Iris Johansen - The Beloved Scoundrel

Alex released the rope and fell to his arms.

“Jordan, they’re going to shoot!” Alex cried out, his gaze on the ramparts.

Jordan set him down and grasped his wrist. “Run for the hill!”

He glanced back as they started up the steep incline. Soldiers were streaming out of the gate.

A bullet whistled by his ear.

At least they’d had no time to launch a mounted attack. In another minute he and Alex should be out of range. Once they reached the horses at the top of the hill, they should be safe. It was nearly impossible for anyone to overtake horses from the ravin’s stable. He must just make sure to block the boy from those bullets spitting from-

The ravin!

“Dammit, no! Go back!” Jordan shouted.

She paid no attention. She galloped down the hill with two horses in tow and reined in her stallion before them. “They saw you! I told you it was a stupid-”

“Be quiet,” he said through clenched teeth. He tossed Alex onto the smaller horse and slapped the animal on the buttocks to send it at a run toward the ravin’s forces on the hill. “And get out of here!”

The ravin’s eyes blazed at him. “You get out of here!”

Another bullet whistled by him as he pulled himself onto the saddle. “That’s my intention. If you would-”

He did not hear the bullet, but he saw the ravin’s eyes widen in horror.

“Jordan!”

The red tents billowing on the barren Bordlin plain looked like a cluster of radiant butterflies that had mistaken a desert for a garden.

Marianna could see a number of people milling about, but they were still too far away to recognize. Any one of them could be Jordan.

Or none of them.

“What if they aren’t here?” she whispered.

“They will be here.” Gregor started down the hill. “Come. We will go and find your Alex.”

She nudged her horse into a trot. Her heart was pounding, her palms cold and clammy. She must not be nervous. God would not let Alex or Jordan die and that monster live.

But God had let Mama die.

As she and Gregor drew closer, she quickly eyed the crowd who were gathering to greet them. No Jordan. No Alex. No Ravin.

The tents. They had to be in the tents. Just because she didn’t immediately see them was no sign they were not here. The ravin’s forces would not have abandoned them at Pekbar-

“Marianna.”

Alex!

He stood several yards away, garbed in ragged trousers and shirt, a broad smile on his face and a wooden basin in his hands.

She slipped from her horse and was running through the crowd toward the small figure. He looked like a Gypsy boy, she thought tearfully, all tousled black curls and big dark eyes.

“Alex!” She dropped to her knees and pulled him into her arms. “Alex, you’re-”

“Let go. I can’t breathe,” Alex said gruffly. In spite of his words, his arms were holding her just as tightly. “Stop crying, Marianna. I’m quite all right.”

She pressed her cheek to his. She had forgotten how endearingly fragile his child’s body felt in her arms.

“You’re getting me wet,” he said impatiently. He had evidently tolerated enough affection for the moment.

She drew back but kept her hands on his shoulders. She wanted to keep on touching him, assuring herself that he was here. “I’m sorry.”

A smile illuminated his face, and his fingers went up to touch her tear-streaked cheek. “You’re wet too. You’re going to drown us, Marianna.”

“Are you well? Did they hurt you?”

A shadow crossed his face, and his gaze slid away from hers. “A little.” He quickly called beyond her shoulder to Gregor. “Hello, Gregor. You’re a day late. We got here yesterday afternoon, right on time.”

He chuckled. “I regret my tardiness. We took a longer route to avoid running into your former hosts. It is good to see you, lad.”

“It’s good to see you, Gregor.” Alex knelt to pick up the basin that had gone flying from his hands when Marianna had grabbed him. “I have to take this to Jordan. The wound-”

“Wound!” Marianna inhaled sharply. “What wound? Are you hurt?”

“No, I told you, Jordan-”

“Jordan’s hurt?” She jumped to her feet. “How bad? What-”

“Hush, Marianna,” Alex said. “If you would listen, you’d know by now.”

She stared at him in astonishment. The maturity and authority that echoed in his words were foreign to the Alex she knew. And the change was not only in his voice, she realized. His face was thinner, the baby fat gone, and dark circles were imprinted beneath eyes that met hers with a fearless clarity.

“Jordan isn’t hurt either.” He turned and started across the camp, motioning for her to follow him. “It’s Ana who was shot.”

“Ana!” Gregor was off his horse in a heartbeat. “Where is she?”

Alex pointed to the large tent at the edge of the camp. “It was a bullet that-”

Gregor muttered something beneath his breath and ran toward the tent.

“He doesn’t listen either,” Alex said in disgust. “She’s not badly hurt. Jordan says the wound in her shoulder is clean. It’s only a question of keeping it so.”

She tried to keep her tone casual as she asked, “Jordan is well then?”

He nodded, and suddenly his expression was filled with enthusiasm. “It was splendid. We climbed a rope up the wall and- Well, Jordan climbed it and then pulled me up to the rampart. Next time I’ll do it myself.”

“There will be no next time,” she said firmly.