Page 11

CHAPTER TEN

“Y ou married him!”

Melusine was hissing at her. Elle didn’t need her cousin spinning out of control or making her feel any worse than she already did. Quite honestly, she wasn’t sure why she wasn’t running about and screaming her head off.

It had been a day for the ages.

Elle had been trying so very hard to accept that which she could not change. To accept the defeat against the English, to accept that Brython was no longer hers, and to accept that, little more than an hour ago, she had married the Earl of Leominster, Curtis de Lohr. She had been trying very hard to accept all of these things, but the more the day passed and the more she watched Curtis with his father and brothers, and the other knights who were congratulating him, the more she felt her composure slipping away.

Dissolving.

Crumbling.

She had lost everything.

And now, Melusine was hounding her about a marriage she had no control over. Everyone seemed to be hounding her, pressuring her, and scolding her. She wasn’t used to such condemnation and harassment. At least, she viewed it as harassment when it wasn’t exactly that bad. Men telling her the course her life would take wasn’t harassment as much as it was simply the way of things. But the more she listened to Melusine hiss, the more her control slipped.

Until it just wasn’t there any longer.

She was in Christopher’s grand tent with the flap tied open. Men were coming and going and the wine was flowing freely. Soldiers were also gathering, at least those who weren’t working with the wounded or the captive Welsh, and imbibing the liquid in the barrels that the quartermasters had brought with them to battle. It wasn’t fine stuff, but it did the job. It could get a man drunk.

That was all Elle could see.

Careless drunks.

Unable to stomach the display of revelry any longer, she stood up. Melusine grabbed at her, wanting to know where she was going, and all Elle could do was tell the woman to leave her alone.

Just leave me alone!

With that, she fled de Lohr’s tent, out into the evening, which was becoming cold. It was a clear night, with the moon bright and cold overhead, illuminating Brython. Shadowed and broken against the backdrop of the moody Welsh hills, it looked dead, as dead as Elle felt.

All of it dead.

She had an aversion to it. She couldn’t look at it and see her broken dreams. Turning away from the hulk, she found herself facing England and the darkened fields in the distance. Behind her was Wales. Looking forward was England and all of the things she had to face now that she was married to an English earl. Brython was on a rise, and she ended up wandering downhill, still looking at England, feeling more desolation than she could have ever imagined. Behind her, men were celebrating. Celebrating the death of everything that was important to her.

Her death.

Oh, God… She was dead.

There was a big, flat rock in front of her, one of many all over these hills. When she plopped down on the rock, grief overwhelmed her and the tears came. Tears for the loss, tears for the future. In little time, she was weeping hysterically, agonizing pain consuming her. She ended up lying on the rock, her tears mingling with the old, moss-riddled surface. Her rock, her Wales. She felt as if she was grieving not only the loss of her castle, but her very country.

The crying never ceased. The more she wept, the more she felt like weeping. It was a vicious circle. There was so much pain and regret bottled up that it had to come out somehow. It was coming out now, in buckets.

And then she saw it.

Boots.

Startled, she sat up and found herself looking at Curtis as he stood several feet away. The moment he saw that she had seen him, he put up his hands in a soothing gesture.

“I am sorry,” he said softly but quickly. “You ran out of the tent, and I followed you to make sure you did not come to harm. I did not mean to disturb you.”

Elle was prepared to blast him. She was quite certain he hadn’t followed her for her safety, but more to make sure she wouldn’t run away. But the moment she opened her mouth, more tears came. Angry, frightened, sorrowful tears.

“I could not stay in there any longer,” she sobbed. “They are drinking and celebrating my loss. The loss of everything I knew. They are not celebrating a marriage, but my defeat!”

He hung his head slightly, feeling some sorrow that she was so upset on a day that would have most young women ecstatic. “They are not celebrating your defeat,” he said, his voice quiet and calm. “They are celebrating a marriage and an alliance and nothing more.”

That wasn’t the answer she wanted to hear. “They are reveling in my downfall,” she wept. “Do you not understand? This is not a celebration for me. This is not a joyful moment. This is something I am forced to do because you have more weapons and more men than I do. I am your prisoner, and you have forced me to marry you.”

“You are not my prisoner,” he said. “You are my wife.”

