A man ducked beneath some branches and blue eyes locked onto her.
“Luke!” Her breath caught, and her heart sent bubbles of happiness flowing through her limbs. If she hadn’t been balancing Amelia on one hip, she would have thrown herself into his arms.
He was alive and he was here, and except for the dark shadows under his eyes, he seemed as healthy as he’d been before he left. Love shone from those eyes.
He’d come back to her.
And he smiled, but then a bleak look entered his eyes, almost as though he was apologizing for something.
“I missed you so much.”
She couldn’t contain how happy she was just to know that he was uninjured and safe. But just before she could say another word, the second soldier stepped out of the trees as well. He moved haltingly and leaned heavily upon a cane. He was thin and bent over, and when he finally glanced up to catch her eyes, his face was thin and pale and sallow.
But those eyes, even lined by a jaundice of yellow, were quite unmistakable.
Because they were the eyes of her husband.
It was Arthur. He wasn’t dead. He was here.
Luke rushed forward just in time to keep Amelia from falling as black encroached on Naomi’s vision and the world tipped and spun around.
“Arthur?” His name passed her lips. Was it really him? Was she dreaming? Was this a nightmare?
“Naomi, sweetheart.” He was a shadow of the man she’d married almost one year ago to the day.
It wasn’t him.
It couldn’t be him.
And then there was nothing.
Chapter Eighteen
Voices penetrated the oblivion first. Some that made sense and others that didn’t.
A hand was stroking her head. “Sweetheart, it’s okay. I’m here. Wake up.” It wasn’t Luke. It was a familiar voice but it was all wrong.
Arthur was alive and she ought to be happy about it. And she was. For his mother. For his brother. For their daughter. But what kind of woman was she that she wasn’t happy for herself.
How could it be Arthur?
The sound of Amelia crying forced her to return. Her baby needed her. Amelia was real.
Naomi forced her eyes open and then blinked. Naomi had not seen a ghost. The eyes staring down at her weren’t the clear blue of a summer sky. They were brown… a sickly brown. The man who had returned with Luke was Arthur. Chestnut hair hung in tangled strands around his face and the breath that met her nostrils tempted her to turn away in revulsion.
She pushed him away instead, but he only drew back enough so that he could assist her to a sitting position.
She looked beyond him, casting her gaze about in search of reassurance and comfort until she found what she sought, a few feet away, holding Amelia protectively.
Luke! But the four of them were not alone.
Lady Tempest hovered nearby, and her eldest son was crouching behind Arthur.
A man who had been presumed dead. But how? Why?
“Luke?” Naomi spoke his name instead of so many questions. He would know. “What? How?”
“You didn’t get the letter. Blackheart didn’t get it.” Luke’s voice came out flat. She had never before seen him so defeated.
