‘No one likes Apollonius,’ Konstantine continued. ‘He may have secured our victory in the war, but it came at great cost. Many felt he made unnecessary sacrifices of our troops. Those same people fear he has come back asking for more soldiers to take on more bloodshed.’
Brennan stood up and stretched his back, looking across the market at the tavern. ‘Why doesn’t the village stand up to him, then?’
Konstantine paused from his chore and gave him a serious look. ‘We tolerate him because we cherish our independence more than we despise Apollonius. The Filiki Eteria gave us the cohesion, the organisation, to successfully rebel that previous efforts lacked. And it worked. We have driven out the Turks, Brennan. We have some independence, but there is a better independence to be had, one that is not corrupted by petty chieftains. Our work is not done. Until it is, we must tolerate a man like Apollonius who shares our goals, if not our ideals.’
Brennan found Konstantine’s argument humbling and shaming, too. Never in his life had he been as committed to anything or anyone as Konstantine was to Greek independence. What was so humbling about it was that Konstantine was a fisherman. He’d not been educated in the great universities of the world. He was a simple man, who lived hundreds of miles from the governmental centre of his country and yet he understood the cause. It was something Brennan found impressive and envious. ‘Is that what he’s here for? To rally the next phase?’
‘Most likely.’ Konstantine nodded towards the tavern door. ‘There he is now, ready to ride out and make the rounds.’ Castor stood in the doorway, slapping a crop against his leg impatiently as his horse was brought around, a big, black, magnificent creature. ‘If we’re lucky, we won’t see him for a week or so. It will give you time to decide what you want to do.’
‘I don’t know what you mean by that,’ Brennan said slowly, an uneasy pit taking up residence in his stomach. He didn’t know, but he could guess.
‘He’s not here only for the war effort,’ Konstantine said solemnly. ‘He’s here for Patra. He will not tolerate being the odd man out. I’ve told you this before.’
This was getting better and better by the moment, or worse and worse as the case might be. ‘Correction, you said he was an old suitor. You never said he carried a grudge.’ But he knew what Kon was implying. He had time to leave, to simply fade away before Castor came back. Maybe he should. He had meant to leave at some point anyway. Why not now before he was in the thick of trouble? ‘I don’t think I can decide anything until I talk to Patra.’
Brennan took off his apron. They were nearly done with packing up. ‘Would you mind if I went out to see her now?’ He wanted to do more than talk to her. He wanted to make sure she was all right. He’d seen her face go pale when Castor had approached. She’d been frightened and it had been a fear that went far deeper than being startled or taken by surprise.
Brennan wanted answers and he wanted them now, his impatience manifesting in long, fast strides down the dirt road away from town. Patra had slipped from the marketplace and it had taken all of his remaining patience to wait a decent interval before going after her. There’d been no question of following her directly, not with Kon’s hand squeezing hard on his shoulder, cautioning him against rash action.
* * *
Patra’s little homestead looked quiet, too quiet, when he approached. For a moment, Brennan thought perhaps she’d gone. But surely there hadn’t been enough time for her to effect that kind of escape. A goat brayed from the tangled mess of what used to be the olive grove and Brennan knew a sense of relief. She was here.
Brennan took a step forward and heard the ominous click of a pistol being cocked. It was all the warning he had before a bullet stirred up the dust just a step ahead of him. Good lord, had she lost her mind? ‘Patra! It’s me, it’s Brennan.’ He turned in a slow circle, trying to determine her direction. ‘Patra, honey, put down the gun!’ A few inches closer and his Grand Tour would have come to an ignoble end in the middle of nowhere. Not that anyone would really care. But he did. He’d come out here to see if she was all right, not to be shot.
The door to her house opened slightly to test the truth of his announcement. Patra stepped out, but she did not lower the gun. That meant there must have been two. Sweet heavens, what was she doing with two loaded guns? But he knew. The answer was written in the dusty, tear-stained tracks that ran down her face and in the tangle of hair that now hung loose about her face having escaped its ribbon; she was giving herself a fighting chance against whatever came down that road.