“ Wife? ” she nearly shouted, bolting off the rock. “I do not even know you! You are a man who tried to kill me yesterday. In the days before that, you and your army were trying to defeat me. All I know is that you are Hereford’s son, and now you are my husband. A husband I never wanted!”

She was off on a crying jag, and she plopped on the rock again. Curtis blew out a long, heavy sigh before making his way, slowly, over to her rock. He sat down a few feet away from her as she sobbed. He watched her for a moment before gazing up into the sky, to the moon and the lovely night above.

He’d tried so hard with her, harder than he’d wanted to, harder than he should have. She was right—she was a prisoner. She had been forced into this marriage, much as he had been. He truly thought he could make this a pleasant situation for the both of them, but he could see now that he’d been wrong. She didn’t want it to be pleasant. She didn’t want anything to do with it.

Or him.

Perhaps he was going to have to finally accept that.

“If you think, for one minute, this marriage makes me happy, then you would be wrong,” he said after a moment. “I do not want you any more than you want me. All I’ve seen from you is a woman who has no idea how to behave and hates me simply because I was born in one country and she was born in another. Someone has poisoned you, and they have poisoned you badly, my lady. You have hatred flowing through your veins instead of blood. And you think I wanted to marry someone like you? Think again.”

Her sobbing had lessened dramatically as she looked at him in outrage. “You came to take my home away,” she said. “I am allowed to defend myself!”

He looked at her. “ You violated a treaty between your father and the King of England,” he said pointedly. “ You started this. You had no authority to break the treaty, but you did. Arrogant and imperious, you made that decision, so you brought this down on yourself.”

She leapt up from the rock again, enraged. “Is that so?”

“Of course it is,” he said, standing up and facing her. “This is all your fault. The death, the destruction, is all because you felt you were important enough and strong enough to break a longstanding treaty, so don’t blame me for your troubles. If there is death here, as you put it, it’s because you caused it. Weep all you want, but everything is your fault. And you think I want to marry someone like you? Someone without honor? A foolish woman who cannot see beyond her own arrogance? You do not deserve me, Enid Arielle ferch Gwenwynwyn. Did you ever stop to think about that?”

She was taken aback by his harsh words. Not because they were brutal, but because they were so truthful. He was spelling out the truth of her actions and the truth of the hatred running through her veins.

Someone has poisoned you .

Perhaps that was true, but that someone had ingrained it into her long ago.

Every bit of it.

“Mayhap I do not deserve you, but I do not want you, either,” she said, her voice trembling. “Mayhap this is all my doing, but this marriage is your father’s doing. He could have simply told Henry that there was no woman for you to marry, but he seems to think my royal bloodlines make me a suitable wife. All he talks about are my royal bloodlines, as if they are the only thing that matter. If you must be angry, be angry at him. I did not ask for this.”

Curtis sighed sharply, scratching at his forehead. “Then what do you want to do?” he said. “Do you want to return to your people? Just leave? Then go. I will not hold you here any longer. We have come to an end, my lady, and I surrender. I’ve tried to be kind. I have tried to be understanding. But you do not want that. You simply want to hate and point the blame at others, so do it with people who will tell you that your hatred is warranted and that you’ve done nothing wrong in this situation. I’ll not stop you.”

She eyed him in the moonlight. “Go where?” she said. She gestured to Brython. “This is my home, but now it is yours.”

He shook his head. “I do not care where you go,” he said. “Go find Llywelyn and tell him of the defeat of Brython and see if he’ll take you into his household. Your grandmother was from his family, wasn’t she? Go back to him and hate all you want. Let it eat you alive, because I do not care. You’ve never given me a reason to.”

She looked at him with some surprise, but that surprise quickly cooled. “You’ve been speaking to Gruffydd.”

Curtis snorted. “As far as I am concerned, he is the only sane and reasonable one in your family,” he said. “The man has good sense, and it is a pity you learned nothing from him. But I suppose he is to be hated, too, because that’s the only thing you have in your nature.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You do not know what is in my nature.”

He frowned at her. “Are you mad?” he said. “That is all I’ve seen from you since the moment we met. Since you tried to topple me over that wall, and you’ve been showing me ever since. Petty, arrogant, foolish, and full of hate. That is all I’ve seen from you, and I do not want to see any more.”

