Safety, Secrets,
& Settling In

“Hold your breath,” he said against her ear, “and focus on the center. Then let go.”

Vanessa made herself perfectly still, pulled the string back until it bit into her fingers, and released.

Thomas straightened beside her. They both stared at the arrow lying flat on the ground a few meters away.

“Hmm,” he said. “Well, that sucked harder than befores.”

She lowered the bow. “I’m a beginner! This doesn’t come naturally to me, you know.”

“I has to agree, there ain’t nothin’ natural ’bout that.” Thomas lifted his arm toward the arrow as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. “Oh me nerves, ducky. I thought after this many tries, you’s would at least get in spittin’ distance.”

She swung the bow by its string to gesture toward the round straw target. “Oh, and I’m sure you did so great on your first lesson.”

Eyebrows raised, he nodded. “Yeah, I was good. But you—” He blinked twice. “It’s like you handed your bow to a blind man and then scared the Jesus out of ’im.” He rubbed a hand in his scruffy dishwater-blond hair. “I guess you can’ts teach this in one mornin’, eh?” He tilted his head at her. “Is you sure you don’t wear glasses?”

“Okay, we’re done.” She shoved the bow at him.

He snagged the weapon before it fell to the ground and then caught her arm to keep her from leaving. “Come on, Nessy, me ol’ trout. Sure, you shoots like you’s in the middle of a fit. Sure, I squandered an hour o’ me life I’ll never get back. And so what if your bow is where archery itself goes to die?” He threw his arms out to the sides. “That’s no reason to give up!”

She let out a tired growl. “One more try. But if I’m way off again, I quit. This was your idea, remember?”

He nodded with a smile and nocked another arrow for her on the recurve bow. As he handed it to her, Morgan’s voice broke in.

“Mind if I borrow your pupil?” The question, though made to sound casual by that elegant English accent, was accompanied by a strangely meaningful glance toward Vanessa.

“Ay b’y, go ahead. I ain’t doin’ any good here anyways.” Thomas grinned and then stuck his tongue out at Vanessa after she pushed his shoulder.

Morgan took her elbow, and she looked up at him as they walked back to the old Dutch fort from the rear grounds. As usual, he was wearing mostly black, similar to the way the captain always did, but the color of his vest today was a royal blue crisscrossed by gold threads. He certainly had a better sense of style than his robed commander.

“What’s going on?” she asked, now a little worried by the lieutenant’s grave demeanor.

“The captain feels it advisable that you not leave the compound, so he requests that you remain within its walls.”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “Requests?”

Morgan gave her a sidelong look, but his jet-black goatee lifted at the corner.

“He hasn’t even talked to me in over a week,” she said. “Why should he care?”

The pit of her stomach turned cold, like she’d swallowed an ice cube.

He doesn’t. Captain Control Freak only cares about making sure nothing messes up his mission. Whatever it is.

At least he had quickly supplied the kitchen with more workers to help her out, though she wasn’t sure how thrilled those residents had been to be reassigned from their other chores. But that didn’t mean he really gave a crap. It just meant that he was good at keeping his promises.

Morgan rested his palm against the small of her back as they neared the fort gates, and she felt a pleasant flush at the warmth of his hand. It was surely how a gentleman would act when escorting a lady through the English countryside.

The captain probably would have dragged her into the compound by her hair.

“So how long am I under house arrest?” she asked as they passed through the giant old doors—one of them still hopelessly wonky from when Mabayoje had blown it off its hinges.

“Until the captain deems it safe.” Morgan frowned while his eyes swept the expansive garden alertly, as if examining it for the first time. “There’s trouble afoot.”

“And you’re supposed to keep me out of his way, is that it?” She canted her head at him as his gaze settled on her face. She sighed when he didn’t answer. “What sort of trouble?”

“Nothing I need to divulge at the moment.” They reached the one-sided corridor near the kitchen, and Morgan removed his hand from her back. “Suffice it to say that we’re being cautious.”

Her stomach sank at losing his touch, but she squared her shoulders.

“No, Morgan, that doesn’t suffice.” She crossed her arms. “Why does everything have to be a secret? Why can’t you just tell me, like I’m an adult? I just turned twenty-two, not ten.”

He regarded her for a moment before tossing a glance up to the ramparts. He drifted closer, and his voice grew soft.

“Please, m’lady. This is not a matter of paranoia.” His gaze was steady but tender. “I, too, am concerned. And I will not have your safety compromised.”

As he hovered near, a faint scent—like citrus and leather—began to tickle her nose, along with deeper, richer tones of spice. It was the kind of fragrance that made a girl bury her face in a man’s shirt, after he’d left it on her bed.

