Heirs of Acadia - 03 - The Noble Fugitive by T. Davis Bunn

this point. Her gaze hardened. “He says yes.”
    “That’s all? Yes?”
    “I was hoping for additional payment. After all, I have risked—”
    Serafina leaped up so swiftly Carla gasped and backed away. But not fast enough. Serafina gripped the maid’s arm with a hand transformed to steel. She moved forward until her face was inches from the maid’s. “ Tell me .”
    “H-he is thrilled beyond words,” the maid answered in a fearful rush. “H-he yearns for you with every b-breath. He will be where you wish and counts the passing moments as he would the loss of his own life’s blood.”
    All strength drained from her body. Serafina released her hold and stumbled back to the chair. “He loves me,” she whispered.
    “He adores you.” Carla seemed to find no pleasure in the words. She reached into her pocket and drew out a sealed page. “He sends you this. He says the smudges are from his tears.”
    Serafina resisted the urge to open it immediately. She would not allow this woman to see her weep. And weep she would. Of that she had no doubt. Besides which, they had little time.
    She fumbled with the jewel box’s tiny catch. Her hands trembled so that when she lifted the pearl necklace, the pearls swung and glimmered between them. “You shall have these if you do what I say.”
    “Say it then.” Carla’s expression had taken on a hypnotic intensity. “But be swift.”
    Serafina had thought it out with great care. She told her exactly what she wanted. “Will you do this?”
    “That is two things, not one.”
    “This for the first, the comb for the other.”
    “Show me.”
    Serafina allowed the pearls to drop into her other palm. She clasped her hands together, hiding them from view. “Not until the first task is done.”
    Carla lifted her eyes from Serafina’s hands. She measured the younger woman very carefully, then said, “I will do as you ask.”

    By the light of the lone evening candle, Serafina unsealed the letter. She knew Luca could not write, or at least not write well. He had confessed as much during one of their earliest private conversations. He had failed at different schools and driven away all but his art tutors, until his parents had thrown up their hands and ordered him into the military. He was good with his fists and with weapons, but he hated taking orders. He could fight, and he could draw, and he could work both stone and clay. His painting was marginal, or so he claimed. But Serafina thought his oils to be absolutely beautiful in their emotional power. He was a very sensual artist. Which made his response to her letter all the more potent.
    It was a drawing of her face. Serafina looked down at herself and wept with the knowledge that he really and truly loved her. There was no other way he could have expressed such a vivid emotion unless he himself shared it.
    Her image looked out of the page with an expression that was both dreamy and yearning. It was exactly how she had felt when he had entered her bedchamber and kissed her and drawn her close.
    Serafina jammed one fist into her mouth to stifle the noise of her sobs. Impatiently she cleared her eyes and examined the drawing. She saw the smudge marks and wept the harder, for she knew he had first drawn her and then leaned over the page, hungering for her as she did for him. She saw three longer smudges where his fingers had traced their way around the border of her face. She traced the marks and felt the fire of his touch upon her anew.
    She remained where she was, touching the page and weeping, until the candle expired and cast her into the darkness of another lonely night.

Chapter 5
    Falconer awoke from the nightmare, his heart pounding and skin clammy with sweat.
    It was the same harrowing dream he had endured for three long years. He could not recall whether he had first had the dream and then given his soul and life to his Creator or the dream had started after his baptism. Falconer had spoken of the dream with only one