Elle was hurt by his words, more than she would ever admit. She’d pushed the man, and now she was paying the price. The truth was that other than their first meeting on the wall, he’d been inordinately kind to her, and all she did was throw it in his face. He’d given her soap and she’d given him vitriol. He’d smiled and she’d frowned. He’d tried to reason with her, and all she could see was her own pain and superiority.

Nay… He wasn’t wrong about anything he’d said.

Now, the situation was coming clear.

“We were married a while ago,” she said. “Your father isn’t going to let you walk away.”

He laughed bitterly. “You let me worry about my father,” he said. “I will have the marriage annulled, have no doubt. Now, go back to my tent and take off that dress. I’ll not have the likes of you touching something that means a good deal to my mother and father. Hopefully, if you take it off quickly, your stench will not cling to it. You can find other clothes in my chest if you wish. There are tunics there, and hose. They will not fit you, but I’m sure you do not care. Take them. I am going to Presteigne to find myself a room for the night because I need to get away from you. You can sleep in my tent. But when I return in the morning, I want you gone.”

With that, he headed off, leaving Elle standing there feeling as if she’d just been thrashed. More than thrashed—beaten. Badly. But, as she’d realized from him since the beginning of their association, he was right. He could always win an argument. She had started the downfall of Brython. She was so determined that the Welsh castle should be solely for the Welsh —for Llywelyn—that she’d disregarded her father’s treaty and sent the English soldiers away.

That had been the beginning of the end.

The truth was that her father had died long ago. It had been Gruffydd and her father’s loyal men who held Brython and kept the treaty. She’d been at Tywyl and Brython for years before finally taking the initiative to throw Gruffydd in the vault and purge the castle of the English soldiers, all in the name of Welsh freedom. But it had cost her everything.

Now, it had cost her the only man who had ever been truly kind to her.

Not that she blamed him.

She deserved everything he said to her.

Elle looked up into that clear, cold sky. Perhaps that tongue lashing had put her at a crossroads. He told her to leave, but the truth was that she had nowhere to go. She couldn’t go back to Tywyl Castle, her family’s home. Gruffydd was there. She could go north to Llywelyn, but he was her grandmother’s cousin and she’d never even met him. All she knew about him was from her grandmother, how he was the only man truly dedicated to Welsh freedom, and when she’d purged the English from Brython, she was going to send Llywelyn word that Brython was now held by the Welsh without any English links. It had honestly never occurred to her that the English soldiers, thrown from Brython, would rush to Lioncross Abbey to tell Hereford what had happened. Before she realized it, the de Lohr army was on her doorstep. She’d never had the opportunity to send the missive to Llywelyn.

Now, she had nothing at all.

Did she want to be known as someone with hatred for the English in her veins? Because her hatred, and Llywelyn’s rebellion against the English, had not accomplished anything. In fact, she couldn’t think of anyone she knew where hatred had ultimately gained them peace and happiness. Curtis had told her to be humble in defeat, and he’d shown her mercy. He told her that he knew her nature. It occurred to her that she knew his, too.

Elle was forced to make a choice that night. When she saw Curtis heading from the encampment, heading east, she knew what that choice had to be.

She only hoped it was the right one.

*

“He’s left, Papa,” Myles said quietly. “Curtis has left.”

Christopher was standing in his tent, cup of wine in hand. Everyone else had cleared out about the time Curtis went after Elle, who had run out. After that, there was no more celebration. Roi, Myles, Peter, and Alexander had cleared out the sons and nephews, soldiers and junior knights, but Myles had gone in search of his brother and his new wife just to make sure something horrible wasn’t occurring between them.

Unfortunately, that seemed to be the case.

“Where is she?” Christopher asked solemnly.

Myles gestured toward the east. “Sitting on a rock,” he said. “She and Curt had an argument. I couldn’t hear what was being said, but they were agitated, and you know it takes quite a lot to agitate Curt.”

“He was angry?”

“I think so,” Myles said. “And then he collected his horse and left.”

“Do you want me to go after him?” Peter said quietly. “I will bring him back.”

Christopher shook his head. “Nay,” he said. “Let him be. He has been forced into an impossible situation, by me, and I can imagine that he needs time to reconcile this. I only wish he’d not left her behind. She needs to reconcile it, too. They should reconcile it together.”

Peter and Alexander, two of the older and married men in the group, looked at each other and lifted their eyebrows in silent sympathy and contemplation of the situation. It wasn’t an easy one, that was certain. In fact, it had been damn awkward, celebrating both a marriage and a victory when the woman who had suffered the defeat and the forced marriage had been present, watching them congratulate Curtis and each other.

