Pain ripped in her chest, stealing her breath, rising like a fire into her throat. Tears brimmed and fell. She wiped them away with her sleeve, so that this last sight of him would not be further obscured.

“I would prefer to go back to my prison. We would not be forever parted then. Not yet.”

“You must leave. You know that.”

She loved him so much. Too much. The love even gave this anguish a sweetness. Its lovely light revealed her heart’s deepest corners. Even her misery contained a precious beauty.

“Mark, when the battle comes, do not lead them. Please, do not. That arrow by the stream … it was because of the betrothal, I think. It complicates things. Carwyn does not want it to stand, and only killing you will make sure it does not.”

“Do not let worry for me make your heart heavy, Nesta. I have no intention of dying.”

“It does make my heart heavy. All of this does. The weight is unbearable, and the worst is knowing that if I leave now, we will never see each other again in this life.”

“Then when I see you again, I will know that I am truly in heaven, forever.”

He angled her down, and kissed her. Her swallowed tears refused to stay down and they streamed from her eyes. His kiss moved to each wet cheek, and then he dried her face with the edge of her cloak.

He stepped back, breaking her hold on his shoulders, leaving her bereft. The loneliness waiting for her touched her with its chill, raising a flurry of panic. Suddenly the night appeared a gaping void that light barely penetrated. If she entered it alone, she might never come out again.

“Once you pass Addis, ride like the wind, darling. Let these mountains give you sanctuary.”

With a sharp swing, he slapped her mount’s rump and sent her toward the tiny fires.

CHAPTER 24

Soon after dawn Nesta trotted her exhausted horse into a tiny village that clung to a mountainside. Villagers emerged from their huts and eyed her curiously. She did not say a word, but only lifted her sleeve to reveal the gold armlet and its engraved dragon.

That produced an enthusiastic welcome. A village elder named Ifan gave her his cottage to use. After supping on thin broth and brown bread, she dragged her weary body to the straw pallet, hoping oblivion would claim her.

Sleep came, but it brought little peace. Her mind churned as if she were awake, and the eternal debate raged on. Mark had taken a huge risk in letting her escape, and she should obey his last words and disappear into the mountains. She should forsake him, and her father’s dream, and save herself. The fear blazing through her wanted to, desperately.