Chapter Three

I nwardly, Velaria felt as if she were dying, as surely as Savas had. Her entire body and mind had gone numb with anguish and self-loathing. If Savas hadn't ordered her to go, she never would have left his side. His last act had been the unselfish choice to save her life.

You don't deserve to live.

The words echoed in her mind as Velaria trudged east towards the port. She wished with all her heart that she could have saved him. All of this was her fault. Yet, despite everything she'd done, she had to keep her promise to escape. Otherwise, his death was for nothing.

Velaria kept the sword at her waist and traded her shoes for a keffiyeh to cover her hair and face. It was better if she disguised herself as a man.

When she finally reached the water's edge, she stared out at the ships. It was impossible to tell where Lord Staunton was. He might have already sailed away.

She waited by the pier until well after the sun went down. No one approached her, but eventually, she saw Lord Staunton approaching on horseback. He carried a torch in one hand and stopped a moment when he saw her waiting. For a moment, Velaria hesitated before she lowered her keffiyeh and exposed her face.

‘Follow me,' he said.

She covered her face once more before he led her away from the pier and towards another small boat. It was barely large enough for both of them. But Lord Staunton helped her inside and began to row.

‘Stay low,' he warned. ‘I've taken enough risks today. We cannot be caught.'

Despite the rescue he offered, she was still grieving for Savas. Her heart felt as if it had been torn from her chest, and it seemed impossible that he was gone. Even now, none of it seemed real.

‘It should have been me,' she whispered. ‘I should have died in that arena.'

The Norman said nothing except, ‘Kadir broke our agreement. After the bribes I paid him, you were never supposed to fight.'

Velaria crouched low in the boat as he rowed them out. Though she tried to shield herself from the grief and concentrate on her escape, all she could feel was emptiness. Savas was dead, and it was her fault. She would never sit beside him again or hold his hand in the prison. All because she'd been too swift with her weapon and couldn't stop her motion fast enough.

She'd had no time to say farewell to him, either. Even now, it felt selfish, and she wished she'd stayed behind, even if it had meant her own death.

‘Where are we going?' she asked quietly.

‘I have a friend who will give you a place to sleep tonight. And then we'll sail back to England,' Lord Staunton said. ‘My wife, Clare, awaits me at Staunton, near Cornwall. I'll arrange for you to return home.'

‘She's alive?' Velaria hadn't known of this. ‘I thought she was gone.'

‘I thought so, too.' He leaned in closer and said, ‘In a way, I have you to thank for that.'

She stared back at him, not understanding. ‘What do you mean?'

‘My wife was taken from me two years ago,' he answered. ‘I thought she was still in Constantinople, which is why I stayed to search for her. But she was taken with other slaves to Italy.'

‘What does that have to do with me?'

‘Your brother travelled to search for you,' the baron answered. ‘He never reached Constantinople because he thought you were in Italy among the other slaves.'

Tears welled up in Velaria's eyes at the realisation that her family hadn't forgotten her.

‘Your brother tracked the merchants there, and he kept searching,' Lord Staunton continued. ‘By the time my missive arrived at your home, your brother had already freed the slaves and returned to Ardennes. He brought my wife, Clare, back to England with him, along with a few others.'

‘You sent my family a missive?' she asked in disbelief. ‘When?'

‘A year ago,' he answered. ‘The first time you asked. I never knew if it arrived.'

It felt as if all the air had left her lungs. Her brother had been so close, and yet, he'd never found her. This time, her tears did break free.

‘One of the merchants told me about your brother's rescue,' the baron added. ‘That was how I learned Clare was alive. In return, I swore I would save you.'

‘You should have saved Savas.' Her voice held the bleakness that lingered in her heart.

‘I meant to save both of you.' For a moment, Lord Staunton seemed to hesitate, as if he wanted to say something. Then he finished with, ‘You'll stay here tonight, and then I'll come for you at dawn.'

He brought the boat towards a private pier in front of a large house. A man and a woman awaited them, and she heard Lord Staunton speaking to the man quietly. The woman's face held sympathy, and she held out her hand.

‘Come,' she murmured.