But it couldn’t be helped.

“Roi,” Peter said, turning to his younger brother. “Go make sure that the posts are set for the night. With Curtis out, we need a commander for the evening, and that will be you.”

Roi nodded, heading out without argument. Normally, Christopher gave those commands, but he didn’t seem willing to do so. Or as if he even cared about it at that moment. As Roi headed out, Peter turned to Myles.

“Watch the lady from a distance, please,” he said. “Make sure she comes to no harm.”

Myles headed off, leaving the three married men alone in Christopher’s tent. This was a situation that only men with wives might understand, although comprehending the complexities of a woman was beyond any of them to varying degrees. All three of them had married strong, determined women, with Alexander and Christopher in particular having married women perfectly capable of battle.

Now, so had Curtis.

But the situation wasn’t going well at all.

“Well?” Peter said quietly. “What now?”

Christopher shrugged. “They are married,” he said. “There is nothing either one of them can do about it.”

“But the marriage has not yet been consummated,” Alexander pointed out. “Did Curtis ride to the nearest church to see about an annulment?”

“He wouldn’t dare,” Christopher said. “He knows this marriage is too important. He would not try to dissolve it, and most especially without my knowledge.”

Alexander wasn’t so sure. Curtis was the silent, steady type, but he wasn’t beyond completely going against his father if he felt strongly enough about it. There were times when Christopher’s commands had been mere suggestions to Curtis.

They hoped this wasn’t one of those times.

“You cannot be sure of that, Papa,” Peter said, voicing what they were all thinking. “None of us can. When Curtis sets his mind to something, he never fails.”

Christopher looked at him. “Are you telling me he has set his mind to ending this marriage?”

As Peter shrugged, Alexander spoke softly. “I think the fact that he left his new wife behind speaks for itself,” he said. “He is making a statement.”

“Aye, he is. I would like to make one as well.”

It wasn’t Christopher or even Peter who answered. It was Elle, standing in the open tent flap. The three knights turned to her with various levels of surprise before Christopher began to move in her direction.

“Lady Leominster,” he said, addressing her by her rightful title. “Please come in. Would you like some wine?”

Elle stepped timidly into the tent, nodding briefly to Christopher as he moved quickly to procure her a drink. She was dressed in terribly oversized clothing—a heavy tunic and hose that were far too large for her. Gone was the blue dress that Christopher had lent her. She looked quite odd, to be truthful, but she also seemed so terribly nervous in their presence. Given they were talking about her, she’d probably heard most of it— and most of the discussion on a husband who evidently didn’t want her.

It made for a difficult situation.

“Since you sent one of your sons to spy on me, I thought I’d better come straight to you,” Elle said to Christopher as he handed her the wine. “My lord, I would be grateful if you would allow me to speak with you.”

Christopher grunted with some chagrin over the spying comment. “I sent Myles to watch over you to make sure you did not come into any trouble,” he said. “You are in an encampment full of English.”

“I realize that.”

“May I ask what became of my wife’s dress?”

She looked down at herself, realizing how foolish she must have looked. “Sir Curtis told me to take it off,” she said. “I did as he asked.”

Christopher frowned. “Why did he tell you to take it off?”

She cleared her throat softly. “That is what I wish to speak with you about,” Elle said. When Peter and Alexander moved to excuse themselves, she stopped them. “Nay, do not go. Please. I have been speaking to Lord Hereford since yesterday, and I have only had his point of view conveyed to me. I know you are Curtis’ brothers. I should like to speak to you about him, too, so that I have all the facts and not simply Lord Hereford’s version of them.”

Peter and Alexander looked at each other, shrugged, and silently agreed. Peter even went over to collect a chair for the lady.

“Would you like to sit, my lady?” he asked.

Elle did. For once, she didn’t fight the English on anything they wanted to give her, convey, or do for her. She was at her lowest point and had no more false pride to display. Peter put the chair next to the brazier, and she sat, cup in hand, facing three men who pulled up chairs to sit with her and not simply stand over her. After a moment, she looked around as if searching for something.

“It has occurred to me that Melusine is not here,” she said. “Where is my cousin?”

