Raven frowned into the flames. Who the hell had been firing at them today?
His first suspicion had been Lavalle, but it just was too unlikely. The odds that he could have tracked them from England were simply too remote.
A random attack was similarly unlikely. Why would a single gunman take on a much larger force? If robbery had been his aim, he must have known he would fail.
If the French had discovered the Baker was dead, and decided to ambush them on the way to the prisoner exchange, surely they would have sent more than just one man to ensure the job got done? Raven shook his head. It didn’t make any sense. The most likely explanation was that the French had sent someone to scare away any random travelers so there wouldn’t be any accidental witnesses to the prisoner exchange.
Raven rested his elbows on his knees and hung his head. He hated uncertainty, especially when it endangered Heloise. He looked up to check on her, and found her smiling at Fernando.
Alejandro sidled up and whacked him playfully on the shoulder. “Stop scowling at Fernando. He’s not interested in her. Nor she him.”
Raven took another sip of wine. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Oh? Then there must be some other reason you look like you’re measuring him for a shallow grave.”
Raven grunted. Alejandro had a point. He was a hypocrite, wanting other men to keep their eyes off her when he couldn’t control the same impulse in himself. God, the woman was a menace.
“A blind man could see what you feel for her, my friend.”
Raven scowled. “Most of the time I want to kill her.”
Alejandro snorted. “Ha. You lie to yourself. It’s only a little death you want to give her, eh?” He nudged Raven in the ribs with a ribald laugh.
“I need her like the devil needs holy water.”
“Would you not kill for her?”
“Already done that.”
“Die for her?”
Raven shot him a disgusted look. “What do you think?”
Alejandro gave a fatalistic shrug of his huge shoulders. “Then it’s love, my friend. Nothing so simple, or so complicated.”
Shit, Raven thought, as Alejandro ambled back to the fire. Was he really that obvious?
Heloise detached herself from Fernando and came toward him. Raven schooled his features into a semblance of polite interest. He dragged his eyes from her entrancing face and nodded at the fabric in her hands. “What’s that?”
She showed him.
“You made quite the impression.”
“I didn’t do much to deserve it. I only spoke to him a little.”
“You don’t give yourself enough credit, Hellcat.”
Her scar had given her an affinity with broken things. And unlike him, she hadn’t let the darkness that touched her make her bitter. Instead, she used the glow of her personality to heal others.
She flushed, uncomfortable with his praise. “What does minchorró mean?”
“It means someone’s ‘fancy,’ their lover.” He shot her a questioning glance. “Why?”
Her blush intensified. “Oh, no reason. I just heard one of the women using it, that’s all.”
He smiled. “Did Elvira read your fortune?”
“Yes.”
“Was it all dragons and knights?”
She bit her lip. “Not exactly. More like lions and boats.”
He raised his brows. “Stands to reason. You’re hardly the distressed damsel type. I doubt you’d want a dragon-slaying knight doing all the dirty work for you.”
She laughed. “You’re right. Knights are always galloping off on ridiculous quests. I’d much rather have the dragon. Big. Strong. Fiery breath to keep me warm on cold winter nights…” She ticked the list off on her fingers.
“I thought all young ladies spent their days dreaming of happily ever after?”
“Heavens, no,” she said, genuinely appalled. “Just think about that phrase. Happily. Ever. After. Even if it were possible, it’s not at all desirable.”
“It’s not?”
“Who’d want to be perpetually happy? And how would you even know you were happy if you had nothing with which to compare it?”
He frowned. “You think you need to experience unhappiness just so you can feel happiness?”
“Yes, of course. Every shadow needs a source of light. Heaven can’t exist without hell.”
Raven didn’t even want to consider that argument. It was far too close to the way his own thoughts had been leading him recently. She might be as necessary to his existence as oxygen, but she was still Not. For. Him.
He stood and started to walk her back toward her caravan. It was set a little way from the others, near a stand of tall pines. A shard of broken pottery crunched under his boot. He bent and picked it up, turned it over in his fingers, filled with a sudden need to make her realize how extraordinary her own achievements were. She was such a positive force. She charmed and helped almost everyone she came into contact with.