Velaria followed the woman inside, fully aware of the blood and dirt all over her. The house was immaculate, with mosaic tile floors and high ceilings. The windows were open, and a breeze passed through them. But Velaria could hardly enjoy it, for she was still numb at losing Savas. He should have been here with her. It seemed impossible to imagine that he was dead.

The woman led her into a private bathing chamber where the floor of the room descended into a bath. Marble stairs led directly into the pool of water, and Velaria removed her bloodstained garments. The woman brought out lengths of linen as drying cloths, and she set aside another gown for her to wear afterwards. After she was naked, Velaria stepped into the water and walked until the water reached her waist. Then she sat upon one of the submerged benches with her knees drawn up. Although the water felt wonderful, she couldn't stop herself from trembling.

Savas was gone. She was alone now, and at any moment, Kadir's men might find her. A tremor gripped her heart, becoming a physical shiver as shock claimed her. But before she could descend into despair, the woman stepped into the bath to help her.

She spoke soothing words in the Byzantine tongue, as if she somehow understood what had happened. Then, she helped Velaria untangle her braids and wash her hair. The simple gesture broke through the anguish, helping her push it back and regain control.

For a moment, it felt as if she were standing outside herself. It had been years since she'd had the luxury of a full bath instead of a bucket of water. The woman helped her dry off with the linen cloth before combing out her damp hair.

Last, the woman gave her a soft robe that covered her from neck to ankles. Velaria couldn't remember the last time she'd worn something so finely made, and it evoked memories of being home.

Her family hadn't abandoned her. They had tried to find her. The thought should have reassured her, but it only made the shadow of emotion well up within her heart.

The woman led her to another room with a small bed against the wall, and a tray of olives, rice, and lamb awaited her at a low table with cushions on the floor. Velaria forced herself to eat, though she barely tasted the meal. Her guilt weighed upon her so heavily, she could hardly breathe.

After she sank into the bed, she drew her knees up, and memories of the arena came flooding back. If only she could have stopped her sword. She gripped her coverlet hard, trying to keep her emotions from falling apart.

Savas had been the greatest friend she'd ever known. He should have lived. But now he was gone.

And as night descended over the city, she could only weep for what might have been.

Lord Staunton returned before dawn, and Velaria followed him back into the small boat. The Byzantine woman gave her provisions and a gown, along with a veil to cover her hair and shield her face from the sun. Velaria thanked her, but it felt strange to wear her hair down. Even though she now appeared more like a woman than a warrior, she'd kept a blade strapped to her thigh as protection.

The Norman lord rowed them towards a larger vessel and helped her climb aboard. Half a dozen men were preparing the boat to leave, and she didn't know where to go. Lord Staunton answered her unspoken question. ‘You can remain on deck while we sail or go below, as you choose. The ship is small,' he apologised, ‘so you'll have to share your cabin at night.'

A tightness slid under her skin, and she moved her hand to her blade. The last thing she wanted was to be sharing a space with strange men. But then again, she was grateful for her freedom. Lord Staunton had protected her last night from those who would have found her on the streets and brought her back into slavery.

‘Thank you,' she said to him at last. So many things could go wrong, but she wanted to believe that there was a chance at seeing her family again, even though she feared she would not make it back.

She stared back at the towers of Constantinople, watching the city that had held her captive for nearly two years. And her heart bled at the knowledge that she wouldn't see Savas again. He should have been here with her after all the days of their captivity. Another thorn of grief pricked her heart.

Lord Staunton walked towards the bow and stared out at the water. Within the hour, they were sailing southwest. The boat swayed on the water, and only after the city was in the distance did the Norman lord beckon to her. ‘Come. There's something I want to show you below deck.'

He led her down the narrow stairs, and it was dark with only a lantern or two for light. She saw several hammocks for the crew members and two doors at the opposite end. Lord Staunton opened one of them, and a lantern illuminated the space. But instead of more hammocks, she spied a figure lying upon a pallet on the floor.

For a moment, her heart began to pound. Another man knelt beside the body, but she could not see who it was. A cold chill slid over her, and she followed Lord Staunton inside.

When she moved closer, a gasp caught in her throat. ‘Savas,' she murmured, falling to her knees. Although his eyes remained closed and he didn't move, at least he was still breathing. She turned to Lord Staunton. ‘You went back for him?'

