Finnan lost what breath remained in his body.Nay, nay, nay—
With a violent shove, Stuart tossed her into the room, her loosed hair a golden flood of brightness, to land on the flagged floor beside him.
“A gift for you, Brother,” Deirdre called almost gaily. “Is it not generous of me? I will even afford you some time together, during which you can decide which of you will die first.” The two of them, Deirdre and Stuart Avrie, went out and the door of the prison banged shut behind them.
Finnan’s heart sank within him, so hard and fast it felt like a mortal injury. During the hours just past, he had not believed he could feel any more desperate. This one moment proved him wrong.
Jeannie had landed hard on the stones and slid. She lifted her head, and he gazed into the blue of her eyes, now darkened by pain.
“Nay,” he said again, aloud this time. Her cheek, scraped against the stone, showed a livid abrasion. Her left arm had received similar treatment. The front of her dress was soaked in blood, as were her hands and forearms.
Finnan gasped and choked out, “What ha’ they done to you?” If they had harmed her because of him…
He could not bear it.
Jeannie, his Jeannie, warm, sweet, and so welcoming beneath him. So loving…
Aye, and when had he given her his heart, this poor, stunted thing that even now took up a double rhythm, struggling to beat not only for him but for her? Geordie had been right: Finnan loved her; by all the gods, he always had. And so long as she lived, he must keep on living also.
For one blinding, wondrous moment nothing else mattered, not what had happened in the past nor whether they had a future together, just that she was with him now, his whole world beside him.
As if she heard his thoughts, her gaze kindled; she took light from what she saw in his eyes.
“Oh, Finnan, Finnan, thank God.”
On hands and knees, she crawled the short distance to reach him. He felt her hands touch his chest, careful for his wounds, saw tears flood her eyes. She should be angry with him—he knew that full well. He had hurt her in the worst way possible and by the most deliberate means he could find. But in her eyes he saw only love; in her touch he felt nothing else. Humility swamped him in a staggering wave. He did not deserve this woman’s heart. But gratitude followed the humility, deep and strong, for he could see he possessed it yet.
“What have they done to you?” she sobbed.
“Never mind that.” He could scarcely reply, his throat tight with emotion. “Jeannie, forgive me. Forgive me if you can. I know full well I ha’ not earned your forgiveness, just as I never earned your love. Not one thing has happened to me since I left your door that I did not deserve for how I used you. I know it. I know it full well.” He closed his eyes against one single rush of desire, to impart how he loved her. For he knew they had only moments, and those rushing like sand through the fingers of the gods.
She touched his face, the slightest brush of love, and his heart nearly burst within him. He opened his eyes, and they gazed at one another long.
Perhaps he did not need to tell her, after all. Perhaps the bond that had formed between them at some point even while he sought to hurt her—magical, unpreventable bond—let her feel everything that lay in his unworthy heart. She deserved better, far better. She deserved someone like Geordie, who understood softness, kindness, and the wisdom of choosing love. But he knew until his last breath she had his heart instead, a ragged, damaged gift, but hers completely.
She smiled, wobbly and trembling, through her tears. “Tell me I belong to you,” she bade him. “It is all I need to hear.”
“Like my breath,” he vowed to her, “like my heartbeat. Like everything I am or ever will be.”
“Then nothing can part us—not hard words or old anger.” Her lips trembled again. “Not death.”
“By all that is holy, Jeannie, I am sorry I brought this upon you—”
He got no further because she leaned forward then and covered his mouth with her own.
And what did he sense in that kiss? Her fear, aye, but also her certainty, and enough love to tear down the walls of this prison.
He knew then he had received an answer to his night-long prayers, far better than he deserved. He knew that in the midst of hatred, his heart had found peace.
Her lips left his, touched again very gently, and lingered. Her sweetness lifted and strengthened him. She raised her head once more, and her light flooded upon him.
“I love you, Finnan MacAllister.”
“I love you, Jeannie MacWherter. Faith, I did not know what love was until you came into my life.”
“Well, then.” The light that embraced him strengthened and united them. “I am complete.”
“Are you?” His lips twisted. “’Twould have been far better, love, had I admitted it before all this trouble came upon us. Where is Danny?”
