Rough Surrender (32 page)

“God–” He blinked away a tear or two. “You’d better be there when I arrive, Faith. Make this all worthwhile. Be there, sweetheart–alive and well. Please, God. Please.”

He managed the slow turn away to the west where the sun was carving the pyramids anew out of darkness. The wash of golden light slowly delineated the triangle against the dawn-blackened sky as he roared closer and closer.

* * * *

Lars thumped her at least twice on the way. Draped over the pommel of the horse, she tried screaming through the gag. It was worth the risk but he hit her in the side of the stomach and blindfolded her, then thumped her again. She couldn’t hear anyone else, she ached and wanted to vomit, and the blanket covered her from head to toe. She gave in. Lord help her, she gave in.

When he took her off the horse and over his shoulder again, the blindfold rubbed off.

The Western Cemetery was a maze of gray and shadows, sand and stone, the living and the dead. He laid her on her back on a slab of cold stone then punched her once more in the stomach. While she gasped and retched, he tied her down, spread-eagled, with her hands and feet at each corner.

The cool leeched into her flesh, calmed the burning throb of her back. Wind blew across her face. Sand scurried over her skin, and whirled around inside her ear. Some stuck to the corners of her nose and eyes and the sticky tracks of her tears. Above, the pyramid towered. Not the one they’d climbed...not the one she and Leonhardt had sat atop. The sun threatened to break across the horizon to either side of the pyramid’s base.

“Nearly time. I like the idea of dawn.” Lars announced. He sniffled and rubbed his nose with the hand holding a long curved knife. The silver sheen of that knife beckoned her eyes, made her look even though she knew it was the instrument of her death. “Soon, it’s time.” He grinned down at her. “Can’t get loose, hey?”

True. The ropes weren’t going to budge unless he gave her the knife. She wouldn’t think about what he meant to do. Dawn approached. Maybe, if she stared hard enough at the paling sky, time would slow, or stop.

She was going to die.

“Let’s see what color your blood is.” Lars leaned over her, turning the knife. He put the point to her throat and she felt the prick on her skin.

A drone reached her ears. She inclined her head, heedless of the knife, to catch the noise better. An airplane. His eyes widened and Lars looked up. A small shadow passed above them at one or two hundred feet, engine roaring then spluttering. The noise lessened as it flew farther west. Twenty or thirty seconds later–it was difficult to tell since time wasn’t working properly–there was a crumpling bang and a distant explosion.

No. Oh, please, no
. That had been a Bleriot. Her Bleriot. Who would have been reckless enough to fly it over the desert and try to land it here? Nobody except Leonhardt. Her heart thudded wildly, threatened to tear itself loose from inside her.
No. Please, God, no
. She shut her eyes for a moment.

When she opened them, in the out of focus distance, something off-white billowed across the edge of her vision, and vanished.
What had that been?

“Hell.” Lars lifted the knife, looked up then waggled his eyebrows. “Hope that wasn’t your rescue party, lady, ’cause I think it’s done for. Here, time to put you out of your misery.” He showed her the gleaming knife again, rotating it slowly so light flickered off the blade. “Just a little cut on your neck. You won’t feel much. Then I get to see what you taste like. Breakfast.” He smacked his lips and swiped his tongue across his mouth.

Despair crept cold and silent through her, filling every space in her flesh and bones. This was how she would die, at the mercy of this monster. She stared at the pyramid behind him and tried not to see the descent of the knife, tried not to shake and show her fear.

A
crack
and Lars staggered, red blossomed on his chest.

“What?” He spluttered, pawing at his shirt. He stumbled and flailed at nothing, only to crumple, slide off the stone and disappear from her view. It all happened so fast.

“Faith! I’m coming! Tell me if he rises!” Leonhardt’s voice.