He nodded. ‘I paid Kadir for both of you. He won't follow us.' After a slight pause, he added, ‘I would have bought your freedom sooner, but I had to wait until my share of the profits came in. I spent a good deal on bribes over the years, and I needed the funds to buy passage for all of us on this ship.'

To the other man, he asked, ‘How is he?'

‘Alive, for now.' The man's voice was heavily accented, as if he were from Italy. Then he stood. ‘Is she here to help?'

She realised then that the older man was a healer from the way he was examining Savas's wounds. ‘Will he recover?' she questioned, hardly daring to hope.

‘It is too soon to tell,' the healer answered. ‘I cannot say whether the blade that cut him will bring a fever.'

Her heart sank at that, and Velaria voiced a silent prayer for his life. ‘What can I do to help?' she asked the healer. ‘Do you need water or bandages?' She would do anything if it meant saving Savas's life. Her emotions were caught up in fear, joy, and worry.

‘You know him then?' the old man asked.

‘He was my best friend,' Velaria answered. She moved closer and took his hand in hers. His skin was so cold, it terrified her. ‘Savas, can you hear me?'

But his eyes remained closed, his face rigid with pain. She didn't know what that meant and couldn't bear the thought of losing him again.

‘Please heal him,' she begged. The sight of the blood-soaked bandages terrified her for fear that he'd been rescued only to die.

The healer mashed herbs together and created a new poultice. He brought the herbs and laid them upon Savas's wounds, wrapping them against the stitched flesh before he sat back. ‘I have done all I can. His life is in God's hands now.'

Velaria thanked him as he departed, and she sat beside Savas's unconscious form. It seemed that her prayers had been answered, but he lay so still, she didn't know what to think. She took a blanket and covered him with it. Her emotions were holding on by a thread and when she held his hand again, the tears fell freely.

‘We're going home, just as you promised,' she said. ‘Savas, I'm so sorry about what I did. I never meant to hurt you. Please forgive me.'

But he didn't squeeze her hand or respond in any way. Velaria lay down beside him, trying to warm his skin with her own. Her heart ached at his suffering, but she was so grateful for every breath he took. For a moment, she simply kept his hand in hers, still in disbelief that he was here, and they were both free from captivity.

The hard floor pressed against her spine, but she wasn't aware of anything except each breath Savas took. She clung to hope and held his hand, trying to will the strength back into him. He had done the same for her on the night she'd been attacked by Kadir's men. And he had taken care of her, trying to build back her courage.

She could do no less for him.

It felt as if he were a thousand miles away from the world. Somehow, the young man he'd been, Brian of Penrith, no longer seemed to exist. Instead, he'd become the man they'd forged in blood and battle—Savas. It seemed right to claim the name as his own, for the boy he'd been had died in the arena.

He was dimly aware of darkness, of the constant swaying of a ship, and the fever that burned through him. He thought he heard Velaria talking to him, and her hand held his, though he couldn't seem to open his eyes. She was pleading with him to fight.

Fight for what? He didn't know any more. He'd been forced to kill, over and over, until he craved an end to it.

Burning heat flushed his skin, as if the desert gods had come to claim his body now. Velaria's voice seemed to fade away as the nightmares returned. He flinched when the memory of that blade sliced towards him. In his vision, he fell to his knees, staring at Velaria's horrified face.

It was an accident; he'd known that. And yet, he should have been more aware of Eligor's strategy. He should have guessed the man would put her in an impossible position, one where she had to choose between her life and his.

Footsteps approached, and someone lifted him from the floor. ‘Careful,' he heard Velaria say. ‘Bring him above.'

He nearly passed out from the pain and didn't understand why they were moving him. The moment they hauled him outside, sunlight blinded his eyes. The scent of salt and wood surrounded him, but he kept his eyes closed. He preferred the darkness to this inferno, and he turned his face away.

‘Look at me, Savas,' Velaria pleaded. ‘We're free. We escaped Constantinople, and we're going home.'

But he already knew his body was weak with fever. Death would stretch out its hand to him, and he had to decide whether to take it.

