Page 57

To have joy, one must share it.

LORD BYRON

At dawn, the tenants combed the ruins, but there was no sign of Beaumont. The building still smoldered, too hot for any search. Had he died in the fire? I dreaded what we might find later, but I knew my bullet had found its mark when I dove for Bridget and shot my pistol simultaneously.

Never had I been so afraid of losing her. She was standing with the women, wearing a shawl with her red hair loose on her shoulders. A more beautiful sight, I couldn’t remember.

Two are better than one, she had told me.

I agreed. I never wanted to leave her—if she would have me.

As I strode toward her, I overheard Mr. Barron promise a statement implicating Mr. Beaumont and Lord Ainsley in the attack. Bridget approached Abigail, who wept openly. I suspected the girl would weep much in the days to come.

To my surprise, Bridget took hold of Abigail’s hand and clung to it. I stopped to give them a moment.

“I forgive you, Abigail. Father and I will visit, but only if you wish it.”

“Don’t waste it on me. I don’t deserve it... I would never forgive if it was me.” Abigail’s voice cracked, each word brittle with shame. “I had no choice, you realize. None at all.” Her hand drifted to her belly, the unspoken truth hanging in the air between the two women.

Abigail pulled free, and her face crumpled as the constable led her away to a waiting carriage. He also took Lord Ainsley and Mr. Barron. All three would face further questioning with the magistrate.

I reached Bridget’s side, noting the silver tear tracking down her cheek. Inwardly, I cheered her generosity toward her former friend.

“You’ve lost so much, Rafe,” Bridget said as she drew her shawl closer. “First the hail, now the fire. It is overwhelming.”

Such a loss of funds and property would have overwhelmed me a year ago. “I think I can at last trust God, even amid this loss. And it is never too late to start again.”

I longed to take her in my arms, but with so many of the tenants watching, not to mention her father, I dared not embarrass her.

Her answering smile took my breath away. “No. It’s never too late. And I want to rebuild with you, Rafe. Together.”

Unable to restrain myself, I reached for her hand and pulled her toward the stable, away from the crowd, into the quiet shadows where Chaucer waited.

My heart was racing from the fire, the fight, and, more than anything, from the woman standing before me.

Her hair reminded me of the night I brought her home in the rain, when I should have kept my distance but couldn’t. Even then, I had wanted her near.

“Bridget,” I murmured, taking her hands in mine, “I don’t have wealth or a grand estate to offer.

Everything I have is falling apart, and I’m half a man without you.

” I cupped her cheek, my thumb brushing across her skin as I met her eyes.

“But when I look at you, I see the woman who braved storms in nothing but slippers and found beauty in broken, lost things. You’ve been my courage when I had none. Bridget, you are my home.”

Her lips twitched, a glimmer of mischief lighting her eyes. “Ah yes, those impractical slippers. I never knew footwear could make such an impression on a man.”

I chuckled, but her expression turned tender as her hands settled on my chest. “But, Rafe, your estate, come what may, matters not. I only need you .”

She rose onto her toes as she whispered, “I love you, you stubborn, impossible man.”

“Will you marry me?”

“Will you do me the honor—”

We spoke at the same time, her words echoing mine. The sound of her laughter sent warmth flooding through me.

“Are you asking me to marry you?” I teased, though my voice was rougher than I intended, shivering with a need I could barely suppress as my hands slipped to her waist. “Bridget, it is the man who ought to ask.”

She flashed a sheepish smile, as if realizing her impatience. It was one of the many things I adored about her. But before I could continue, her words, laden with emotion, broke the air between us.

“Then show me. Tell me I matter to you. Tell me you’ll always cher—”

I cut her off with a fierce kiss, unable to stop myself any longer. One hand wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer, while the other cradled the back of her head, my fingers tangling in her loose hair.

When I finally pulled away lest I lose control, her lips were still parted, her breath mingling with mine.

I gazed down at the woman who had become my everything.

“Woodland sprite,” I murmured, the words filled with reverence.

“You’ve utterly bewitched me and stolen my entire heart.

Will you promise never to leave my side? ”

“I will never abandon you. Never,” she whispered.

I felt a flicker of fear despite her declaration.

“I will not be a rich man, Bridget. Rent from tenants and sheep shearing will be my only income until the orchards grow again. I will likely lose everything if the Crown has its way. You’ll live in a cottage next to a burnt abbey, and people will reject you because of the Hawthorn name. ”

She smiled. “You do have a remarkable library in your favor—if it survives. And a marvelous land full of hidden history, and truthfully, I don’t care a whit what others think. As long as we have each other, what else do we need?”

I rested my forehead against hers. “Then I am yours, always, and you will be mine. I want to spend a lifetime pursuing you.” A surge of excitement filled me as I added, “Besides, I have a sudden interest in opening a joint tourist site with Mr. Perry, if you’ll both allow it.

Imagine the museum we could build together, protecting this place for the world to see. ”

She hugged me tightly, and I buried my face in her hair.

“Cider presses and palaces with you and me together,” she murmured, her voice soft against my chest. “I can’t think of a pairing more lovely.”