“My mother used to collect porcelain,” he said. “She had cabinets of the stuff. Vases and plates and teapots and bowls. Beautiful things, all delicate, exquisite, expensive.”
Heloise froze, and he knew it was in surprise; he rarely spoke about his family. He didn’t know why he was doing so now, except he needed to somehow apologize to her for the way he’d treated her at the palace. He cleared his throat. “Father used to buy them for her as presents. One day, when I was maybe nine or ten, about a year before she died, she asked me which piece was my favorite. I told her—the two fat sumo wrestlers.”
Heloise smiled.
“She asked me to guess which she liked best. I thought it would be one of the plates, or maybe the fancy tulip vase, but she reached in and brought out this little tea bowl, like a cup without a handle, so small it fit in her palm.
“I thought she was teasing me. The thing had been dropped at some point, broken into four or five pieces then put back together. It had metal in the joins, like golden veins. Mother smiled at my confusion. ‘Don’t you see, Will?’ she said. ‘It isn’t the prettiest because it was broken, it’s prettiest because it was mended.’ ”
Raven’s heart thumped against his ribs. He wasn’t talking about porcelain.
Heloise cleared her throat. “Oh?”
“It’s taken me years to understand what she meant.” He glanced at her, but her expression was unreadable. “Someone loved it enough to repair it. It’s called Kintsugi, the art of fixing things with gold. The Orientals believe the piece is even more beautiful for having been damaged and restored.”
God, he wanted to cry. He felt the constriction in his throat, hot and tight. His eyes were stinging. Only she could do this to him, make him strip his soul bare. Unable to help himself he reached out and stroked her cheek, her chin, a lingering caress. She didn’t move. “Those suitors of yours who withdrew their offers? They’re all fools.”
She closed her eyes.
“You want to pretend this scar isn’t there, but it’s what makes you you.” He stroked one finger over the slight ridge and felt a shiver course through her. “Don’t be ashamed of it. It’s a badge of pride. You should wear it like a bloody medal. It’s proof that you’re stronger than the thing that tried to hurt you. It’s proof that you’re a survivor.” He cupped her nape, drew her forward, and grazed the scar with his lips. She stood utterly still, but he heard her swift intake of breath.
“You’re like the moon. It has craters and scars and shadows. But only an idiot would deny that it’s beautiful.”
Heloise swayed toward him and he forced himself to step back, gesturing to the caravan steps. “Up you go.”
Her brows lowered in confusion. “Aren’t you coming in? Elvira says there’s going to be a storm.”
He glanced up at the sky then back at her. Going inside would be a very bad idea. “No.”
A rumble of thunder echoed in the distance. “It’s going to rain,” she said. “You’ll get soaked if you stay out here.”
“I’ll be fine. Go to bed.”
A crack of thunder sounded right above them. It rumbled around the mountains and Raven felt the splash of the first fat raindrops with a certain inevitability. Slow at first, then faster, a persistent hiss as they hit the leaves and grass around him. The camp emptied, people scrambling for cover.
Her silhouette shadowed his face. “Come in here. Don’t be a stubborn ass. You’ll be no good to Kit if you catch a fever and die.”
Raven ground his teeth and mounted the first two steps. The rain was coming down in earnest now, soaking his hair, his shoulders. It drummed on the wood of the caravan, an insistent beat that mirrored the pulse in his temples. Heloise just stood there. She was trying to drive him mad.
She half turned, thinking he was about to follow, but he reached out and grabbed her wrist. Her eyes widened, her lips parted in surprise, and he cursed himself for a fool. To hell with it.
With a single tug, he pulled her out into the downpour. She gave a startled yelp but he caught her in his arms and spun her down to the ground. “Here’s one more to cross off that infernal list of yours,” he growled. “A kiss in the rain.”
He caught her chin, tilted her head, and kissed her full on the mouth, drowning in anger and frustration, passion and despair. He kissed her just long enough to get light-headed, just long enough for the heat and the desperation to build. And then he shoved her up the steps. “Now bloody well go to sleep.”
This time, thank God, she got the message.
The door slammed shut in his face.