A heaviness weighed upon him, for even if he survived this, there was no place for him to go. Surely, his sister, Morwenna, had gone to the nunnery after losing Robert. His parents were dead, and his home had been claimed by the new Lord Penrith, who treated his serfs like slaves. He couldn't go back to that.

‘Savas,' she said softly. ‘We made it out. Don't let that be for nothing.'

His vision adjusted to the light, and at last, he opened his eyes. The ship was not a large one, and in the distance, he could see the shoreline. He turned to Velaria and asked, ‘Where are we?'

‘Near Italy.'

In her blue eyes, he saw worry blended with relief. Her skin held the rich colour of the sun, and her brown hair gleamed with tints of gold as it spilled over her shoulders, free of the braids. She was as beautiful as the first day he'd met her, and for a moment, he studied her features. Though she was still thin, some of the hollowed hunger had evened out.

She wore a Byzantine robe of creamy white, and it contrasted against the rich hue of her hair. The floral scent of her skin allured him.

‘We still have a long journey before us,' she admitted. ‘Almost a year. The winds have been good, and Lord Staunton says we'll be home faster if we go by sea.' Her voice broke off, and she asked, ‘Savas, I'm so sorry for what I did. I never meant to hurt you.'

‘I know. But it doesn't matter any more.' He leaned back against the ship, staring up at the sky. Now, at least, he understood why she'd brought him here. The sight of land and sea did lift his spirits, even if they were still at the beginning of their journey.

‘I wish I could take it back.' Her voice held regret as she continued, ‘I made the wrong decision, and you almost died from it.'

He said nothing, for the fierce pain was only subdued by sleeping potions. Though he didn't blame her, he suspected his fighting skills would never be the same. And what did that mean for his future? In the past, he'd always imagined finding his sister.

Or even Piers, Robert's half brother, who had helped teach him to fight. Once, Brian had considered hiring out his sword to earn a living because he was confident in his skills. But now? He didn't know.

‘What will you do when you reach Ardennes?' he asked Velaria.

She shrugged. ‘I suppose I'll have to face my family.' But instead of joy upon her face, uncertainty lined her expression. ‘What about you? Will you try to find your sister?'

He nodded. ‘I will travel to Colford Abbey where I left her. I think Morwenna is likely at the nunnery at Saint Michael's Well.'

Though the memory of his sister should have brought him comfort, instead, the guilt returned. Not only because of what he'd done to Robert—but from the realisation that he'd abandoned her. He'd been only fifteen, but that was no excuse. He'd acted like a coward, and she deserved a brother who could protect her—not someone who had left her behind.

Restlessness gnawed at him with the uncertainty of what his life would become now. He had no money, no land. Nothing at all. He needed a new purpose. When he glanced over at Velaria, he saw the fragile hope in her eyes.

‘If you need a place to stay, you are welcome at Ardennes.'

Her offer took him by surprise, for he'd not expected it. For a moment, he considered whether it would be the right thing to do. She'd suggested it because they were friends. And yet, he recognised the greater implications. Whether or not she wanted it, her father would probably arrange a marriage for her. And he didn't want to be there when that happened.

Brian didn't understand the knot of emotion that tangled up within him when it came to Velaria. He cared about her and wanted her to find happiness. They had shared a bond of captivity that no one else understood. Both of them had fought to survive, and even now, he felt the shadow of the past year. His body was broken, and he had no idea whether he would heal from these wounds or the inner ones no one could see.

It wasn't right to follow her to Ardennes, not when he had nothing to offer. He needed time to rebuild his life and fortune. And as he studied her face, he made a silent vow that he would do whatever was necessary to become the man of honour he should have been.

If the fever didn't take him first.

Autumn

Velaria stared out at the Mediterranean Sea and the sun dipping below the horizon. Colours of orange and red blazed across the sky, and she watched as Savas stood nearby with his hands on the edge of the ship. His wounds had healed, but during the past few months, she hadn't seen him train. Not once.

Their friendship had shifted somehow, and she was afraid to ask why. Although they saw each other every day, no longer did he reach out or embrace her. It was as if they were strangers again—and she didn't like it.

Quietly, she approached until she stood beside him. For a moment, she didn't speak. Her heart beat wildly while she tried to gather the right words. But the stilted silence seemed to stretch on.

