Leah paused, hands over her mouth as she breathed warm air onto them.
“What are ye sorry for?” she asked. “Being out in this weather? Ye were looking for Madeli—”
“For being such a moronic lackwit,” he interrupted.
“Oh.” That brought her up short. “Aye, I suppose ye should apologize for that.”
Fox nearly smiled despite himself. “And Idoapologize. For hurting you with my words and lack of self-control. For not being the husband you need me to be—the husband you deserve.”
She stilled at that, dropping her hands from her mouth and folding them across her chest.
“I accept your apology. But as I hinted at earlier, Fox, . . . I simply want your happiness.”
He let out a long, slow breath.
That was the problem, was it not? His happiness?
How was he to find happiness when everything felt so precarious? When he knew the pain of losing everything and everyone? When shame and guilt held him fast in their fists?
If we wish tae find happiness together, you and I, we need tae start trusting one another with bits of ourselves.
He had just vowed to change. Being more open and honest with Leah was a vital part of that.
Perhaps happiness for them both was less a destination and more a journey to be explored.
After all, Leah had quickly become a bright well of happiness in his life. Sunshine on even the dreariest of days.
Thunder cracked, as if to emphasize his point.
She studied him. The dim window light raked her from right to left, delineating the fine bones of her face.
Words clung to Fox’s tongue—ardent ones likeneedandwifeandbe mine, darling—but he didn’t know how to loose them. Or even if he should loose them.
How had he convinced this graceful prayer of a woman to align her life with his?
“I ken we dinnae have a marriage in a traditional sense, Fox,” she said. “I know ye have secrets that ye must keep, but surely there issomethingI can do tae help yourself or Madeline. Or even just ease the weight of your worry.”
The words crowded closer in his mouth. What could he tell her without jeopardizing everything?
The letter weighed heavy in his mind. Its lines haunting at him.
.. . I discovered today that the Archbishop and His Grace are old school chums. I worry that your best-laid plans are beginning to unravel . . .
Fox had been so focused on the immediate threats to Madeline’s safety—servants and workmen who might talk, malicious gossip reaching the wrong ears—that he had neglected to consider other avenues. That a congenial, long-held friendship could breach his defenses just as easily as a brutal siege.
Leah pressed onward, taking a step toward him. “Ye told me after our marriage that we had tae keep Madeline’s presence a secret . . .”
“Yes,” he whispered.
A pause.
“Have we kept her secret enough?” Leah asked.
And there it was.
“I don’t . . . I don’t know.” The truth scraped his voice raw. “The sword hasn’t fallen. Not yet. But the information I learned today brings us an unexpected step closer to disaster. I don’t know what to do.”
Leah bit her lip. “We are in danger of losing her.”
