Jarrod forced his rigid muscles to relax, his fists to
unclench at his side. He couldnโt afford to let Malachi see
the deep burning need that coursed through his veins at the
sight of the woman.
Down in the courtyard below, the couple had come to a halt
just inside the gate, and he willed her to look up. The man
leading her gave a tug on the rope. She lashed out at him
with a booted foot, but with her hands bound, he evaded her
with ease. He jerked the rope, and she stumbled then righted
herself.
Jarrod caught his first glimpse of her face. His breath
stuck in his throat, and a shaft of pain pierced his heart.
She was still beautiful, had hardly changed in the
twenty-two years since he had last seen her. Except now, her
body was slender, no longer swollen with child.
Though, while she appeared physically unchanged, something
was different. He studied her, trying to understand, and it
came to him quickly. She no longer had the cowed appearance
of a pleasure slave. And it wasnโt only that she was dressed
as a man, in dark pants, a cloak over her shoulders, and
boots on her feet. She stood straight and tall, her long
honey-colored hair loose down her back.
Twenty-two years ago, heโd helped her escape this place, had
meant to go with her. Instead she had left him behind.
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