‘How are you?' she asked at last.

He gave a shrug. ‘My shoulder is healing.'

A pang of shame caught her, but she pushed it back. ‘Do you...want to train again? I could be your sparring partner.'

He didn't look at her, but she saw the slight shift in his bearing. ‘No, I don't think so.'

‘It might help,' she offered. ‘The healer said it will take time for you to rebuild your strength.'

He said nothing but continued staring off into the distance. It bothered her, for this wasn't at all what she'd expected now that they'd gained their freedom. She'd expected joy and celebration. But this awkwardness...was it because he blamed her for the injury? Although he'd said he didn't, she wasn't so certain any more.

Perhaps honesty was the best way to break down the invisible wall of ice.

‘Are you angry with me?' she asked.

‘No.' Savas turned to look at her at last. His dark hair was cut short, his face clean-shaven. In contrast, she'd allowed her hair to grow even longer. She only kept a single braid across the top of her head to keep back the strands that tangled in the wind.

‘Then why don't you talk to me any more? We were friends once. At least, I thought we were.' Her face burned with embarrassment, though she forced herself to speak the words that needed to be said.

‘You once told me your father is a knight,' Savas said quietly. ‘And your grandfather was an earl.'

She shrugged. ‘What does that matter?' To her, they were only her family. Their titles meant nothing at all. But he'd never told her anything about his own family, aside from a few stories about his sister, Morwenna. He never seemed to want to talk about his childhood years, and she'd stopped prying.

‘I am a serf,' he admitted. ‘My father was a miller.'

His humble background didn't bother her at all. ‘You don't behave like a serf,' she admitted.

He turned back to look at the water. ‘My father and stepmother were killed during an attack on Penrith. My sister and I were captured, and the earl's son Robert and his half brother, Piers, helped us escape. For nearly two years, the four of us lived on our own.'

She'd never heard him speak of this before. ‘How did you survive?'

‘We hunted for our food and slept in the ruins of Stansbury,' he answered. ‘It was a fortress that once belonged to Robert's father. The roof leaked, and it was freezing in the winter.' A pensive expression slid over his face, as if he missed it. ‘But we were free.

‘Robert and Piers showed me how to fight. Morwenna, too,' he added. ‘For a while, it was better than the life we had before. Morwenna and I—we knew how Robert spoke, how he carried himself, as the son of an earl. I wanted to be like him, so I imitated him. And my sister—she was in love with Robert.'

‘Where is he now?' she asked.

A darkness shadowed his face. ‘He's dead.' The aching emptiness of his voice made her long to offer what comfort she could.

Without thinking, Velaria drew her arms around him from behind, resting her cheek against his back. The moment she did, he seemed uncomfortable, though he didn't pull her hands away. Instead, he turned around to face her. His blue eyes held a rigid emotion she didn't understand.

‘Velaria, we come from different families. When we return to England...everything will change.' His words broke off.

She couldn't believe he was even suggesting that she might turn her back on him because of his family. ‘Do you think I care who your parents were? Nothing has changed between us, Savas. You mean the same to me as you always have.'

Truthfully, he meant even more to her now. But she didn't understand this sudden separation he was imposing.

‘It will never be the same,' he admitted. ‘You'll go back to being a noblewoman. You will never again be chained or starving. They will keep you safe.'

She realised, then, that he planned to leave her. The heat in her face blazed, and though she didn't want to say it, she saw no other choice. ‘I always believed we would stay together.' Her voice was thick, rimmed with the weight of emotion.

His knuckles grazed the edge of her cheek. She couldn't read his expression or what he was feeling, but the farewell in his eyes broke her apart.

‘I will never forget this past year,' he said. ‘Or you, Velaria.'

She felt as if she were standing on the edge of a crumbling cliff, and she tried in vain to hold back the feelings in her heart. He didn't want her in the same way she wanted him. And he was trying to be kind about it in the best way he knew how.

All she could do was nod before she turned to walk away. Tears streamed down her cheeks, though she kept her back straight as she left him. It was her own fault for opening her heart to him. The moment she'd struck him down, she'd known that what she felt for this man went far beyond friendship.

