Guarding the Princess - By Loreth Anne White Page 0,57

the once-whitewashed walls. Windows and doors were long gone. But it had been built from brick and the four walls stood solid. It would keep them safe from night predators.

As they reached the ruins, the sun slipped below the horizon and the sky turned a soft pearly gray. They’d made it just in time. The paving around the building had crumbled into chunks as tough roots pushed through. Alongside the building were parts of an old bench where people had once waited for bush planes, supplies and guests arriving for safari.

Brandt could still read part of a sign that had been painted onto one wall—Welcome to... The rest of the phrase had fallen off in a chunk of plaster.

“Welcome to the airport hotel,” he said wryly.

“What is this place?” Dalilah asked, turning in a slow circle.

“Abandoned airstrip. This building was once a customs office.” He jerked his chin to the surrounding bush. “Lots of dead wood out there—we’ll be able to keep a fire going all night, keep predators at bay.”

“Customs? Out here?”

He dumped his pack inside the doorway. Dirt had blown into the building and small rocks, crumbling brick and plaster, dead leaves, insect husks littered the pocked concrete floor. “They put customs posts in places that saw a lot of tourists flying in,” Brandt said, unsheathing his panga. He made sure his voice remained cool and distant.

“There’s a safari outfit not far from here called Masholo, but mostly this airstrip was used to service guests coming from Zimbabwe, until that market dried up. Masholo also built their own private airstrip.”

He left Dalilah standing next to the hut while he strode off into the scrub, and with his panga he lopped off a branch with leaves. He used the branch to start sweeping out the interior of the building, checking for spiders and scorpions while there was still enough light. “We’ll clean this up, build a fire there, and there.” He pointed to each doorway. “Smoke will be vented straight out the top, and we can get some good rest until dawn. I could see no sign of Amal coming over the plain, not tonight. Our only worry should be wildlife, and there’s enough wood out here to keep the curious at bay.”

“Here, I can do that,” she reached to take the branch from him.

But he moved away. “It’s fine—relax.”

“Brandt!” She snatched it from him, skin connecting. Both stilled. Their eyes met—the knowledge of what had happened on the cliff, still unarticulated, simmered intimately between them. Both had an edge of anger to them.

Anger suited Brandt. Anger was the only emotion he knew how to handle right now.

He let go of the branch and let her have at it.

He went to collect wood while the princess swept out the interior with a stick broom—ironic in some fairy-tale way to be sure, but Brandt was not in the mood to be sardonic.

After stacking wood into small pyres inside the crumbling doorways, he went to gather more logs and branches, which he piled within reach just outside the window.

“Here’s the rifle,” he said, propping the gun against the interior wall. “It’s loaded and good to go if you need it.”

She stopped sweeping. “Why, where are you going?”

Avoiding her eyes, ignoring the concern that had entered her voice, Brandt said, “To get some hay for insulation. With these clear skies temps could drop below freezing tonight. You’ll feel it through the concrete.”

Hiking out to an area of long, dried grass, Brandt lopped off enough thatch to make a giant bushel which he hefted back to the ruined building. He laid the straw on the floor in a corner of the room, sealing in the warmth of the sun trapped inside by the concrete. He laid out the sleeping bag on top.

“Take a load off.” He nodded to the bag.

Dalilah hesitated, then lowered herself slowly to the bed in the corner. She sat with her back against the wall, knees propped up, watching him.

When the sky turned charcoal-gray—too dark to see telltale smoke from afar, Brandt lit the fires.

Orange flames crackled to life, instantly throwing out warmth and casting a dancing glow on the walls. It made the room feel safe, comforting. A little too intimate. Up through the rafters the Milky Way flickered slowly to life and the occasional bat fluttered overhead.

The chirrup of settling birds grew to a cacophonous crescendo, backed by whistles and rustles, the beat of wings in the dark and the stirring whooop yeee whooops of hyenas beginning