Page 27 of Snowbound Surrender

If she turned back, there was a chance, wasn’t there?

To his joy, she did so, swinging about to scan the castle walls. The breeze whisked wisps of hair across her face. Despite a pinch of pink high in her cheeks, she was pale.

My Margaret. What have I done to you? Please, forgive me.

When her gaze found him, his heart leapt.

She stared fixedly, as if reaching out to him through her gaze, though he couldn’t tell what she wished to impart. Was she having second thoughts? Might she return?

The next moment she appeared to flinch and, as if running from the devil himself, made for the far door which connected the walled garden to the wider moor.

“Mags!” He banged upon the glass, but she made no sign of hearing him. All her focus was upon the door, from the way she was struggling.

Was it locked? If so, he thanked whoever had done so. She’d have no choice now but to re-enter the castle, and he would be waiting. He had to speak to her.

One last time.

To his horror she crumpled, sliding down, her skirts pooling in a sea of stormy blue. Her face was pressed to the oak and she was crying, he could tell.

My love!

The deepest part of him rose in anguish for her.

He’d done this. He was the cause of her pain, and ’twas up to him to put things right.

Though he wore naught but the hastily donned kilt and his rumpled shirt, he ran as swiftly as his legs would carry him.

CHAPTER 13

“Magsie!”Falling at her feet, he took her hands. They were like ice, and her eyes drowsy. Her teeth chattered and her lips were bereft of color.

He scooped beneath her bottom, raising her up. She was too weak to clasp her arms about him, but it mattered not. He’d enough fire in him to withstand the cold, and enough strength to carry her ten times as far. The important thing was to get her inside.

Finlay settledher in an armchair he dragged through from the housekeeper’s room, close to the tub and stove. Opening the cast iron door, he raked through the embers, letting a blast of heat touch her. With more fuel added, he closed the door again, leaving the vent full open. ’Twas fortunate he’d lit the range earlier.

Fetching the rest of the milk from the pantry, he poured it into one of the smaller pans and set it on the stove top, to make another batch of cocoa.

Throughout, Margaret uttered nay a word; not when he rubbed her hands, not when he removed her boots, nor even when he peeled off her stockings to massage her feet. It took him back to the night before, when she’d made utmost objection to him taking such a liberty.

Now she was so quiet. Was she in shock?

She hadn’t been out so very long, but she’d been distraught. Could unhappiness rob someone of their will to speak?

He eased her feet into the water. It wasn’t as hot as it had been, but ‘twould still be a comfort. Then he pulled up a stool and lowered his own toes beneath the surface. They were fairly numb, but he wriggled them against Margaret’s nonetheless and thought he spied a glimmer of a smile.

Do it now, man! Tell her!

“I meant it when I said I love you, but I’ll do as you ask.” He gulped, feeling sick to his stomach. “Perhaps you may find what you seek with someone else. Someone you think more...more worthy.”

“If you can say that you don’t know me at all!” Her eyes were suddenly blazing again.

“Of course I do, Mags.” He replied softly. “I know you better than I know anyone. You’ve a kind heart, wanting the best for others, though you don’t always see what’s best for yourself. You’re outspoken and determined—tenacious when you care about something…or someone. Except that, sometimes, you don’t know when to let go.”

“What are you saying?” There was a slight tremble to her voice. “That you want me to let go of…us?”

The look upon her face, at once distraught and unbelieving, gave him a jolt of hope.

“How could that ever be? I’m too selfish to truly wish for that.” He drew a shaky breath. “It’s the past, Mags. That’s what we need to let go of. I behaved poorly but I need the chance to make it up to you.”