Page 16 of Captive in His Castle
She should have accepted that lift off the security guard at the first manned entry point she’d come across. He’d politely refused to open the ten-foot-high iron gate he was guarding. Still believing escape was hers for the taking, Callie had refused his offer of a lift back to the castle and taken herself back off, thinking she would try the next entry point. And she would have done, if she’d ever found it. Each quadrant of the map contained fields of alternating grapes and olives. Each quadrant had its own pathways crossing through them, numerous pathways. Each quadrant was its own maze. Having stupidly detoured off the pathway she’d been walking, she was now stuck in one of the fields and fully surrounded by olive trees a good deal taller than the perimeter wall. Not that her detour mattered in the grand scheme of things, seeing as she’d long lost track of whatever path she’d thought she’d been following.
And this, she told herself grimly, was why she’d failed herScouts orienteering badge. Callie had an excellent sense of direction, but only if she had landmarks or features to focus on. When all the landmarks and features consisted of olive trees and grapevines, she was screwed. At this moment, she reallywasscrewed. Her throat was parched, her skin and eyes gritty, and her feet were killing her. She must have done more steps since setting off than she usually did in a month.
A tear rolled down her cheek, and she sniffed and swallowed hard to stop more from following. Crying wasn’t going to get her out of this mess.
The blast of a car horn rang out in the distance.
The last time she’d heard that sound had been what felt like days ago, while the sun was still high in the sky and before the blisters on her heels had formed. Before she’d admitted defeat.
The horn blasted again.
Blinking back more tears, she hobbled towards the sound. Tried to hobble. The pain had become excruciating.
A tall figure appeared in the distance.
Her heart slammed.
It couldn’t be…
The figure lifted a hand in greeting.
Her throat closed, a swell of emotion rising.
Sinking to the hard, cold ground, Callie rested against an olive tree, trying her hardest to compose herself, trying her hardest to breathe away the rush of her pulses. With each step he took closer to her, the fuller her chest became.
He reached her and stopped.
Their eyes locked. Callie’s heart slammed again, and then she looked away to vigorously blink back more threatening tears. “You came back.”
“I heard my house guest got herself lost.” He crouched down. “Ready to go back?”
She rubbed her nose with the sleeve of her jacket andnodded, which turned into a shake of her head. “I can’t walk,” she whispered. “I think my blisters have burst.”
He winced. “Do you want me to carry you?”
She couldn’t bear the thrill and longing this offer provoked. “No.”
“A wheelbarrow to transport you in then?”
For some reason, this made her laugh, but it was a fragile laugh that in a breath allowed the tears to spring free.
Dante didn’t know what he found the most touching – the furious way Callie swiped at the tears, as if their release had personally offended her, or the clean patches of skin the tears left on her grubby face.
“I’ll go and bring the car to you, okay?”
She swallowed again and nodded. “Thank you.”
He straightened. “I won’t be long.”
Fortunately, he’d set out on his search in one of the estate’s four-by-fours and easily navigated it through the towering olive trees. Parking as close as he could get to her, he saw pain lance her face when she got to her feet.
He jumped out and crossed the few meters over to her. “Hold onto me for support.”
“I can manage.” She sniffed back more tears.
“I don’t bite.”
“I can manage.”
