission will have been in vain.”

Before he could say another word, he heard a low shout from one of the sentries who were posted at the south edge of the camp. A dozen Guardians sprinted from their tents to investigate.

Max immediately followed with Isabella and found them watching a glittering flash of light that seemed to come from a distant hill.

The sentry responded with haste, Max saw, using a mirror and the sun’s rays to send a code, the same way naval ships communicated.

When a coded reply came, an excited murmur broke out among the Guardians.

“It is Thorne,” Hawk said with satisfaction. “But one of them is injured.”

Max felt his heart leap, then settle into an uneven rhythm. When he met Isabella’s worried eyes, he knew her relief and dismay were reflected in his expression.

But then Hawk was issuing orders for the next communication to Thorne:
Remain where you are and we will come fetch you.

“How will we find them?” Max asked Hawk as the sentry flashed out the code.

“I know their location. Thorne and I discovered a place when we scouted the terrain. I expect you want to accompany us, Leighton?”

“Yes, of course.”

“As do I,” Isabella interjected.

“No, my lady,” Hawk said firmly. “You will remain here in the safety of the camp. We will bring them back as soon as possible, I promise.”

Isabella pressed her sensuous lips together, her black eyes snapping, but she didn’t argue. Max suspected the lady’s unaccustomed meekness was due more to her professed guilt than any desire to be obedient.

In a very short time a half-dozen Guardians armed themselves and rode out to meet their prodigal compatriots.

The three had taken shelter from the sun beneath a carob tree, beside a trickling stream that flowed from an underground spring. Caro and Thorne were sitting with their backs to the tree trunk, obviously resting, fatigue and grime lining their faces. Ryder lay fully prone, apparently asleep, a blood-soaked, makeshift bandage wrapping his left thigh.

All three looked the worse for wear, fugitives on the run for their lives. Both men sported rough stubble on their jaws that lent them the disreputable air of pirates, while Caro seemed more a refugee from a shipwreck, with wisps of hair straggling free from the scarf she’d used to tie back her untidy mane.

There were only two horses sharing the shade, heads drooping as if at any moment they would drop from exhaustion.