Guarding the Princess - By Loreth Anne White Page 0,68
sliced him—a hot, vehement rage. This was not supposed to be his business, but by hell it now was. He’d crossed a line. His actions alone in that sleeping bag could cost her life if anyone ever found out. And on the back of the rage rode a raw and basic urge to protect her—from herself, from a future decided by someone else. From her brothers and her own kingdom.
Yet here he was being paid to deliver her to that very fate.
His hands started to shake.
“Dalilah,” he said, his voice coming out low, dark, dangerous. “Tell me one thing, and tell me honestly. Do you want to do this? Is it your choice?”
“Yes,” she whispered. “It’s my choice to uphold my duty.”
Brandt spun around and hurdled out the window. He stalked over the veldt toward the cliff edge, conflict torquing inside him. Thrown into the bloody mess was guilt, for touching her like that, for kissing her.
A virgin.
Bloody hell.
Way to go, Stryker, you imbecile.
At the cliff edge, he climbed a rock and put the camera to his eye. Zooming in, he panned the landscape. Already sunlight was rippling gold over the grasses. Carefully, he studied the distant line of trees fringing the Tsholo, then he moved the camera to the north.
He stilled. A fine line of rising dust was catching the first full rays of sun. He zoomed in as close as he could. He could make out what looked like two jeeps, four horses, moving south. And fast.
Adrenaline slammed through his body. He leaped down from his rock and ran back to the building.
“Dalilah!” he called as he neared. “They’re coming! Get the stuff together!”
He reached the door, began kicking out the coals, throwing sand over the remains of the fire.
She was on her knees struggling to roll up the sleeping bag with one hand. He grabbed it from her.
“They’re over the river,” he said, breathing hard as he rolled the bag. He stuffed the rest of their gear into the pack. “Give me your feet.”
Quickly he trussed up her laces, then he tied the sleeping-bag roll to the pack. “They’re heading south, cutting back along the river. When they hit our camp, they’ll track back to our jeep. Once they find that, they’ll come fast toward the cliff following our prints. Looks like they have two vehicles and horses.”
He hefted the pack onto his shoulders.
“Our only consolation is that when they do hit the cliff wall they’ll be forced to drive about forty kilometers farther north through some tricky terrain if they want to get up on the plateau. If we move away directly perpendicular to the rift, they won’t cut across our tracks, which means they’ll have to drive that forty kilometers all the way back to this point before they find our sign again.”
He started out the door.
“Brandt.”
He stopped, met her gaze.
“I’m scared.”
He hesitated. “I know.” He grasped her hand. “Come, I’ve got you.” He paused. “And know this, I will die before I let anyone touch a hair on your head.”
Her eyes filled with tears “Brandt—I could love you.”
Emotion sucker punched him so hard his eyes pricked with tears. He swallowed, controlling himself. He wanted to say so much, and couldn’t. “We need to go,” he whispered. “You ready?”
She nodded.
They left the small customs building at a fast trot, fueled by the knowledge Amal was right on their tracks. The sun burst suddenly over the plateau—fierce and fiery orange—rays of heat instant. The air was dry.
It was going to be a killer day.
Chapter 13
Brandt moved faster and faster as the sun climbed higher and burned down hotter. Dalilah half ran, half stumbled behind him. She was already desperately thirsty, and blisters from yesterday were rubbing raw in her oversize boots.
Humiliation, desperation, burned through her chest. She’d opened up, made herself so vulnerable, told him she was falling in love with him, while confirming at the same that she was going to marry Haroun. How stupid could she possibly be? What on earth had she hoped to achieve?
Had she thought he’d miraculously rescue her from having to make her own decisions? From her own desires? From her obligations?
All she’d done was make it tougher on him, and on herself, and she’d made herself a wanton fool in his eyes.
“Faster, Dalilah!” he yelled from ahead of her.
“Dammit, I’m going as fast as I can!”
He marched harder, his stride wider. She had to start running full tilt to keep up.