“You were naïve,” Saxon utters roughly, “so bloody naïve.”
I don’t even bother to defend myself. “I was.”
Truthfully, I still am.
Peter’s hand gently folds over my shoulder, squeezing. “I don’t want you to think that I hate you. I can’t . . . Fuck—”
“Language, Peter,” Josie admonishes, and from the way Peter jolts in his seat, I have the sneaking suspicion that she poked him.
“Dammit, Jos, I’m trying to say something here.”
“No one’s stopping you.”
A small, battle-weary smile lifts the corner of my mouth. “Josie, let him talk.”
Squeezing my shoulder again, Peter goes on. “We all wanted the king dead. All of us. But I wouldn’t have done it myself. That’s not, uh . . . That’s not the sort of person I am, I suppose. But you’ve always been braver than me, Isla. You do what no one else will, and I-I just wanted to tell you that. It’s not naïve to trust your gut—it just makes you human.”
Tears prick the back of my eyes and I reach up to grasp his fingers. Overwhelmed by emotion, I kiss the back of his hand, the way Mum used to do to us as children. “You have no idea what that means to me,” I say, my voice ragged. “I love you.”
“What about me?” Josie pipes up, jabbing me in the other shoulder.
I glance back at her, and she is just so Josie. Tough and brave and so much older than her sixteen years, but her blue eyes reveal everything she won’t say out loud: she’s terrified of me dying, of somehow leaving her behind to fend for herself. “I love you, too,” I tell her, snagging her hand before she pulls away completely. “There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for you.”
Even kill the king.
For the first time in the hour-long ride, the radio punches on and music floods the car. Saxon’s palm hits the steering wheel with an audible thwack. “Five minutes.”
Letting Peter and Josie go, I settle a hand on his upper arm. “Are you okay?”
He issues me a stiff nod but says nothing for the remainder of the ride. Trees bracket the two-lane road, their scraggly branches eclipsing the clear sky above. The stifled air has returned, and not even the upbeat melody playing from the speakers can do much to erase the unease seeping back into my veins.
The road opens some, revealing a quaint stone house on our right before Saxon takes a left at the fork. And then it’s nothing but a narrow, single lane road leading us deeper and deeper into the woods. The brush grows thicker, the sky disappears altogether, and I can’t even imagine what it must be like to drive here at night.
Pure, all-encompassing darkness.
I sit up tall in my seat. “How much farther?”
Gravel crunches under the tires as Saxon eases us down a small drive lined with trees on one side and a short brick wall on the other. “We’re here,” he says, and then we are.
A landscaped lawn comes into view, followed shortly by a paved path that winds around a pond and a small stream. Stone bridges arc over the water, and if I lived here, I know—without a shadow of a doubt—that I would spend most of my days seated beside that stream, taking in every splash that nature has to offer.
I lower my window, hoping to catch the sound of rippling water.
“What is this place?” Josie breathes from the backseat.
“We call it the Palace,” Saxon answers, turning the music off with a flick of his fingers. “It was built for Henry VIII. A manor house that he never visited.” He looks over at me, pausing, before returning his attention back to the road. “In the chapel, the ceiling has artwork that the architect had done to commemorate Henry’s marriage to Catherine of Aragon.”
Peter releases a boyish chuckle. “I bet that didn’t pan out well in convincing Henry to come on by for a wee visit.”
“It didn’t, but it’s been”—Saxon brushes his thumb over his mouth—“in our family since the late nineteenth century.”
“Like a home base?” Josie asks curiously. “Do you belong to a secret organization, Saxon?”
The car slows to a stop. And then, “Something like that.”
More unexpected honesty.
Something unfurls in my chest, an emotion I’ve never felt before, and I reach for his hand on instinct alone. Crazy or not, I feel like I could take on the entire world, so long as he’s with me. A team. An unstoppable unit. Saxon balances out my rashness. Reckless, he once called me.
I suppose he was right.
But he’s not as cruel or savage as I once believed him.
“We’ll get out here,” he murmurs, squeezing my hand before letting go.
As one, we follow as he leads us down a gravel-paved path sandwiched between neatly mowed grass and untamed green ferns. The grounds are a treat for the eyes, a beautiful blending of acutely designed parterre gardens and wild foliage allowed to grow free of heavy hands and sharp shears. If I believed in fairy tales, then this would certainly be the one I wished to live in.
And then my jaw actually does drop when the medieval-styled manor house comes into view.
I stumble to a stop. “There’s a moat.”
Peter brushes past me, our duffel bag looped over one shoulder. “Bloody hell. Is that a drawbridge?”
“My brother had it installed as a joke about five years ago,” Saxon murmurs, his fingers thrust deep into the front pockets of his joggers. “We all had a good laugh, and then we promptly locked him out for the night. Couldn’t even swim over because these walls were built over five-hundred years ago. There’s no scaling them when the bridges are up.”
“Was it Guy you pranked?” Josie asks, skipping forward with her arms spread wide.
“No.” A small pause. “My brother Damien.”
“Oh, the mad one,” she singsongs, turning back to us with a wriggle of her brows. “Or that’s what I’ve heard, at least. But since I heard that you killed the king, and obviously you didn’t, I’ll withhold judgment on the Mad Priest. For now.”
Saxon mutters something that sounds suspiciously like, “You really shouldn’t,” before speaking louder, “Why don’t you and Peter go ahead? Guy will be waiting in the Great Hall. I want to show your sister something.”
Peter and Josie require no further encouragement.
Like the children they once were, they race each other over the wooden bridge. With a shove at the front door, which looks like heavy oak, they disappear inside. Only then do I turn to Saxon. “You’re full of surprises.”
His green eyes land on my face. “I have another to show you.”
I lift a brow. “Oh?”
Removing his hand from his pocket, he holds it out for me to take, palm up. “After your grand reveal today, I thought this might interest you. Come with me.”
He doesn’t need to tell me twice.
As we walk, I take in the elaborate garden that spans from the back of the house to a building that looks like it was once used as the estate’s stables. Tall and constructed of brick and exposed wooden beams, it’s a more modest version of the Palace. Smaller, though not by much. My palm is sweaty within Saxon’s when I murmur, “I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you earlier . . . about the king, I mean.”