There was a wildness to her, a desperation that tugged at Brennan’s very core. His questions no longer mattered. They seemed petty in light of Patra wielding a gun in her home. There were only a few crimes Castor could have committed that would elicit such a response, all of them equally heinous. It no longer mattered which he’d done, only that Castor Apollonius had perpetrated them on her. That realisation forged a new kind of steel in his heart as he stood there looking at Patra, the gun wavering in her hand. He was not leaving. Leaving would be easy, but leaving would put her in the clutches of a man who embodied her worst nightmare without anyone to protect her. Brennan Carr did not want to be the sort of man who left. For the first time ever, Brennan wanted to be a man who stayed.
He took a cautious step forward. ‘Put the gun down, Patra. I’m here.’
The gun lowered, slowly. ‘I thought you might have been him.’ Further proof that whatever had happened between her and the captain went far beyond a rejected suitor.
He took two more steps towards her. All his instincts cautioned him to go slowly while all he wanted to do was run to her and pull her into his arms. ‘You’re safe. Castor rode out with saddlebags half an hour ago. He’s gone.’ Two more steps and he’d reach her.
He heard the hammer click down on the pistol. ‘Everything will be all right, Patra.’ He smiled his reassurance.
She shook her head even as relief spread over her face at his news. ‘It won’t be all right. He’ll be back and you shouldn’t be here.’
He wondered how she meant that—here at her house or here as in Kardamyli, the way Konstantine had meant it. He was getting deuced tired of people wanting him to leave. Brennan reached for the gun and gently pried it from her hand, laying it aside. He closed his fingers around hers and tugged her forward. ‘Come and sit with me in the citrus grove and we’ll talk.’ He was counting on the sharp scent of the fruit, the light breeze through the leaves to calm her. Surrounded by the familiar, she might relax. He offered her a cheeky grin as they took their seats at the rough table beneath the trees. ‘Now you can tell me exactly why I’m supposed to run away from Castor Apollonius.’
‘You’d be foolish to stay,’ Patra said, her eyes lit with a dark intensity. Brennan could feel her fingers tighten in his where their hands lay joined on the table. He’d been careful not to let her go. People talked better, said more, when they touched, and right now she needed the simple connection. ‘He is dangerous. He thinks you are a spy.’
That was one for the record books. He’d have to write to Haviland and tell him. Nolan would be absolutely beside himself with laughter. Brennan felt his mouth twitch, but he suppressed it. This was no laughing matter to Patra and he would not dismiss her concerns with humour. ‘I’m not a spy. Why would a spy be here?’ This seemed the most unlikely of places for a spy to get any work done. What would there be to report?
‘The Filiki have hopes that Britain might support a move against King Otto,’ Patra explained. ‘Perhaps you are here to test the possibilities. Will the peninsula rise up again? Would support make a difference?’
‘Ah, the Filiki, the secret society which is not so secret,’ Brennan mused. ‘Your husband was part of it during the war? Were you?’
‘Dimitri, yes, me only nominally. Women can’t join.’
‘But you helped them?’ Brennan pressed, some pieces coming
together. ‘Apollonius thinks you might help them again?’
She shook her head. ‘It is a surface-level stratagem only. He is here to investigate you. But he will stay because of me.’
‘And when he learns I’m not a spy?’ Brennan was feeling an enormous amount of unintended guilt. His very presence had called forth Patra’s worst nightmare. But how could he have known simply being here would put her in danger?
‘Then the real danger begins,’ Patra said quietly. ‘When he learns there is nothing you can do for him, you become expendable. He will not hesitate to kill you. He may even seek to make a martyr of you in the hopes of rallying an enraged Britain to his standard.’ She pressed his hands hard. ‘That is why you must go. You should be far away when he comes back.’ She looked down at their hands. ‘I’m afraid I didn’t help any today. When he posited the spy theory, I tried to disabuse him of the idea. I didn’t think it through. If he believes me, he’ll conclude sooner rather than later you have no worth to him.’
