The words rocked her, turning her heart upside down, the world. ‘. . . You’ve been looking for me?’

‘Almost since you left.’ His voice was thick, the initial shock marbling now with shame. ‘I tried not to. I tried to let you go. I told myself it was better you were gone. That it was safer that way.’ His eyes raked over her, taking in the short haircut, and she saw the emotion spring to his face as he realized—

‘No,’ she said quickly, seeing the horror form like a cloudburst. ‘I did it. When I escaped. I was trying to disguise myself.’

He studied her face, looking for the kind lie, and when seeing none, turned away, his back expanding and contracting in broad, relieved breaths as his fist pulled into a punch before he splayed his palm flat against the wall of the cave again.

‘Santi, I’m okay. Really.’ She placed her hand on his shoulder, feeling the muscles and scars beneath her palm. What horrors had he lived through? What atrocities had he seen?

‘What I did . . .’ he said quietly, his head bowed.

‘Don’t. You don’t have to say it.’

He turned his head fractionally, still not facing her. ‘No, I must. I have to . . . I was angry. I needed to avenge my father and yet . . . I couldn’t do what I needed because of you. I hated that I couldn’t hate you too. And when I saw you at the church, saw how sorry you were, it only made it harder. I thought that if I pushed you away and made you hate me, then I would be free to do what I had to do.’

She dropped her head, realizing then that her father was dead. Her hand, still on his back, felt the rapid thud of his heartbeat echoing through his bones, the ropes of old scars still visible to the touch. ‘. . . I understand.’

Slowly he turned. ‘But can you forgive?’

‘I’m not sure. I tried to hate you too. I tried to be glad when I thought you were dead. They told me they rounded you all up in the bullring.’

Pain crossed him like a shadow. ‘Quincy and I had already left. He had been ordered up to Madrid and agreed to take me with him so I could find you . . .’ He took a breath. ‘I really thought I could do it – live with you hating me – but that last time I saw you, in the field . . .’ He met her gaze then looked away again. ‘You’d never looked so beautiful. The image of you haunted me . . .’

She stared up at him. ‘And you me,’ she said simply. ‘I hated that I loved you.’

Shock made him startle. ‘. . . You loved me?’

‘And still do. You were the only one who ever let me be me. There was never going to be anyone but you,’ she whispered, seeing how her words made him tremble, her touch made him shiver. She stepped closer, her finger tenderly tracing the sweep of his cheek, before she reached up on tiptoe and pressed her lips to his – gently, lest he might break.