But her worst mistake was thinking that he felt the same. Now it was completely clear that he had never considered a future between them.

And it simply broke her heart.

Late spring

It seemed like a lifetime had passed since he'd last seen England. Brian rode beside Velaria on horseback, but with every mile, tension rose higher within him. Soon enough, he was supposed to return to the young man he'd been before—a serf without even a roof over his head.

He struggled with the fate that lay ahead of him, for it no longer fit with the man he'd been in Constantinople—a fighter and a champion. He craved a different life now, one where he had the freedom to defend those weaker than himself. It wasn't enough to farm a plot of land and pay rents to his overlord.

It's not who you are any more , a voice inside warned.

He knew that. And yet, he didn't know how to create a new life for himself. He could try hiring out his sword, but his shoulder still had not regained its full movement. His injury had healed slowly, and despite the angry red scar, his fighting skills would never be the same. There was a strong chance he would lose against the wrong opponent, and he didn't want Velaria to know about it.

His other choice was to join the monks at the abbey. At least then he would have food and shelter, along with endless days of prayer and atonement. He'd been responsible for the deaths of so many men during the past year. Perhaps this was the right path for him now, to give his life in service.

And yet...he couldn't deny that what he really wanted was Velaria. He'd struggled during the long voyage to set his desires aside. He could never ask her to give up the life of a noblewoman to live with him. It wasn't right or fair. She hadn't touched him again, nor had he touched her. He was fully aware that he had nothing to offer—at least, not yet—and he didn't want her to look upon him with pity.

Until he found a way to lift himself out of poverty, he'd vowed to keep his distance.

They rode alongside one another, and as the miles passed, he noticed Velaria's demeanour turning quiet. Although she ought to be excited about returning home, her expression held worry as they approached Ardennes. Lord Staunton had continued travelling to his lands in the southwest, leaving them to finish their journey without him. In a way, Brian was grateful to have these last few days alone with Velaria.

‘It feels strange to be back in England, doesn't it? Without the sun and the desert,' he remarked. Though it wasn't much of a conversation, it was all he could offer.

‘It does,' she agreed. ‘I don't know how to feel any more.' For a moment, she stopped her horse, staring off into the distance.

‘Aren't you happy to be home?' he asked. He'd never stopped to wonder whether her family had treated her well. He'd always assumed that since she was the granddaughter of an earl, she'd had everything she'd ever wanted. But now, he wondered if he'd been wrong.

She took a deep breath and admitted, ‘The last time I was here, I ran away from Ardennes.'

Her words startled him, and he brought his horse alongside hers. ‘Why?' Had her parents harmed her in some way? Or was there another reason?

She didn't meet his gaze, and her cheeks flushed with colour. ‘Because I fell in love with a handsome knight who asked me to wed him.'

It wasn't at all what he'd expected her to say, and the sudden flare of jealousy caught him unawares. He'd always assumed that there was no one waiting for her at home since she'd never spoken of anyone else. After all the conversations they'd had during the long nights, Brian wondered what other secrets she'd kept. Then again, he'd done the same, hadn't he?

Though he wanted to ask more questions, he forced himself to hold back and let her continue.

‘My father refused to give his blessing,' she continued. ‘And so, I ran away with Sir Drogan. We were planning to marry in secret.'

Every muscle within him tensed. ‘And...did you? Wed him?' God above, she was so young when she was taken captive.

‘I had planned to,' she murmured. Her face had gone crimson, and she bit her lower lip. ‘His father was in the king's court, and Drogan promised that we would live among royalty in a life I could only dream of. But instead, after we—' She didn't finish the sentence but closed her eyes with a pained expression. ‘—Drogan no longer wanted to wed me.'

A darkness gripped him at her confession, for he guessed what she hadn't said. The knight had seduced and discarded her afterwards. And he could only imagine how her parents had reacted when they'd learned of it.

A surge of anger came over him that a knight would discard a woman like Velaria. She hadn't deserved to be treated like that. ‘You couldn't have been more than—'

‘Fifteen,' she finished. ‘Aye. I was a foolish maiden who saw nothing but a handsome face and empty promises. I mistakenly believed he was in love with me just as I loved him.'

