to prove his loyalty to the village without marrying for it. There also had to be middle ground tonight, too, a place between rudely leaving the party to escape Katerina or staying at the price of pledging his eternal devotion. If he could only find it and fast.
Katerina discreetly brushed her breasts against his arm and her father gripped his shoulder in not-so-subtle encouragement that he declare himself. After all, Alexei Stefanos had put the world at his feet. What more could a father do for a beloved child? It was more than his father had ever done for him. But the only thought Brennan could muster was run!
Any moment Katerina was going to suggest they take a stroll and he definitely didn’t want to do that. He had no doubt he’d come back compromised. Funny, he’d always thought if there was to be any compromising situations in his life, they would be the other way around. His panic was full-fledged now. Run, run, run, pounded in his head. To where? To whom?
Brennan could see Konstantine making the rounds, visiting each cluster of guests. He would reach their group shortly and Brennan knew a little relief. There would be some help in that, but he would need a plan in place by the time Kon got there.
Brennan quartered the agora with his eyes, his gaze taking in the dancers in the middle, the groups of partygoers on the perimeter, his eyes mentally assessing and discarding his options for an ally; no, not her—too desperate; no, too competitive; already married; good heavens, no, just no; maybe, no, no, no. Two-thirds of the way through the guests he stopped. This would never work. He was being too picky.
His gaze started around the perimeter once more. No, no, wait. His eyes drifted back to the shadows. There was someone standing on the edge of the light. He recognised her as Patra Tspiras, the widow who bought fish from Konstantine, and she was alone. Better yet. He wouldn’t have to explain himself to everyone around her. Their eyes brushed for the briefest of moments. Her gaze slid away with a quickness that implied guilt over having been caught staring. A smile quirked at his lips. She’d been watching him. It was settled. He would run to her. Escape was in sight. He just needed to pick his moment.
Konstantine approached the group, slapping guests on the back and kissing cheeks. ‘Are we having fun?’ he asked. His voice, loud like Stefanos’s, boomed over the music to be heard. He gave a broad wink to everyone, making an expansive gesture with his hands. ‘Tonight, I insist everyone have a good time. There is plenty to eat and to drink.’
Impromptu toasts to Konstantine’s good health went up around them. Brennan saw his opening. He jerked his head towards the dark corner of the agora where Patra stood. ‘I think you’ve succeeded, Kon, with all but one. Perhaps I should go and spread the party cheer.’ He gave a farewell nod to the group and was off before anyone could protest, relief bringing a wide smile to his lips as he sought out the source of his liberation.
* * *
She did not want to be here! Patra covertly slipped a plate of baklava into the shadows, wishing she could disappear as easily. Well-meaning friends had been trying to feed her all night. They’d been trying to do more than feed her, in fact; they wanted her to eat, to dance, specifically they wanted her to dance with a sudden rash of male relatives, all of them of an older persuasion, who’d come from neighbouring villages. Patra wanted no part of it. She couldn’t have any part of it even if she did desire one of them.
She would not have come at all if she could have managed it, but it would have been far harder to explain why she hadn’t come than to simply come and sneak off later once the niceties had been observed. In compromise, she stood off to the side of the festivities, trying hard to blend into the dark and thankful for the small miracle that for a few moments she was alone.
She was grateful for her friends, but tonight she had little tolerance for their new and misdirected efforts. The older women who had surrounded her in the years since her husband’s death had decided amongst themselves she had mourned Dimitri long enough. It was time for her to remarry, no matter how many times she told them she had no intentions of marrying again.
A loud burst of laughter from the dancing drew her eye to its source, coaxing a small smile from her. Of course. She shouldn’t be surprised the laughter belonged to the Englishman, Brennan Carr, who was twirling Katerina Stefanos through the steps of a dance. They made an attractive couple with their vivacious smiles and striking good looks.
Patra felt a twinge of general envy watching them, or was that wistfulness? She and Dimitri had been that way; every day, every dance, every night, a chance to celebrate their life together. Now, that life was over, one more casualty in the fight for an independent Greece, a fight that had taken her husband and her naïveté with it. The naïve loved wholly, completely with mind, body and soul. She never wanted to risk feeling that way again. It took too much from a person, made oneself too vulnerable. But there were plenty of green girls in the village who were willing to risk it. She was probably the only woman in Kardamyli between sixteen and sixty who didn’t entertain ‘interest of a more personal nature’ in Brennan Carr. Then again, she was the only one who couldn’t risk it.
The dance ended and she watched Brennan lead Katerina back to her father. The look on Katerina’s face was happily possessive. Patra wondered if the Englishman understood. She might hover on the periphery of village life, but even she knew the fathers of Kardamyli were angling to make Brennan a more permanent member of the community.
Patra watched Brennan shift uneasily on his feet, his eyes darting through the crowd, looking for something, someone. Ah, so he did know. He was getting nervous, as well he should. The sort of Englishman who would come to Kardamyli was not the sort who would stay. Brennan Carr was an adventurer. Marriage and a wife would put a stop to those adventures.
He was quartering the crowd with his eyes, his gaze inevitably headed her way. She should step, out of his path. She didn’t want company and yet something stubborn encouraged her eyes to meet his when they passed, encouraged her gaze to linger on his in a brief connection before she understood what it was asking. He was looking for an escape and he had settled on her. She moved her gaze away and stepped back, but the damage was done. It was too late to second-guess her choice. She’d stared too long. Now, Brennan Carr was headed her direction, all blue eyes and swagger, and there was no one to blame but herself.
People would be bound to notice, in part because this was most uncharacteristic of her, but mostly because of him. It was no secret among the women folk he’d been setting hearts astir since his arrival. But she’d prudently kept her distance for many reasons. She simply wasn’t interested and even if she was, he was in his late twenties and far too young for her mature thirty-five, until, quite obviously, now.
Patra swallowed. He stood in front of her, his eyes as blue as gossip reported, his strong tan hands hitched in the wide leather belt of his foustanella riding low on his hips, as he drawled with all the cocky confidence of a man who knew he was right, ‘You were watching me.’
‘I was concerned for you,’ Patra corrected, meeting his boldness with a coolness of her own. She nodded in the direction of the Stefanos. ‘You didn’t look entirely comfortable with the proceedings.’
‘As well I wasn’t.’ His grin broadened and her breath caught. He had a most expressive face when he smiled. The bones were magnificent, a sculptor’s dream: sharp, jutting cheekbones that framed the straight length of his nose and a mouth that promised to deliver all nature of sin. Objectively speaking, Patra could see what all the fuss was about and what all the fuss was going to be about if he stayed around much longer. Women would go to war over a man like him. He’d become their very own version of a Helen.
He gave her a meaningful look, his eyes skimming her mouth. His voice dropped to a most private level as his body angled close to hers so that his quiet words could be heard above the music without calling