‘I’m pretty hard to kill,’ Brennan assured her. Several angry husbands had tried over the years. He’d grown adept at knives, thanks to Nolan, an expert at swords, thanks to Haviland, and, when that failed, he could always ride like the devil, thanks to Archer. Still, this wasn’t about his safety. ‘I can take care of myself, Patra, and I can protect you, too.’ He paused, aware that her gaze hadn’t left their hands. ‘Look at me, Patra. I want you to see my face when I tell you this so that you don’t doubt me for a minute.’ This was the critical moment, the moment she had to believe him.
She raised her eyes slowly, her gaze wary when it met his. It was the wariness that bothered him most, not because she didn’t trust him. She did, as far as it went, but because he sensed the wariness was directed inward for herself. There was something she wasn’t telling him, something she was holding back. ‘Patra, I am not leaving you to face him alone. I announced my intentions to court you in the fish market today. I will not run at the first sign of trouble.’
‘It is only a ruse. You mean to leave any way,’ she countered quietly, but he’d seen the pulse leap in her neck at his words. She had found reassurance in them despite her argument to the contrary.
‘Some day, at some time in the future, not today,’ Brennan said patiently. ‘I will not let Apollonius harm you. Whatever happened between the two of you in the past will not happen again, not while I’m here.’
‘You don’t have to do this, Brennan. We made an agreement to perpetuate a short, false relationship to mutually protect ourselves from unwanted marriage overtures. You didn’t bargain on this and I won’t hold you to it.’
‘Patra, I want to be held to it.’ And he did. For her, and for him. He wasn’t ready to leave Kardamyli and he’d be damned if some captain with misplaced zeal for independence was going to drive him out when there suddenly seemed to be so much to fight for. He grinned. ‘Besides, I haven’t finished whitewashing your house yet, or patching the shed roof. I might just have to move out here to get all the chores done.’
‘You couldn’t possibly! People would think something illicit was going on,’ Patra protested, a good sign that perhaps she was starting to let fear release its hold.
‘The people despise Apollonius. They will think I’m out here to protect you and they will approve because no one thinks a widow living alone should have to protect her home with two guns. And they’d be right,’ Brennan corrected. He’d be sure to have Konstantine help spread that logic around town starting tonight. Castor might be gone a whole week or a couple of days. He wasn’t about to take the chance of Castor catching Patra alone at home or anywhere.
Brennan watched her thoughts accept his reasoning and felt the tension in his own body start to relax. He arched an eyebrow and tried for some levity. He wanted to see her smile before he left to gather his things and come back. ‘As for the illicit, who knows? We have a whole week, I suppose anything is possible.’
Chapter Eleven
Anything was possible. One week. Then, she’d let him go. It was an unholy bargain Patra struck with herself as Brennan disappeared down the road. She already felt lonely without him, already missed him even though he’d only be gone an hour, just long enough to gather his things and make his position clear for the gossips. It wasn’t just about being lonely. She felt safer with him, too. Castor liked to work alone. He didn’t want witnesses. If he came back early, he wouldn’t like finding Brennan here.
It was hardly fair to Brennan. The danger increased twofold for him if he was associated intimately with her. It would give Castor another reason to hate him. She’d not been entirely open with Brennan. The danger Castor posed to him was not purely political. It was personal. Patra turned to go into the house, second-guessing herself. Perhaps she should have told Brennan all of it. Maybe, if he knew the whole horrid truth, he would be on the road out of town now instead of on the road back to her, swearing to protect a woman who didn’t deserve such chivalry. But the whole truth was hard to tell because it impugned her as well as Castor. Brennan would think less of her. She was not the woman he thought she was: a virtuous, devoted widow.
She was selfish. She wanted to hold on to Brennan for as long as she could. Castor’s reappearance might have cheated her out of her freedom, but it would not cheat her out of temporarily coming back to life. She didn’t dare it tonight. The day had been too emotional. She had a week to enjoy Brennan before she turned him free. When she seduced him, she wanted it to be about them, just them, not about a crisis driving them together, or a release for adrenaline and fear. Tonight, she would enjoy his company at her table and try to forget the horrors of the day, of Castor’s hand on her, his caress against her face. But tomorrow would be different, it would be a time to recapture the pleasures of the beach and expand on them. Tomorrow, she would take Brennan Carr to bed.
