only
see the back of his bent head. She realized he was praying and
waited a few moments until the cold became too unbearable, and
thoughts of snuggling beside him in a warm bed gave her the courage
to break the silence.
"March twenty-third,
eighteen forty-four—" His head shot up and his fathomless dark eyes
looked at her as if he were seeing a ghost. "—a heartless bride
took her husband's life and had her lover wall him up in the
tower."
A hearty preternatural
breeze, laden with pellets of rain, swept around Beth. She caught
her breath at its frigid caress. Sepulchral voices rose from the
ground, whispering in her ears, but she couldn't decipher the
words. For a moment she feared something would erupt from the earth
and carry Lachlan and her back into their graves.
Anything is
possible.
They both existed as
testimony to the unexplainable, the unbelievable, and knew
firsthand how fragile was mortality.
The breeze melted into the
night, carrying away with it the voices and a large part of her
anxiousness. Rain poured from the infinite sky, through the canopy
of still-barren branches above them. Sweeping back the hair wetly
plastered across her face, she told herself her life wouldn't end
if Lachlan rejected her.
She would leave the
relationship with a hole in her heart, but she would survive. The
twins would fill a vast portion of her life. Right now, all she
could do was to try to mollify what had happened in the bedroom.
She couldn't explain the extent of her anger, but she could tell
him that she loved him above all else.
"On March twenty-third,
nineteen ninety-five," she forced herself to go on, "another
heartless lover drove this same man into the cold of a rainy
night."
She stepped closer to the
stone and gripped its top. A breath lodged in her throat when
Lachlan slowly rose to his feet, still staring at her as though
disbelieving she were real. Usually he wasn't so quiet or still. It
was unnerving and she almost wished she hadn't left the
house.
"Are you hoping to die of
pneumonia out here, is that it?" she asked. Shivering, she hugged
herself with her arms. "It just won't do, Lachlan. I can't allow
you to deny your children their father."
He stepped to one side of
the headstone, his boots making sucking sounds in the
mud.
Gulping, Beth pressed on,
"Okay, so I'm not that unselfish! I'm here because I want
you."
In the semi-darkness, she
saw his right eyebrow arch in a challenge.
Releasing a sparing breath,
she cast a forlorn look in the direction of the mansion. She was
cold and tired, and her stomach was tied in knots. The twins would
be waking at any time to be fed. And Lachlan was milking her
discomfort for all it was worth. Making her squirm. Waiting for her
to swallow a fat, old corbie and say what he wanted to hear, not
her feeble attempt to skirt around an outright apology.
"I'm sorry," she finally
said in a small voice, peering at him from beneath her soaked
eyelashes.
He stepped directly in
front of her, leaving little space between them. Heat replaced the
chill in her body as she blinkingly stared at his chest. The wet,
blue material of his torn shirt clung to the muscular contours,
making her needy to touch him.
Damn the chemistry between
us!
Her head barely reached his
chin. From the moment they had met last summer, his height, barrel
chest, and broad shoulders had felled her inhibitions. He was so
powerful, so masculine, so magnetic that she could no more resist
wanting him than she could resist breathing.
"Sorry for wha'?" he asked,
his deep voice husky.
Sorry for what? she fumed. She didn't expect him to forgive and
forget in a matter of minutes, but was it necessary for him to make
this so grueling?
Without thought, she
openhandedly whacked him on the chest and sputtered, "For ever
coming to this damn country—" She gasped then straightened back her
shoulders and looked into his eyes with what she hoped was a
semblance of remorse. "For hitting you. Okay...for hitting you
see the back of his bent head. She realized he was praying and
waited a few moments until the cold became too unbearable, and
thoughts of snuggling beside him in a warm bed gave her the courage
to break the silence.
"March twenty-third,
eighteen forty-four—" His head shot up and his fathomless dark eyes
looked at her as if he were seeing a ghost. "—a heartless bride
took her husband's life and had her lover wall him up in the
tower."
A hearty preternatural
breeze, laden with pellets of rain, swept around Beth. She caught
her breath at its frigid caress. Sepulchral voices rose from the
ground, whispering in her ears, but she couldn't decipher the
words. For a moment she feared something would erupt from the earth
and carry Lachlan and her back into their graves.
Anything is
possible.
They both existed as
testimony to the unexplainable, the unbelievable, and knew
firsthand how fragile was mortality.
The breeze melted into the
night, carrying away with it the voices and a large part of her
anxiousness. Rain poured from the infinite sky, through the canopy
of still-barren branches above them. Sweeping back the hair wetly
plastered across her face, she told herself her life wouldn't end
if Lachlan rejected her.
She would leave the
relationship with a hole in her heart, but she would survive. The
twins would fill a vast portion of her life. Right now, all she
could do was to try to mollify what had happened in the bedroom.
She couldn't explain the extent of her anger, but she could tell
him that she loved him above all else.
"On March twenty-third,
nineteen ninety-five," she forced herself to go on, "another
heartless lover drove this same man into the cold of a rainy
night."
She stepped closer to the
stone and gripped its top. A breath lodged in her throat when
Lachlan slowly rose to his feet, still staring at her as though
disbelieving she were real. Usually he wasn't so quiet or still. It
was unnerving and she almost wished she hadn't left the
house.
"Are you hoping to die of
pneumonia out here, is that it?" she asked. Shivering, she hugged
herself with her arms. "It just won't do, Lachlan. I can't allow
you to deny your children their father."
He stepped to one side of
the headstone, his boots making sucking sounds in the
mud.
Gulping, Beth pressed on,
"Okay, so I'm not that unselfish! I'm here because I want
you."
In the semi-darkness, she
saw his right eyebrow arch in a challenge.
Releasing a sparing breath,
she cast a forlorn look in the direction of the mansion. She was
cold and tired, and her stomach was tied in knots. The twins would
be waking at any time to be fed. And Lachlan was milking her
discomfort for all it was worth. Making her squirm. Waiting for her
to swallow a fat, old corbie and say what he wanted to hear, not
her feeble attempt to skirt around an outright apology.
"I'm sorry," she finally
said in a small voice, peering at him from beneath her soaked
eyelashes.
He stepped directly in
front of her, leaving little space between them. Heat replaced the
chill in her body as she blinkingly stared at his chest. The wet,
blue material of his torn shirt clung to the muscular contours,
making her needy to touch him.
Damn the chemistry between
us!
Her head barely reached his
chin. From the moment they had met last summer, his height, barrel
chest, and broad shoulders had felled her inhibitions. He was so
powerful, so masculine, so magnetic that she could no more resist
wanting him than she could resist breathing.
"Sorry for wha'?" he asked,
his deep voice husky.
Sorry for what? she fumed. She didn't expect him to forgive and
forget in a matter of minutes, but was it necessary for him to make
this so grueling?
Without thought, she
openhandedly whacked him on the chest and sputtered, "For ever
coming to this damn country—" She gasped then straightened back her
shoulders and looked into his eyes with what she hoped was a
semblance of remorse. "For hitting you. Okay...for hitting you
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