She couldn’t see a thing of Lars but didn’t dare close her eyes, or blink. All she could see was Leonhardt, leaping across the tops of the stones, from one to the other, gun in hand, coat flying like the tail of a dark-feathered hawk. He watched her between leaps, and she listened for any sound warning of Lars getting to his feet. Groans and bubbling coughs came from somewhere beneath eye level. The man lived. Then she heard scrabbling and scratching and the sounds of breathing became long and labored, like someone breathing through a sea of blood. By the time Leonhardt arrived, the sounds had ceased.

“My God, Faith.” His last leap brought him down onto the sand next to her stone. Leonhardt glanced down. “He’s dead. Don’t worry about him. I’m here.” He bent and kissed her, pulled loose the gag then set to work on the ropes, slashing them one by one.

“Can you sit up, love?”

She nodded, not trusting her voice, but when he pulled her to him, her arms and legs refused to work and she half slid down his chest.

“You’re cold,” he whispered. Then he climbed onto the stone with her and cradled her in his lap as he gently worked loose or cut the knots on her wrists and ankles. The blood crawled back into her flesh, ushering a ferocious wave of needles as the circulation returned. Leonhardt kissed her–hands, face, neck, and all the while he whispered assurances. “I’ve got you. You’re safe. You’re going to be all right. Listen. Hear the police. Hear the motors. The horses. They’re coming. Everything is going to be all right.”

He didn’t speak of the man who lay dead in the sand, below their feet, though she couldn’t forget him, didn’t know if she ever would. The revolver Leonhardt had used sat on the stone next to his thigh. She kept waiting for Lars to rise and seize the gun and shoot them both. But she didn’t say...she just watched the gun and held her breath now and then, listening for a sound from the sand at their feet. Listening.

At first she nodded at Leonhardt’s words, then let him just speak and slowly they soothed her. Faith imagined the words rippling out, reaching down into her soul, and washing away all the dirtiness of the last day.

“Thank you,” she said finally, voice rasping, looking straight into his autumn-brown eyes, seeing the worry there, worry she’d caused, and wanted to take it all back on herself. “I knew you’d come. I knew.” She lowered her head, stared at her hands, her cold, cold hands, at the fingers encrusted with blood and sand. Behind her eyes, the ache built like a dam waiting to break. “I’m sorry for all this. I’m so sorry for what I said.”

“
Shh
.” He rocked her in his lap, wrapping her arms in to warm her hands against him. “You did nothing wrong. I’m sorry too.” He kissed the top of her head. “Just rest now. Quiet, and rest.”

“Thank you,” she whispered again, snuggling against this big strong man. The pain from the whip grabbed at her whenever he stroked her back but she bit her lip and said nothing. She’d rather suffer, rather have him cuddling her than have no pain. And she wondered if her world would ever be the same again.

A stray thought blossomed and she had to ask. “How did you do it? The plane crashed.”

“Remember Leonardo’s invention? We discussed it on the rooftop that night.” The rumble of his voice reached her through the ear she pressed against his chest.

She frowned. “The parachute? I saw something...”

“Yes. I made one for you. And–” He let out a long, shaky sigh. “I found out it works. Never ever again. Damn-it that was awful. Your bloody goddamned plane was awful too.”

That made her smile–Leonhardt scared of something. The smile released her somehow, set her free, and she cried for the first time since he’d found her. Silent tears at first, then small sobs spilled out. By the time the police arrived, she was crying, great wracking sobs and Leonhardt’s shirt was soaked.

Chapter 34

Though for a week or two afterward, Faith couldn’t tell when coldness would sweep through her hands and feet, the bruises on her body faded quickly. The deeper, invisible bruises on her mind also seemed to fade.

Her stay in hospital over, she left with Leonhardt to recuperate at his home, despite the looks from under scandalized brows that earned her from the nursing staff. Sometimes, still, she’d be suddenly struck with the sensation someone was watching her, but it would pass if she sat and talked to herself, or if she found Leonhardt, wherever he was, and cuddled up to him. Never having relied on another to make her world feel safe, Faith found this strange and wondered what had changed inside her.

Was she the same woman? Or some new, fragile creature who would never recover the devilish sense of adventure she’d always taken for granted?