A tightness caught in his chest. ‘Why didn't you tell me of this?'

‘I was too embarrassed.' She looked away, and he realised his tone had been harsher than he'd intended.

‘I'm sorry.' But he knew, just as she did, that the words meant little and wouldn't change the past.

‘Afterwards, Drogan...left me behind and rejoined his father at court. I was taken by a group of travelling merchants who sold me into slavery. I never saw my family again.'

He felt the pain in her voice as an echo within him. All he could do was take her hand in his. Her palm was like ice, and he realised how afraid she was.

‘They will be glad to see you,' he predicted.

‘I'm not the same woman I was before.' Her face paled. ‘No one understands what we endured.'

But he did. More than anyone else, he knew what she had survived. He gripped her hand in silent comfort. ‘We have to move forward from what happened. Our past does not define who we are.'

‘I know.' Her voice came out as a whisper, and at last, she raised her chin. Her blue eyes held a blend of worry and hope, and in the sunlight, her brown hair gleamed.

At last, she urged her horse onward. He followed, and soon, the towers of Ardennes came into view. Although it had only been about two years since she'd left, he saw her clench the reins tighter.

‘You're safe now,' he offered quietly.

‘Safe.' She repeated the word and turned back to face him. ‘I hardly know what that word means.'

To be truthful, neither did he. But all he could say was, ‘You can go back to the life you had before.'

‘And what if that's not what I want any more?' She tried to brave a smile and admitted, ‘I want to see my family, aye. But I worry about who they want me to be. That woman isn't real.' Her voice held the weight of emotion, as if she were holding back tears. ‘Will you stay for a while, Savas?'

‘I need to find out what happened to my sister,' he said softly. Then, he added, ‘You're going to be all right, Velaria. I promise.'

She rubbed her wrists where the manacle scars remained. ‘I want to believe that.'

But he already knew it wasn't true for either of them. Even now, he awakened with nightmares, his mouth dry, his body covered in sweat. He remembered every person he'd killed in the arena, and never again could he go back to the young man he'd been before. Just as Velaria was nothing at all like the girl she'd left behind.

‘I'll watch over you until you're inside the gates,' he promised.

She appeared dismayed at his answer. ‘You won't come inside? At least share a meal with us and take shelter for the night.'

Her offer tempted him, but he couldn't let himself falter. ‘If I ride hard, I can reach Colford Abbey on the morrow by nightfall.'

She tried again and ventured, ‘Are you that weary of my presence that you won't stay one last night?'

She didn't understand. Not at all. When he drew his horse closer, his eyes burned into hers. ‘I can't, and you know it, Velaria.' His voice was rough, and he shielded every emotion from her.

‘Why?' she asked.

For a long moment, he simply stared at her. It was as if he were memorising her features, capturing a memory. ‘Because if I stay one night, I won't leave. And we both know that a woman like you—the daughter of a knight—must wed a man of means. I have nothing to give you. Not even a home.'

She stared at him as if he'd sliced her in half with a blade. And in truth, he felt the same. It took everything in him to do the right thing and let her go.

One day, it might be different. He might find a way to lift himself up and come back for her. But it wasn't fair or right to ask her to wait for him.

Her eyes filled with tears, and his own throat tightened. Brian reached out to touch her cheek, and he leaned in close. More than anything, he wanted to kiss her. He wanted to claim her mouth and teach her what it meant to feel pleasure instead of humiliation.

Not that he knew anything about how to touch a woman. Yet, if he ever had the chance, he would spend hours cherishing her and learning what pleased her.

Endless moments drifted by, and he rested his forehead against hers while his hand slid to her nape. ‘Farewell, Velaria. Walk with God.'

She let the tears fall, but he forced himself to turn away and go. It was the hardest thing he'd ever done.

Velaria watched him ride a short distance away, but he kept his promise and waited on the hillside. Somehow, this joyful moment of returning home was now shadowed by loss. Still, she forced herself to continue riding forward. She wiped the tears away, telling herself that it was always going to be this way. He had his life, and she had hers. There would be time to weep when she was alone in her bedchamber tonight. And so, she gathered the remnants of her pride and turned back. Just before she reached the gates, she lifted her hand to him in farewell.