“I sent her to bed with a guard,” Christopher said. “Sherry’s sons are watching over her. They will be kind to her, so you needn’t worry.”

“Sherry,” she repeated. “Who is that?”

“Me,” Alexander said. “My name is Alexander de Sherrington. I married Hereford’s eldest daughter, Christin.”

Elle’s gaze lingered on the man with the black eyes and dark, trim beard. “You are the assassin.”

“That was long ago, my lady,” Alexander said quietly.

Elle shook her head. “I did not mean that the way it sounded,” she said. “I simply meant that Sir Curtis told me about you and how Hereford did not want you for his daughter. He was explaining how sometimes, people marry those who others consider unsuitable, but he went on to praise you, as his brother. In fact, he has explained to me quite a bit about his family.”

“As he should,” Alexander said. “You are now part of the family, too.”

Elle took a deep breath, averting her gaze uncomfortably. “That is where you are wrong,” she said. “Mayhap I am by marriage, but that is what I wished to speak of. You see, I have ruined everything, and I do not know how to fix it. I do not know how to… I am not sure how to put it into words that you will understand. I came here to speak to you because… because I do not know what else to do.”

They weren’t unsympathetic. “Start from the beginning, my lady,” Christopher said quietly. “What has happened that Curt should leave you on your wedding night?”

Elle was deeply embarrassed, but she had also called this meeting, so it wasn’t as if she could not tell the truth. A truth that had been twisting itself up in her mind until she could hardly make sense of it. Finally, she grunted in frustration.

“My entire life has been defined by loyalty to the Welsh and self-rule,” she said. “But it has also been defined by neglect and apathy. My father was old when I was born, and I was quite young when he died. I spent my early years with my grandmother, a cousin to Llywelyn, but I am certain you already know that. She was the only person who showed me concern or even affection, limited as it was. She was rigidly dedicated to her cousin and told me that I should be, too. When she died, I returned to Tywyl Castle and my father and brother, but they were strangers. The only people who showed me any measure of attention were the servants and my father’s men. I realize that is not how most young women grow up, but that was my life. It was my life up until yesterday.”

“Go on, my lady,” Christopher said softly.

She was trying to, but her confusion was making her doubt everything she’d always believed in, and that bewilderment came across in her manner. “Lord Hereford, when you and I first spoke yesterday, you were honest,” she said. “You were not particularly kind at times, but you were honest. More than that, you treated me with respect. I thought you were viewing my royal blood as a prize, something to be used and bartered with, but it occurred to me later that you were simply showing me respect because of my father. Am I wrong in this?”

Christopher shook his head. “You are not wrong,” he said. “You are a Welsh princess, my lady. I am sorry if no one has ever shown you the respect you deserve.”

“But that’s just it,” she said, becoming emotional. “You have all shown me respect, and even though I am your prisoner, I have never had anyone be as kind to me as you and Sir Curtis have been. The food, the soap, the bath, the clothing… It seems so inconsequential, but it isn’t. No one in my entire life has been as kind to me as you have, and it made me suspicious. I was suspicious of your motives. But the truth is that the life I’ve had is not one I should be mourning if the only people who ever showed me kindness were the men who defeated me in battle. Does that make sense?”

Christopher nodded faintly. “It does,” he said. “In spite of what you have been taught, the English are not all bad.”

“Nay, they are not,” she said quickly. “But the innate evil of the English is something that has been etched into me. Hatred is in my brain and in my heart, yet you have all been so kind to me. It is horribly confusing because I cannot reconcile this hatred I am expected to feel. Is there such a world where I should actually befriend my enemy?”

Christopher smiled. “We would like that, very much,” he said. “As Curtis’ wife, you have a very important role, one that will bring you love and respect if you will only not be suspicious of it. We want to like you, my lady.”

Elle hung her head. “He said he is going to annul the marriage,” she said miserably. “He does not wish to be married to me, and I do not blame him. He has tried so hard to be kind, and all I have done is mistrust his motives. He called me petty and foolish, and he is right. I am. But he has made me think very carefully on what kind of life I want—do I want to go back to living in rags and in damp castles or the forests, rebelling against the English and living a life of ineffective transiency? Or do I want to live a life where my husband and his family are kind to me, even if they are English? Can I help Wales that way? Whatever happens, I will always be Welsh, but I do not always have to hate. I understand that much.”