To her surprise and relief, Leonhardt never pushed her for more than company and gentle kisses, though they shared a bed every night. The air meet was soon over and they visited places of interest in Cairo–the Citadel and the mosques, Qarafa, the city of the dead, the tombs, as well as the places in the city where the nouveau riche and the ancient rich congregated.

Once more, the skies over Cairo drew her and she sat on the roof, for hours on end, watching the airplanes whenever they buzzed about the sky. Things were different, and yet the same. All she wanted was to be up there with them, because up there, maybe her head would be free of all the dark things scurrying through the black places of her soul.

The last two nights Leonhardt had made suggestions and sexual advances and she’d stepped away, trembling, and said no. After a flat stare from under his brows, he’d stopped. Thank God.

Something had to give.

Glass of cool lemon water in hand, she was lying on the divan observing a solitary Voisyn cruise across to land at the aerodrome when Leonhardt joined her, sliding onto the divan to sit next to her. She sat up and thought about leaning on him, but no, maybe this was a good time to settle things. Neither of them had dared, not since the day Smythe had kidnapped her.

She set the half-full glass on the low table. The lemon slice bobbed. Leonhardt put his arm about her shoulders before she thought to move out of range. Like clockwork, her eyelids drifted half shut. She roused herself. This was not a time for distractions. She had something important to say.

One deep breath to gather courage and she plunged in, staring down at the table as she spoke. “Leonhardt– I’ve tried and tried to get myself together, to feel the way I used to, but things get in the way and I’m feeling rather lost...” Her voice trailed away. “Smythe–” She shook her head again and studied her fingernails. “Why are there people like that in the world?”

“I don’t know, sweetheart. I really don’t.” He squeezed her to him and she laid her head in the hollow of his arm, snuggled in.

“Do you think they’ll ever let him free?” A piercing tightness centered in her chest.

“They will, but not for a very, very long time. Don’t fret about it.” He kissed her brow.

They were both quiet for a while. Right then, she couldn’t bear the thought of drawing away from Leonhardt–comforting, big-hearted Leonhardt. Even he seemed changed by all this. So puzzling, everything was back to front. A sparrow landed on the awning, cocked its head and flittered away.

“Did you want to talk about us and about flying, as well?”

“Yes, I do, but, how did you know?”

He squeezed her tighter, tucked a finger under her chin and peered down at her. “I’ve been waiting for you. I can see you’re restless. I think it’s been long enough.”

Uh-oh, this sounded suspicious. “Long enough for what?”

“I telegraphed your stepfather. He’s given me permission to propose to you.”

“He– What? You can’t just do that. That sort of behavior is exactly what we need to talk about.”
Deep breath, Faith. Deep calming breath
. “I don’t want to just be your...your little woman, or something.”

“Oh?” The deep rumble reminded her of a thunderstorm about to break, of the old Leonhardt. Danger glinted in his eyes and she had to resist the urge to shift to the other side of the table.

Did she have the nerve to truly speak her mind? She had to though...never saying to him how she felt, would be a betrayal of sorts. She was going to leave, and it wasn’t as if he could make her stay or anything.

“I know you still don’t approve of me flying, and I do intend to fly.” She put elbows to knees and rested her face in her steepled fingers. “This...episode has rocked me. I know I’m vulnerable. I’m depending on you, and I don’t want to. I want the old
me
back again. Do you see? The only way I can do that is to leave. At least for a while.” She dared to peek at him. “Can you see that?”

“Leave? And would you come back?”

“I don’t know. How can I know the future?”

“You can’t. You can only weigh up the possibilities and make a decision from that. I want you to stay.” He yanked lightly on a curl of hair at her ear. “Every time I think of you taking off in a plane, my heart is in my mouth...and yet, I will contemplate it, if that’s the only way to keep you by my side. As long as you give me some say. I want to help you pick your airplane. I want to check the construction. I want you to carry a parachute with you. And–” He sighed. “I don’t want you to fly too often.”