“Will you indulge me?” Morgan asked and cupped her elbow.

She swallowed, holding her breath, and finally nodded.

Morgan’s shoulders relaxed, and he squeezed her arm gently. He backed away, the alluring scent of him ebbing like a sea tide. As he turned to walk through the stone corridor nearby, her eyes traced the outline of his tall, lean-muscled figure. She nibbled on her bottom lip. She was accustomed to his close-to-the-vest manner, but there was a different edge to it this time.

She listened to the fading cadence of his brisk boot-falls for another few seconds and then looked up at the ramparts. There were several men with large assault rifles patrolling, which was still difficult to get used to.

But ever since the day after she and the captain had made their eventful trip to town, the captain had doubled the number of guards around the compound. And regardless of how much he’d previously pissed her off with his dismissive attitude, she had still panicked when she’d heard he had been attacked right outside their front door. And by people sent by the mayor, no less! She’d been busy exploring some very old parts of the tunnels with Thomas at the time, to test out some new maps Angus had made, but she’d heard later through the rumor mill that someone had gotten shot.

She twisted her hands together and gnawed harder on her bottom lip. And now, judging by Morgan’s behavior, Captain Evans was in the shadow of a new danger.

“I think they are all in a hurry to kill something.”

Vanessa jumped at Rhetta’s voice and put a hand on her chest as her heart leapt against her rib cage. The older woman stood next to her and wiped her hands on a dishcloth, frowning up at the men who moved slowly along the ramparts.

Vanessa nodded and put her hands on her hips. “I pity the squirrel who wanders too far from his tree. Easy target practice, now that the boys have their shiny new guns and grenades.”

Not long after her trip into town with him, the captain had succeeded in setting up relations with the closest arms dealer he could find, which was not all that close from what she had overheard. Curious to see what “arms dealers” looked like, she had peeked out the back gates when they had arrived to negotiate in the north field behind the compound. They were, indeed, a brutish lot, not very trustworthy in appearance. But maybe that went along with selling on the black market. The captain—his masked visage half-hidden in his hood to employ his usual intimidation tactics—had stood before them in all his I’m-not-to-be-screwed-with glory. She could tell by his posture that he had already decided to let his men blow away the dangerous-looking visitors if he didn’t like what he heard.

“You and many others are making them too comfortable here,” Rhetta said, waving away Vanessa’s thoughts like a cloud of gnats. “But they are our wardens, and we are in danger. Some of our men have disappeared, and I have seen the soldiers’ vehicles leave late in the night, carrying something.” She glanced then at Vanessa, her mouth a firm line.

A coldness flashed across Vanessa’s skin, and she rubbed her arms. She shook her head to herself. No. That didn’t prove anything. The soldiers were probably doing some kind of night reconnaissance, not…carting dead bodies around.

“They should never have come here.” Rhetta’s voice turned brittle. “One of these days, we may do something about it, and Captain Evans and his boeven would do well to leave.”

Two soldiers were approaching them in the passageway.

Vanessa took Rhetta’s arm and pulled her back toward the kitchen. “I don’t think it’s a good idea to say things like that,” she said after the men walked past.

Rhetta stared at Vanessa. “I refuse to live like this, where I cannot breathe in my own home.” She patted back the wisps of gray hair at her temple. “They have taken advantage of us long enough.”

Vanessa’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Look, we need to be more careful right now.”

“Uit de doeken ermee, girl! Why should we?”

“Well, because…there’s trouble afoot.”

“Bah!” Rhetta flipped the towel at her. “They are the trouble, meiske. But for now, I’ve greater things to worry about. Like fixing the cracks in the brick ovens and getting their mortar repointed, as well. But maybe that would drive these animals out, if they’ve no bread to eat!” Rhetta sniffed loudly and reentered the kitchen.

Vanessa glanced up at the northeast parapet, where the heavily muscled Frank leaned against the wall, dressed in his faded green-and-brown camouflage pants with an olive-hued jacket. A lit cigar hung from one corner of the Russian’s mouth. He watched her as he puffed out grayish clouds that curled up through his thick black mustache and made a halo around his shaven head. She could almost smell the stinky sweetness of the cigar smoke as he repeatedly flipped the lid of a metal lighter open and closed with a thumb.

Crap. How long has he been there? I wonder if he can read lips.

But then he lifted a hand in what was outwardly a friendly gesture. She waved back, forcing herself to smile, and spun around to make her way up the corridor toward the grand dining hall. Maybe she could sneak in a reread of “Bartleby, the Scrivener” before her kitchen shift started…if she could get her mind off the mysterious threat everyone seemed to be so uptight about now.