Soon he'd be gone, and life would return to normal. Unfortunately, even then her existence would be anxious and cheerless. She continued to await some news from her brother Aleixandre, the only family she had left. She had heard nothing for more than a week, and worry preyed on her.

A strong breeze blew for the first time in days, it seemed, flattening the grass in waves and teasing a lock of hair loose from her tight braid. Out here, the compulsion to rake it back into place wasn't so pressing, but still won over. She smoothed her hair and picked another flower.

Even when her brother routed Pascal and returned, she still would be in a vulnerable position. This fight had only postponed Aleix's desire that she wed. When their father died two years ago, she'd been brought home from school so that a marriage could be contracted for her. Just as Aleix had begun narrowing the choices, Pascal had arrived.

Before he'd shown his true nature, Pascal had surprised them by asking Aleix for her hand, though they'd never met. Aleix had refused, incurring the general's anger, but her brother had never trusted the man even before his vile army of mercenaries and deserters had taken over the area.

Aleix repeatedly lamented the fact that he hadn't forced her to marry earlier. At twenty-one, she was more than old enough, and she'd been born and raised for it, but she'd never met a man she wanted. She never could imagine doing the perplexing things the girls at school had whispered about, those painful, aggressive things done in the dark—no matter how much she longed. Whenever she'd envisioned those acts with any of the men she'd been introduced to, she'd cringed.

Besides, she'd been so content to help care for Aleix and Mariette's baby that no man tempted her.

Yet now there was no baby, no Mariette, and all the happiness that had been in Aleix had died with them.

Annalía turned sharply toward the house. The feeling was back. When a cloud passed the sun, she held her hand to her forehead and scanned the windows.