Page 25 of The Truth About Myths
"Emigration, have you heard of it? It is permanent."
Isabel crossed her arms above her chest and took a step backward. How unfair to criticize the peasants when he couldn't wait to turn tail and flee. She grabbed her skirt and strode to the passageway.
"Isa?" His voice came from too close behind her.
Isabel halted.
"You should keep the medal." He pulled her hair above her left shoulder, brushed the naked skin above her collar, and pinned it to the lapel of her jacket.
The gesture, too intimate, lifted the hairs on her arms, and her eyelids fluttered shut. His presence hummed against her spine, insistent, impossible to be ignored.
She turned to face him. His eyes lulled her, the blue of Portugal's sky reflecting on the ocean. Isabel pulled in a shaky breath and held the air inside her lungs like a swimmer who realized the water was too deep. Except she had never learned how to swim.
"There." He took a step away from her. "You will care better for Portugal's treasure."
Isabel covered the jewel with her palm. His voice had the same note of despair she'd heard last night when he blamed himself for not arriving in time to protect her.
She placed a hand over his forearm. "You can do so much for Portugal. If only—"
"Do you believe men and women can be friends?"
The sudden change of subject startled her, and she smiled nervously. "Why, yes? If a rider can befriend his horse, and a lady can befriend her maid, surely—"
"The rider wants to ride the horse, and the horse wants to be fed. The lady wants her hair dressed, and the maid wants to get paid." He gave her the sardonic smile she despised. "Are you seeing a pattern yet, Isabel?"
Chapter 9
"All these Portuguese Princesses are demons either in politics or in love, and sometimes in both."The Duchess de Dino
TheCanastracoatofarms flashed atop the pedimented gateway, signaling their destination. Isabel's carriage left the main road and lumbered through the path cut through a sprawling plain. She lowered her embroidery and chanced a look outside. Henrique and Diomedes rode behind their coach.
Henrique spoke, and Diomedes laughed. She could bet he had made an outrageous remark, dripping with his dry, witty humor. After their encounter in the cellar, he hadn't invited her to ride with him… Not that she wanted to. In fact, she could hardly wait to arrive at Comillas so she wouldn't have to see him as often. She had no intention of preoccupying herself with a man devoid of love for his country. A rootless tree, ungrateful to the earth sustaining it. She pierced the cloth with more force than necessary and poked her fingertip. Muttering a curse, she flung it away.
The coach halted.
Sophie stored their books and embroidery in a basket, and the ladies adjusted their bonnets and gloves. When a footman dressed in the ochre and carmine of the Spanish flag opened the door, they were perfectly composed.
Isabel alighted first, expression number six in place—a greeting smile and upraised brows.
A marine-scented breeze brought laughter from the beach. Emerald lawns reached to the glittering ocean, the perfect green peppered by carnation and pomegranate flowers.
Dolly shaded her eyes. "By the bard almighty, how grand it is."
A palace perched on the hill, flanked by towering cypress trees. The apricot-colored stones stood in sharp relief against the bright blue sky. Atop the minaret, the Spanish flag trembled under a light breeze.
Rafaela, the Duchess of Canastra, fluttered closer and kissed Isabel's cheeks. "My dear, dear cousin. I'm so happy you came. I promise you will not regret it." She stressed each word with a fluid hand gesture, exposing multicolored gems on her fingers.
Rafaela was every inch as vivacious as Isabel remembered. Spain had colored her skin to a lovely olive. Her black hair was arranged atop her head, and a handsome bonnet perched rakishly over her curls.
Isabel introduced Dolores.
"What a delightful girl." Rafaela inspected Dolly at arm's length. "Why, I must take you both under my wing."
Henrique cantered into the courtyard and halted not fifteen feet from them. The sun kissed Henrique's skin, shining over his windswept hair. With the ease of a brilliant rider, he vaulted from Incitatus' back. Grinning at something Diomedes said, he flung the reins to a liveried groom and patted the horse's neck. As he swaggered to their group, the silly beast followed his master's every move, undoubtedly as eager for the man's crumbs of attention as everyone else in their entourage.
Everyone except Isabel.
Diomedes cleared his throat and gave Rafaela a polite bow.
