Return to Me - By Morgan O'Neill Page 0,21

bearing swords and torches, a tall centurion standing in their midst.

“It may be a patrol, nothing more. Stay calm.” Slowly, Magnus drew forth his sword, his breathing controlled, but heavy.

Gigi took out her knife, then glanced at Magnus, and also pulled out her .45. She could see his gaze flicker to it, and then heard, “Well done. Stand ready.”

As they moved forward, Gigi hoped the presence of the soldiers was just a coincidence. Still, she ran over her gun lessons, focusing on an important rule: know what is behind any potential target. She didn’t want to shoot anyone, but if she were forced to, she sure didn’t want to hit any innocent bystanders lurking in the background.

Sensing danger, their horses snorted and pranced, but thankfully didn’t try to bolt.

“Magnus! Halt!” the centurion shouted.

The command jolted Gigi.

“I am Titus Africanus, and you and your wife are my prisoners!”

Townspeople scattered. The presence of the soldiers was no coincidence, and Gigi and Magnus were horribly outnumbered. An image of Honorius laughing over Magnus’s tortured and inert body came to mind, and she steeled her resolve. Her husband must never be at his mercy again. Never.

Grim, yet determined, Gigi listened as Magnus answered, “We do not recognize your authority to detain us,” he said, “so let us pass unharmed, or prepare to meet your own end.”

The centurion laughed and brandished his sword.

The soldiers circled them, and she recognized the tactic. Heart pounding, she knew their only option was to go on offense, slash blindly and try to survive. Or …

The centurion and his men suddenly rushed Magnus. Gigi raised her .45 and fired.

A blinding flash. The roar of the gun. Everything was instantly illuminated, then gone, leaving only a negative image of the scene seared onto her retina. The explosion continued to reverberate, echoing and hurting her ears. Her mare screamed and ran off. She looked around, dazed. Many soldiers had gone to ground, cursing in fear; others stood gaping.

Stunned, the centurion was on his knees, covering his ears.

Farther off, townspeople had also dropped, groveling and praying. She glanced at Magnus, then looked down at his feet, where a solder sprawled, limp and still, blood pouring from beneath his body.

Horror engulfed her — she’d shot a man to death! — but then Magnus jumped on his horse and hauled her up behind him. Holstering her gun as they galloped through the dark streets, Gigi buried her self-recriminations, knowing there was no time for such luxuries if they were going to survive.

When they reached the northernmost dock, there was a small sailboat waiting. Even as they neared, Gigi could see someone onboard throwing off dock lines.

Magnus ground the horse to a halt and they leapt off his back. He grabbed his gear and together they jumped onto the skiff. Gigi heard shouting and saw soldiers running down the dock, ducking away from the escaping horse. Cursing, they flung their torches.

“To the oars!” the skipper shouted.

The torches landed all around them, sizzling as they hit the water.

Gigi and Magnus scrambled to sit and began pulling on the oars, while their skipper fishtailed the tiller, slow and steady, back and forth.

Heart pounding, Gigi could hear the soldiers furiously calling for a boat. Agonizing minutes dragged by as their skiff neared the imperial blockade ship. Their sailboat wasn’t more than thirty feet in length and low in the water, but was it small enough to go unnoticed?

The sounds from shore faded, only the faint dip and swish of their oars could be heard. Dip and swish, in and out of the water, in and out.

Gigi held her breath. No shouting. No alerts. The imperial ship appeared deserted.

Dip and swish. In and out of the water, in and out.

They left the inner harbor behind. Gigi could feel the night breeze pick up as they moved out. Waves began slapping against their hull. She glanced back and saw the blockade ship, still dark and silent.

Magnus kissed his garnet ring and whispered, “Blessed Victoria blinded them, just as Vespera asked.”

When they finally rowed into open water, the wind picked up sharply. It felt good, refreshing, and Gigi took a deep breath.

“We will raise the sail, then put up the oars,” the skipper said, speaking low and grinning. “But first, pay up, cousin, or I’ll drop you overboard before we’re out of sight of land!”

Magnus laughed, paused in his work with the oars, and reached for his knapsack.

“I’ll take care of the sail,” Gigi said, hurrying to the mast.

The sail was attached