When she drew her horse to a stop, he saw the gray waters of the sea, and dark clouds hovering above. Sea gulls circled the rocks, and the hill descended into a large stretch of sand. Marguerite dismounted and let the horse graze while she walked to the sand. He followed, but as she continued her slow strides across the beach, he caught her hand.
Why? he asked in silence.
She reached within her bodice and withdrew the silver chain and glass pendant. “You never left. Even when I asked you to.”
In answer, he touched her chin, cupping her soft cheek. Soft golden hair rested upon her throat, and she reached up to remove her veil, tossing it on the sand. “I don’t know what will happen when my father returns. I'm frightened about what he will do if he finds out about us.”
Her hands reached to cover his and she continued, “But I have a few days left with you. I don’t want to lose them before I have to.”
The words fired up a hope he hadn’t dared to feel. He captured her palm with his and led her down toward the ocean. Marguerite leaned her head against his shoulder as they walked, and he drew her closer.
Beneath her calm demeanor, he sensed the unrest simmering. Tension lined her face, mingled with defiance. She’d brought him here for a reason, but for what, he couldn’t guess.
She let go of his hand when they reached the shoreline. Driftwood and shells lined the sand, along with a fallen log. He followed Marguerite there, where she leaned down to pick up a stick.
“I promised to teach you more words,” she said, offering him the stick.
But he didn’t take it. Instead, he reached out to cup her chin, wishing he could read her thoughts. Something was making her anxious, but she wouldn’t reveal it to him.
“If you want, I’ll try to teach you more writing,” she blurted out, her words rushed. “Or perhaps you could give me another lesson in swimming?”
There was an edge to her voice, a nervousness about her demeanor. Though she might believe swimming was a way to spend time together, it wasn’t a good idea. The moment he saw her slender body, wet from the waves, he’d want to touch her again. And God help him, if he did, for he didn’t think he could stop.
The summer air was cool, and he motioned for her to wait a moment. He built a fire for them, and when it was burning bright, he picked up the stick again and sat beside her.
“Show me the letters you remember,” she said.
He wrote out the alphabet that he’d spent countless hours memorizing. Some of the shapes still eluded him, but his hand was growing steadier with the practice.
She bent to help him with the letter S, her hand upon his. When she leaned so close, her delicate scent ensnared him. He wanted to lay her back in the sand naked, touching her body until he learned what made her sob with pleasure.
The stick nearly snapped in his hand, and he forced himself to concentrate.
“You’ve learned so fast,” she remarked, kneeling beside him. “It took me years to do as much as you have.”
He took the stick and wrote her name, then his own.
“You saw it,” she murmured. “I wrote it for you in the garden, hoping you would find it.”
At her timid smile, he set down the stick and faced her. Her hands moved up to touch his shoulders, and she rested her cheek against his in a light embrace. “I’m sorry for what I said a few days ago. I was afraid that if you stayed, you would be in danger.”
He’d known that, but hearing her say it made him hold her closer. Words stumbled in his throat, yet he couldn’t get them out.
But now, he had another way. Pulling back from her, he picked up the stick and thought for a moment. He struggled to remember the shapes of the letters and the spelling.
Finally, he wrote in the sand: Myn.
Her expression softened with emotion. She changed the spelling of the word to Mine, and he studied the shape of the letters. Then she answered, “Yes. I am yours. For as long as I can be.”
It wasn’t the promise he wanted. He wanted her for always.
The words revealed the truth he’d suspected. Despite what there was between them, she was still her father’s daughter. Her loyalty to her family was stronger than any feelings she held toward him.
It was sobering to know that he was asking her to choose between them.
But then, she leaned in and kissed him. Her lips were soft, and in the touch of her mouth upon his, there was a decision. She’d found a way to come to him, and no matter how long it lasted, he intended to make the most of it.
A breathless sigh escaped her when he bent to kiss her jaw and the delicate skin of her throat.