Patra tied on an apron and surveyed her kitchen. There was plenty of food for a week, even when the man in question ate like Brennan. Her decision was made. She would seize her pleasure before it was too late and she had seven days to do it. But in return for her pleasure, she would tell Brennan the truth about Castor. It was perhaps the only way to drive him off, to keep him safe. Brennan would go and she’d be alone, but that was the price to be paid. Brennan had never been hers to keep anyway.
* * *
Her efforts started at breakfast. Brennan had begun work as soon as the sun was up. This time she was ready for him. Patra had breakfast waiting, the little table set out under the cluster of citrus trees, draped in a blue-and-white checked cloth, the tray laden with bowls of yogurt and a small pitcher of thyme honey for drizzling, plates of trikala, the spiced sausage prepared on the peninsula, and a pitcher of goat’s milk. She’d noticed how much he’d eaten that first day. Today, she was prepared. When he started into the food, she watched with relish instead of trepidation. She passed him the sausage platter. ‘There’s more. Eat, please.’
Brennan stuck a fork into a fat sausage. ‘Why are you smiling? Is there something on my face?’ He made a mock face of horror, his voice exaggerated. ‘Or is there something in the sausage? Have you poisoned it to get rid of me?’ He took a large bite.
‘It’s good to watch a man eat,’ Patra confessed. He was going to think she was a lunatic now. But it was hard to think of ‘normal’ things to say when her mind was already focused on the night to come. ‘It’s good to cook for someone again. It’s not very exciting cooking for yourself,’ she added, hoping to minimise the impression that she might be just a little insane. In fact, she hardly cooked at all beyond making pita. Most of her meals consisted of pita, goat’s cheese and whatever fruit she picked off her tree.
Brennan winked at her. ‘You can always cook for me. I eat like a horse.’ He waved his hand in dismissal when she would have protested. ‘No, it’s true, I do. It has something to do with how I digest food. Apparently, I burn it faster than most people.’<
br />
He finished eating and wiped his mouth with the napkin. ‘Thank you, it was delicious. I could get used to a breakfast like that. I’d better get back to work before it’s too hot to paint. I want to finish whitewashing the other sides of the house.’
‘Are you planning on working without your shirt?’ Patra enquired, gathering up the dishes.
Brennan passed her a plate, his hands lingering on hers as he stacked it with the others, a grin on his lips. ‘Would you like me to?’
‘I have some laundry to do today and I was noticing your shirt could use a wash. It’s the least I can do for all of your help,’ Patra replied coolly. She was starting to regret the offer. She’d actually meant it innocently enough, but it didn’t seem so innocent now with his hands skimming hers, something she was sure he’d done on purpose. She was supposed to be seducing him. Did he guess? Surely women tried to seduce him all the time. Perhaps he was used to it.
Brennan winked. ‘If you’re offering, then it’s the least I can do to oblige.’ In a fluid motion he grabbed the hem of his shirt, arms crossed, and drew it up over his head. It was a pretty move that caught her staring. She nearly missed the shirt when he tossed it at her. She shouldn’t be so surprised. She’d seen his bare chest in the marketplace and far more of him when they’d been swimming. And yet she thought not even a blind woman would tire of seeing him in some state of undress. Patra noticed a tiny white line low on his hip she hadn’t seen before—maybe ‘before’ wasn’t the right word. She hadn’t seen it when they swam, she clarified. ‘Before’ implied a certain history, a certain familiarity.
She couldn’t stand there and stare. She had to say something, had to prove to him that she wasn’t gawking. She was a mature woman. She’d seen half-dressed men, even naked men, before. She’d seen him half-dressed and naked before. But all she could manage was, ‘Make sure you put some lotion on sooner today. You look a little red.’
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