“Yes.”
More silence.
Lightning arced across the sky, a lattice work of light spidering through the clouds. Thunder boomed, rattling the bothy’s windows.
Leah took another step toward him. So close he could count the water droplets clinging to her cheeks. So close he could see the flecks of gold and green in her hazel eyes. So close he would simply have to bend his head to cover her mouth with his.
She rubbed her hands together again, still trying to warm them.
Helpless to stop himself, Fox reached out and gathered her hands in his, wrapping his fingers around hers. The casual touch hummed with a current.
“Can ye tell me anything more?” she asked, gaze fixed on their hands. “I’ve guessed that Madeline’s mother was perhaps this Susan ye have spoken of.”
Susan’s name on Leah’s lips sent a jolt through Fox. “I have never mentioned Susan in your hearing.”
He was sure of it. The information was too momentous for himnotto remember.
Unless . . .
“I was drunk,” he replied for her.
She nodded.
Fox closed his eyes. As if he needed yet one more reason to stop drinking . . .
“What else have I told ye when deep in my cups?” he asked.
“Not much beyond that, truthfully. Just that ye loved Susan more than life and hinted that she was tied to Madeline somehow. I deduced she was Madeline’s mother.”
“Aye.” His voice was coarse with emotion. “Susan was Madeline’s mother.”
Just saying the words hurt. The past-tense finality of them.
Susan . . .was.
Leah took her right hand out of his and pressed her palm against his chest, offering him comfort.
Fox eagerly took that comfort. He slipped his left hand inside her cloak and wrapped it around her waist, pulling her tight against him, his hands desperate for the feel of her.
Leah, bless her, did not stiffen or pull away. No.
Instead, she . . . cuddled.
She tucked her arms against his chest, burrowing inside his greatcoat, and rested her head on his shoulder. Her body went soft and pliable, melting into his as if she needed his strength. As if he were as vital to her as she had become to him.
“And who was Susan tae yourself?” she murmured, tilting her head.
The warm puff of her breath on his neck scattered his wits. Gooseflesh flared to life along his spine.
Fox wanted to pull her closer still, to explore her body with his hands, to dip his head down and steal a kiss.
She was his wife.
Hiswife!
How had he not kissed her?
What had she asked?
