Princess Annie Read Free

after a few seconds, he collected himself and looked toward the tower window just in time to see Barrett dragging Annie inside.
    Relief swept through Rafael with such force that his knees went weak and again he pondered the attributes of death. If there was an afterlife, he might see Georgiana again, and Barrett’s father. More of the parapet crumbled away into space, and he pressed his back hard against the wall, fingers clutching the time-beaten, porous stones.
    “She’s safe inside now, sir,” Barrett said, raising his voice to be heard over the rising wind and the slashing patter of the rain. “Heads up, then. Here comes the rope.”
    It undulated toward him, that length of woven hemp, and Rafael caught it in both hands and held on with a ferocity that belied his earlier reflections on the advantages of dying. The last of the walkway collapsed while he was knotting the rope around his chest, and he felt its roughness burn into his hands as he slid, the knot giving way, almost to its end.
    He slammed hard against the wall of the castle, blinded now by the downpour, focusing all his energy, all the strength of his being, on the simple process of holding on. Barrett pulled him upward, one lurching wrench at a time, while Rafael dangled, his palms raw where he grasped the slick rope.
    At last, he felt hands, half a dozen of them, gripping him under the arms, by the wrists, by the back of his coat. They hauled him inside, Barrett, one of his lieutenants, and Lucian, Rafael’s young half brother.
    He crouched on the landing for several moments, soaked and bruised, his hands bleeding, his heart hammering against his breastbone, his breath grating like coarse sand in his lungs.
    Barrett dragged him unceremoniously to his feet. “Are you all right?” he asked, with genuine concern. The affection between them was old, and it was deep.
    Rafael managed a bitter, choked laugh, swayed slightly. When he spoke, it was in a furious rasp.
    “Where is she?”
    Annie had been waiting on the top step of the tower staircase, shivering with cold and residual terror, offering fervent, if silent, prayers that Rafael would be saved. Had she loved him, devotedly if from a distance, all these years, she’d asked herself, only to be the cause of his death?
    At the sound of his voice, a low rumbling like summer thunder, however, both she and Phaedra stiffened in alarm.
    The princess clutched Annie’s hand and pulled. “Quickly!” Phaedra hissed, dragging her friend down the smooth steps toward the hallway. “If Rafael catches up to us now, there’s no guessing what he’ll do!”
    Annie considered a couple of the possibilities and suddenly all the strength came back into her legs. Unencumbered by skirts, she bolted ahead of Phaedra and dashed blindly along the passage, having no earthly idea where to hide. Such was her unbridled agitation, alas, that she tripped on the corner of a rug and went sprawling onto the floor.
    Before she could rise again, a pair of hard male hands hoisted her to her feet. She looked into the coldly furious face of the prince himself.
    “Rafael—” Phaedra pleaded, grasping her brother’s arm.
    He pulled free of his sister’s hold, his storm gray eyes locked on Annie’s face. He spoke to the soldier without looking away. “Take Miss Trevarren to her room and bolt the door. I’ll deal with her in the morning. At the moment, I do not trust myself with the task.”
    Annie was cold and wet and full of remorse for giving in to the more daring side of her nature, but she felt a flush of indignation at his words and took umbrage at the tone in which they were delivered. “Why don’t you just chain me to the dungeon wall and be finished with it?” she asked, with dignity.
    “A delightful suggestion,” Rafael bit out, still glaring at her. “And don’t think I haven’t considered it. Have you any others, Miss Trevarren? More drastic ones, I hope?”
    She wilted slightly, for bravado will carry one just so