Page 12 of Dalla’s Royal Guards (Second Chance #3)

Six

The Library of Narva

Earlier That Day

“Musad, we need additional backup,” Nasser shouted above the sound of gunfire.

“We’re working on it. There are three more vehicles approaching,” Musad responded.

The staccato burst of gunfire filled the air, sounding louder because of the volume of the speaker and the cavernous interior of the lower-level vault.

Rising slowly to his feet, Hari walked over to the mosaic and laid his hand against the cool tile.

He looked up at the mosaic and into the face of Dalla.

Hari closed his eyes and rested his forehead against the tile.

He felt a father’s sense of helplessness knowing his sons and granddaughter were in danger and he was not there.

He knew that Musad and Nasser were prepared and well-trained.

They would do everything possible to remain safe.

But… he also knew that rescuing a small child in a combat situation increased the odds of something going wrong.

“Please, Dalla… protect my sons and my granddaughter,” he murmured.

The tile under his hand warmed at his quietly spoken plea. Deep down, he wanted to believe that some force in the universe had heard his request. He stiffened when the sound of an explosion shattered the silence in the vault.

Tears burned the back of his eyes, and he opened them to look up at Dalla’s face again.

He frowned in confusion and stepped back.

His gaze swept over the mosaic. The beautiful landscape showcased the cliffs of Narva and the shimmering Mediterranean Sea.

The ornate tiles also highlighted the Fort of the Black Tide, home of Pirate Kings for centuries.

In the background, he could see the coast of Kashir.

What was missing from the ancient mosaic was the strikingly beautiful woman that had been staring out at him just moments before.

In her place was an empty outline where she had once stood.

“The legends… they are true!” he breathed out in awe.

Border mountains with Simdan:

Musad parked next to the whitewashed stone three-room hut they had chosen as a safe house.

Donovan and Andre were standing outside and quickly strode to the Land Cruiser, pulling open the back door where Colin sat hunched.

Musad pushed open the driver’s door at the same time as his brother and Dalla opened theirs.

“We’ve got you, old man,” Donovan teased when Colin grunted in pain.

“Old man. I’ll show you old man,” Colin hissed.

The low snort of feminine amusement drew all their attention.

Donovan and Andre lifted an inquiring eyebrow at the woman who’d told them her name was Dalla Bogadottir, but when she ignored them as she looked around, they glanced at Musad and Nasser, who both shrugged.

Musad didn’t have an answer for them… yet.

“I think both bullets went through. There are exit wounds,” Nasser stated.

“Yeah. Twice as many holes. I get to count them as double,” Colin muttered.

Nasser chuckled as Donovan and Andre guided Colin into the small stone hut. Musad smiled, knowing the men had a running joke over who had been shot the most times. Donovan returned within a few minutes.

“What’s the status?” he asked, scanning the area.

Donovan gave him a good-natured grin. “Rocks, rocks, and… more rocks. I have three of the men keeping an eye out. Nanna is helping Andre at the moment. Cianna?—”

“Uncle Nassie!”

Donovan grinned when Cianna rushed out of the house. The little girl practically flew across the yard and into her uncle’s outstretched arms. Musad chuckled when Nasser grunted from the impact.

“How’s my princess?” Nasser asked.

Cianna leaned back and gave him a brilliant smile. “Nanna said I could watch her sew up the man. I want to be a doctor. Can I be a doctor? Thank you for my unicorn.”

“You can be anything you want,” Nasser replied.

Cianna’s eyes widened as she spotted the woman. “Who are you? Did Grandpa send you to help Uncle Nasser and Uncle Musad?”

The woman’s warm, almond-shaped eyes held a glint of amusement in them. “Perhaps,” she replied. “I am Dalla.”

Musad frowned and looked at “Dalla” closely—and kept looking, though he knew he should stop. The rest of her was hard to see beneath the desert robes.

“Dalla? Like the warrior woman from my picture books?” Cianna asked with glee.

Dalla’s expression was difficult to discern. “I don’t know your picture books. If you will excuse me.”

Nasser lifted a meaningful eyebrow at him when Dalla turned and walked away. Musad gave his brother a sharp nod and followed her.

She returned to the edge of the dirt road and paused.

He stopped several feet behind her and waited to see what she would do.

She glanced back and forth before looking up at the sharp incline across the road that had a narrow goat path winding up the side.

He shook his head in bemusement when that’s exactly where she headed.

He followed. If she wanted to climb, they would climb.

It was impossible to ignore the graceful way she moved, and his position below her gave him a view of her form that was also impossible to ignore.

He slipped on loose gravel when she stopped suddenly and glared at him as if she knew exactly where his gaze had wandered.

A slight flush warmed his cheeks, and he grinned at her.

“I do not require company,” she stated.

“I did not say that you did,” he retorted.

She stared at him for a few seconds before she turned away with a muttered phrase that sounded suspiciously like a curse and continued climbing.

She stopped when she reached the top and turned in a slow circle.