He answered the gesture by raising his own hand. And still, he waited. For a moment, she watched, still trying to gather her emotions. Then she took a deep breath and stared up at the castle of Ardennes.

It seemed almost unreal to be home again. Velaria remembered her grandsire as a man with a sharp tongue but a gentle heart. She missed him even now. His estate was vast, and after the earl had died, the lands were given to his daughters Honora and Katherine, Velaria's mother. Honora's second husband had been Irish, so she had gone with him across the sea and left Ardennes to her sister. Velaria had spent most of her life here, except for a few years of fostering in Ireland with Honora's extended family, the MacEgans.

Velaria squared her shoulders and rode up to the gates. For a moment, the guard stared at her in disbelief. Most likely he didn't recognise her from the foreign gown she wore and her sun-tanned skin.

‘Are you going to let me see my family, or do you intend to stop me?' she enquired.

‘My lady—I—yes, they will be so glad to see you.' The guard lifted his spear away and she continued riding into the inner bailey. The familiar castle grounds lifted her spirits, though she was aware of how strange she must look to them.

She dismounted and gave her horse to a stable lad who clearly didn't recognise her. For a moment, she turned slowly, drinking in the sight of home. She saw the familiar walls she'd climbed as a girl until her mother had scolded her for it. And there were the slick stone steps that she'd fallen down more than once after a rainfall. She took a deep breath, then another.

When she glanced up, she saw Katherine standing at the top of that staircase. Shock and joy flooded her mother's face, and a moment later, Katherine practically flew down the stairs to crush Velaria into a hug.

‘Oh, my daughter, you're home. Thank the blessed saints.' Already, she was weeping, and Velaria clung to her mother, feeling her own sobs breaking forth. She hadn't seen Katherine in years, and she would have given anything to take back the mistakes she'd made.

‘I'm so sorry—' she tried to say.

But Katherine held her face between her hands and kissed her cheeks. ‘The past is gone. All that matters is you're alive and here.' Her mother gripped her fiercely, and the love that poured forth was enough to break down every last emotion.

Velaria wept, not only from relief at being home, but also from the burden of the past years of captivity and travelling so far from home. She clung to her mother, welcoming the familiar arms of someone who loved her.

A part of her wished that she could have embraced Savas one last time. She hadn't forgotten the stolen moments between them, and a heaviness weighed on her with the knowledge that she likely wouldn't see him again. Part of her had hoped that he would want to stay with her, that somehow the invisible barrier between them would drop. Yet, the moment he'd seen her family's estate it reinforced his belief that he had nothing to offer.

She didn't care about wealth or lands...but she understood his pride. In Constantinople, he'd been revered as a champion among men. His strength and fighting skills were legendary.

But here, he could not see his value. And the thought of being without him hurt in a way she'd never expected.

In another moment, her father came forward, and she gripped him tightly. It seemed that the years she'd been gone had carved more lines into his face, and Ademar breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Velaria, thank God y-you've returned. Are you hurt?'

She shook her head, for her wounds were not ones he could see. ‘I'm all right. But a little hungry.'

He smiled then, and his blue eyes warmed. ‘W-we will have a f-feast then, to celebrate your return.'

Her father's familiar stutter warmed her heart, for she'd missed it. Despite it, no one dared to mock Ademar, for he was taller than most men and had been one of the strongest fighters in his younger years.

‘On the morrow,' she said. ‘I'll eat a simple meal for now and rest, if I may.' She didn't think her stomach could handle too much rich food, since they had only eaten simple foods on the journey here. And the thought of sleeping in her own bed was a welcome respite.

‘Of course.' Her father kept one arm around her and the other around his wife as he walked with them up the stairs.

‘Where are Phillip and Beatrice?' Velaria asked.

‘Your brother is at Dolwyth,' Katherine said. ‘Beatrice is with her new husband, and she now lives in the north.'

Though she'd wanted to see them, Velaria supposed there was time for that later. She released a sigh, and when her father opened the door to the Hall, she turned back a moment. From her vantage point at the top of the stairs, she could see beyond the outer curtain wall to the green hills of England.

And it took everything she had to turn back to her family and walk into a home that no longer felt like her own.