Christopher’s eyes glimmered with warmth. “I would say that is a very big step in your progress, my lady,” he said. “The fact that you are even asking these questions means you are seeing a new perspective.”

“Mayhap,” she said. “But Sir Curtis has told me to be gone by morning. I do not know the man well, but I suspect he means it.”

“He probably did at the time, but I would wager to say that he regrets it now,” Peter said. “I know my brother, my lady. He can be more forgiving than most. But you do not know this, so you should be aware of what kind of man he is. Shall I tell you?”

Elle looked at the blond man with the intense, dark eyes. “I think I know a little about him,” she said. “His behavior since yesterday shows me that he has understanding and patience. But I would like to know more.”

“Like what?” Peter asked.

“For example, must he always win an argument?”

Peter and Alexander burst out laughing. “That is a de Lohr trait,” Peter said. “Curt does not always have to win an argument, but he usually does because he is usually right. I think if you look back on the conversations you have had with him, you will agree with me.”

Elle was reluctant to admit it, but she forced herself. Her guard was down, and it didn’t matter if she admitted Curtis had been correct, in every way. Even so, it was kicking and screaming, metaphorically speaking, all the way. For a woman of considerable pride, it was a difficult thing for her to acknowledge it.

“I did not say he was wrong,” she said. “I just asked if he had to win every single argument. He seems to be a man with all of the answers.”

“He is,” Peter said. “But he is also humble, quiet at times, and more focused and driven than anyone you will ever meet. Curtis is a man of war, my lady. That is what he knows, and that is what he does well. He is meticulous, he is clever, and he is educated. He also has a great deal of patience, as you have noted.”

Elle sighed heavily. “I have pushed him beyond his endurance,” she said. “I do not suppose he would be forgiving.”

“I think he probably already has.”

“Then why does he not come back?” she asked. “Will he truly stay away all night?”

Peter shrugged. “If you had just had an argument with your husband and he exasperated you, would you stay away all night just to make him sick with worry, so sick that he would forgive any quarrel he had with you?”

Elle’s eyes widened. “Is that what he is doing?” she said. “Making it so I will be remorseful?”

Christopher held up a hand before the conversation veered out of control, because he didn’t want the lady to think Curtis was playing games somehow. “He went away so he would not say anything he could not take back,” he said. “He is staying away to cool his temper, which can be fearsome when aroused. Did he say where he was going?”

Elle nodded her head. “He said that he was going into Presteigne.”

“Then I will fetch him,” Peter said, standing up. “It should not take too—”

“Nay,” Elle said, standing up quickly. “You must not go. He will think I have run to his brothers and father to shame him for leaving. Please do not go.”

“She is right,” Christopher said, waving a hand at Peter. “Sit back down. I fear it will only make him more furious if you find him and try to bring him back. The only person who should bring him back is the lady.”

Elle nodded. “It started with me,” she said. “It should also end with me. Do you think he meant the nearest English town?”

Christopher nodded. “That would be my guess,” he said. “Peter can escort you there. You will bring him back, my lady.”

She nodded, but her courage was wavering. “What should I say?”

Christopher shrugged. “That is up to you,” he said. “But telling him what you told us is a good start. And if it matters… I think Curt has married a strong lady. If you are willing to learn and grow, you will make a fine wife and a fine countess. You can do much more for your people in such a position than you can fighting like a rebel.”

Elle thought on that. “Mayhap,” she said. “But I never thought I would have the opportunity to be something other than what I am.”

Christopher smiled at her. “It is a grand opportunity that few have,” he said, but he quickly sobered at the look on her face. “I know it is not what you expected or how you planned that your life should be, but here we are. You must make the best of it. Fetch your husband, Lady Leominster. Let your new life begin.”

The words were very true. Elle was coming to think that the English warlords were far more reasonable and wise than she’d been told. Her experience with them had been different from anything her grandmother or even her father’s soldiers had mentioned, and that had her questioning everything.

What if my grandmother was wrong?

Peter was waiting for her by the tent opening. He had a cloak in his hand, though she had no idea where he got it. Politely, he offered it to her, but rather than let him put it on her shoulders, as a fine lady would have, she took it from him and put it on herself. She was an independent lass with no idea how to be proper, but somehow, it was rather endearing. With a grin, Peter followed her out into the night.

Curtis was somewhere out there, waiting.

Elle was going to find him.