Musad drew in a deep breath and held it when she reached up and slowly unwound her headscarf.

Her hair, a rich light brown, shimmered with sun-kissed strands. She had her hair pulled back into an intricate braid that framed her face. He wished he could have taken a picture of her at that moment.

There was a slight breeze that teased the tendrils around her forehead and caught on the scarf in her hand. She held the longbow firmly in her other hand. He frowned when he realized that the quiver draped across her shoulder was full.

“How did you do that?” he demanded.

She turned to look at him and raised an eyebrow. “How did I do what?”

He climbed the last few steps and motioned toward the quiver. She glanced over her shoulder before she shrugged. Her eyes brushed over him before she turned away.

“It is the magic.”

He frowned. “Magic? What magic?”

She still didn’t look at him. Instead, she pointed to a distant mountain with the tip of her bow. He followed her motion.

“I must go there,” she said.

“Why?”

Her face tightened. “I… left something that I must retrieve.”

“Who are you? Really?” he demanded.

He attributed the huskiness in his voice to the climb. She turned her back on him and walked along the top of the ridge. He wasn’t used to anyone just walking away… well, except for his brother… and his father… and his sister.

Okay, enough!

She stopped at the edge and looked across the vast rocky valley to the next mountainous region. Frustration simmered—he needed to know what she was thinking.

“Where are you trying to go?” she asked.

“Narva,” he replied.

She chuckled. “It still exists? And Kashir? That is where we were?”

“You don’t know the country you are in?”

She shot him a heated glare before she shrugged. “I never know where I will reappear. This is the first time I have come back to a place I have been to before.”

“Reappear? You make it sound like you just pop into a place,” he said.

“You could say that,” she said with a small, sad smile that seemed to be for herself, uncaring if he believed her or not.

“And how does that happen?” he continued to ask, unable to believe he was engaging in this insanity but unable to stop. “You just think, ‘I’ll pop up in the middle of a firefight’ and snap, you do?”

“No, I’ve appeared many times before your guns were invented.

I do not understand the complexities behind my appearance, only that I appear in times of need.

When I appeared this time, I noticed a man defending a group in the center of it all.

Nasser, he said his name was,” she began wistfully, her expression longing and sad.

It caused an emotional storm in Musad that he could not interpret for the life of him.

“Yes, he’s my brother.”

She hummed thoughtfully. “Your brother… he was in danger along with the woman, the child, and the other man—you called him Colin. It was not Nasser’s voice that called to me, though. Not Colin’s either,” she replied.

“Whose voice was it then?”

She shrugged, gaze drifting to the distant mountains. “I don’t know.”

“You called me by a different name earlier,” he said.

A flash of grief flared in her eyes before she looked away. “Pascal. You remind me of him.”

“And my brother reminds you of Gerold?”

She gave a short, sharp nod. It wasn’t the first time that a comparison had been made between him, his brother, and their ancestors. The bloodlines between the Al-Rashid and the Marchand’s had crossed many times over the centuries through marriages, much like his sister to Mario.

“Yes, but… you are different. Gerold was the more cynical one back then.”

Her glance into his eyes was intimate, and his lips twitched alongside hers at the keen observation before he looked away and shoved his hands in his pockets.

“Why do you think I’m cynical?” he asked.

“I don’t know. Maybe the way you have been asking questions, the not-so-subtle glares filled with suspicion, the little line right here.” She lifted a slender finger and rubbed a spot between her eyes.

His fingers rose instinctively, mirroring hers. “You haven’t answered my questions, and I was not glaring at you.”

“I have been answering your questions, you just don’t like my answers. If you ask more, you may not be happy with those answers either,” she warned.

“Will they be truthful?” he asked.

“Yes.”

Nasser’s gaze kept moving to the top of the hill across from the hut, his thoughts returning over and over to his brother trying to get information out of the woman who had mysteriously appeared. He smiled down at Cianna when she reached for his hand.

“I miss my mommy and daddy,” she murmured.

“Musad and I will have you home soon,” he promised.

“Cianna, are you hungry?” Nanna called.

Cianna’s eyes lit up. “I’m starving!”

Nasser chuckled as Cianna slipped her hand from his and ran to the doorway of the hut where Nanna was standing. Donovan ruffled Cianna’s hair as she passed him and came to stand next to Nasser.

“Colin is resting. His wounds are painful, but he’ll heal. Andre’s given him enough pain meds he won’t be complaining,” Donovan shared.

Nasser nodded. His gaze was still focused on the top of the hill. He couldn’t see his brother or the woman, but it was like a magnet was pulling him to them.

“Colin said the woman saved him… saved all of you,” Donovan commented.

Nasser nodded. “She did.”

“Is she an op?”

The question caught him off guard. Nasser knew he should consider whether the woman was an operative for O’Toole carefully, but he didn’t need to. He felt the answer in his bones.

“No.”

Donovan frowned and stared up at the hill. “Then… who is she?”

“A mystery.”