“Come, sit down,” Rosario urged as she motioned them farther into the house. “You must be parched from your travels.”
They walked into the clean, sparsely furnished house and sat down at a long wooden table situated in the kitchen. Rosario set mugs of water in front of them, and Ridge drank thirstily.
“My thanks, madam,” Ridge said.
“It is you who has my thanks for returning the key,” Rosario said softly. “We have waited many years for this moment.”
“I don’t understand the significance,” India spoke up.
Rosario darted a glance at her husband then pressed her lips together. “I should have said nothing. All will be clear once you reach the city.”
“Let us eat so they can depart while the sun is still high,” Juan Miguel said. “Then we shall pray as a village that their journey is safe and successful.”
Ridge looked over at India and reached a hand to grip hers. He could feel her tremble, or was it him? The moment was at hand. The moment when the truths about Pagoria would be revealed. And maybe he would learn why even this village was as familiar as the path they had taken.
Chapter Thirty-One
“Follow the trail that leads from the north side of the village,” Juan Miguel said. He stood to the side as Ridge, India and Robby mount their horses. “When you reach the gap in the rock, you must travel the rest of the way on foot.”
The rest of the way where? India’s head began to ache, and she rubbed her temples. She knew the city was not easily accessible, otherwise it would have been discovered long ago. Juan Miguel seemed eager for her to be successful, yet he wouldn’t do anything to ensure she was. Like escort them.
The entire situation was infuriating. All she wanted was to find her father and be assured of his safety.
“Shall we go?” Ridge asked.
She tucked her hand into the pocket of her trousers and touched the bracelet. She sucked in her breath and nodded.
“Thank you for your aid, Juan Miguel. Even if in the beginning, I was sure you were naught but a common criminal.”
She smiled as she said it, and Juan Miguel had the grace to look abashed.
“May God be with you,” Juan Miguel called out as India nudged her horse forward to follow Ridge.
Robby had been uncharacteristically silent the entire day, and India studied him as they rode north through the village. He was pale, his eyes sunken and his features drawn. He was in pain.
Robby coughed and rubbed his arm across his mouth. She gasped when she saw a smear of red on his sleeve. He, too, saw it and alarm flared in his eyes. He looked up at her in panic then coughed again.
She urged her horse forward until she was abreast of Robby. “Do we need to turn back?” she asked.
Ridge, having heard her question, turned in his saddle and stared at the two of them questioningly. Then his eyes lighted on the blood on Robby’s shirt.
“Robby, what’s wrong? Are you in pain? Do we need to stop?”
Robby straightened in the saddle and thrust his chest forward. “I’m fine. Let’s continue on.”
“But...” Ridge began.
“Let’s go,” Robby said firmly.
As if to cement his statement, he kicked his heels into his horse and galloped ahead, leaving India and Ridge to stare after him.
India flinched at the sorrow so heavy in Ridge’s gaze.
“He’s getting worse isn’t he?” Ridge asked quietly.
The knot grew larger in her throat. She nodded, unable to say anything.
Ridge rubbed his head, dragging his hand through his hair until it was a rumpled mess. “What if he doesn’t make it back to England? I can’t bear the thought of him dying in some strange land.”
