Guarding the Princess - By Loreth Anne White Page 0,51

into her face, examining her, weighing how much mettle she had left, how far he could push her. “Dalilah, you can do this. You’ve shown me that you’ve got more grit than most men. You’re a survivor. You have everything it takes and then some.”

She turned her face away.

“No, look at me.” He took her hand in his. “I’m going to help you over this. Once step, one rock at a time. We’ll take it at an angle instead of straight up. It’ll be easier that way. And near the top, there’s water.” He pointed. “That dark stain on the rock? Waterfall. We’ll rest on that ledge up there by the water, then go the last short haul. We can be up on the plateau and in shelter before dark. I’ll build you a fire, we’ll eat. You can sleep. Then tomorrow, we start fresh. We’re a team, okay—got that? No man left behind. Ever.”

She gave a half laugh and her eyes flicked briefly to her finger with the ring. “After everything I’ve been through so far, this suddenly feels like the biggest, insurmountable hurdle of all.”

Brandt had a sense she wasn’t talking just about the wall, but about the argument they’d had over her marriage versus independence. He felt there was something much deeper and darker at play there, but he was not going to judge, or dig further. Right now he had to keep her focused on moving forward and up, on the positive.

“Listen here, Dalilah, I’ll make you a harness, and you’ll be tied to me with rope. I won’t let you fall. You’ve just got to keep looking up, never down, never backward.” He got to his feet, his body casting her in shadow. “Tomorrow we’ll make for a small village where we might even find transport. From there, smooth sailing and we’re home.”

“Home,” she said softly as she studied the wall. She rubbed her brow. “I’m not sure I know where that is anymore,” she muttered.

She was talking about moving to Sa’ud, the upcoming marriage, Brandt was certain of it. But he didn’t want to go there, not now. He removed the coil of rope from his pack that he’d cut from the jeep canopy. “I’m going to use this to fashion a harness around your chest, and I’m going to remove your sling for now, just in case you need balance from that other hand, but go easy on it.”

He began to loop knots as he spoke. “The idea is for me to climb up a boulder or two, find a secure perch, then haul you up. You’ll help by using your good arm to pull and your legs to climb and leverage against my resistance. We go this way rock by rock, step by step. When you’re tired, tell me, and we rest. Then when your mind is clear and focused again, then—and only then—we take another step.” He paused, assessing the rock face. “And from the top, we’ll see right across this plain. We’ll see if Amal is coming.”

He removed her sling and looped the rope around her back, and under her arms above her breasts, securing it with knots. But when the side of his hand brushed against her breast, her eyes ticked up to his, and the memory of their kiss suddenly hung briefly in the heat between them.

“There.” He cleared his throat and stepped back, smiling as encouragingly as he could. “Ready?”

She inhaled deeply, nodded.

But exactly what she was ready for, Dalilah wasn’t sure. All she knew was that she had to take the first step, get up over that first rock—and she was going to have to place her full trust in Brandt.

She believed he would not let her fall, that he’d help her up over this hurdle. But the other hurdles that would come after?

Once she got “home” she was on her own. And for a brief insane instant, she didn’t want to scale this cliff. She wasn’t ready to go home.

* * *

Amal stared over the wide, roiling Tsholo at the Botswana bank on the other side. Rage as violent as the floodwaters seethed inside him.

It was already afternoon, and jeep tracks showed his quarry had crossed the river right here. Before the waters had come down. Who was this bastard that had taken the princess? How had this person known that he was coming for her?

When Amal found him, he was going to disembowel the bastard, hang him from a tree for the jackals to