“Thank heaven.” Fox sagged. “But why are you here?”
“Why . . . tae fetch yourself, of course. Ye would search until ye collapsed if someone didnae stop ye.” She said the words so matter-of-factly. As if he had merely stepped out to visit the vicar.
“You misunderstand. Why you? Why risk your neck like this.”Your lovely, delicate neck, he declined to add. “A groom could have come.”
“Aye, but all the grooms are new tae the area. And I well ken that thecorriecan be devilish in weather like this. Besides, I had tae come. I couldnae stay away, not after . . .” Her voice drifted off.
She licked her lips. Fox tried—and failed—not to stare.
He remembered now . . . that look in her eyes right before Bethany had interrupted them.
Longing.
Desire.
I couldnae stay away, not after . . .
Did that mean what he thought it might?
Fox’s pulse raced.
“I wanted to make sure ye were safe,” she continued, eyes darting from his in a way he could only describe as bashful.
Her words lit a coal in his chest, despite the wind and rain.
He felt himself canting, leaning toward her.
But at the moment, the storm intensified. Wind tugged on Fox’s hat and whipped Leah’s cloak, sending rain sideways, pelting them even under the cover of the pines.
Another round of thunder boomed, echoing ferociously off thecorriewalls.
“Come. There’s a bothy nearby.” Leah nearly had to shout to be heard. “It will provide better protection.” She pointed to her right.
Fox nodded and followed his wife into the blinding storm, trusting her, as ever, to lead him to safety.
Not even tenminutes later, Fox ducked into the dry interior of a mountain bothy. The stone building sat tucked into the curve of a rocky outcropping, the sides and entrance sheltered from the storm. The room itself was spare with an earthen floor, a bare bed pallet, a table, two chairs, and thick glass windows on either side of the door. A place for shepherds and hunters to take refuge from the elements.
He leaned into the door to latch it, fighting the buffeting wind.
Turning to Leah, he pulled off his sodden hat and peeled away his drenched gloves, setting them atop the worn table.
Leah did the same with her bonnet and gloves, placing them beside his. She chafed her fingers, her cheeks scrubbed red by the wind and rain.
Frowning, Fox surveyed the dim space, disliking that there was no hearth to build a fire. No way for him to warm his wife.
“You’ll catch your death of a chill.” His voice turned gruff. “You shouldn’t have come.”
He hated that she was cold because of him. That he couldn’t seem to stop causing her misery.
That ended now.
His wife looked up at him with her hazel eyes, water droplets clustering on her eyelashes.
She had never looked more lovely. And he had never felt less worthy of her.
But he wouldbecomeworthy, he vowed.
“I’m sorry.” The words tumbled out of him.
