Chapter Seventeen
Willamina heard hername being called from afar, as if the caller was in a distant tunnel.
“Mina,” Finlay called, his voice, laced with concern, was closer, clearer.
Opening her eyes, she saw his face above hers, his brow furrowed. “Mina,” he said with a sigh of relief.
She looked around, and realized she was on the chaise in the salon of Warton House. Trying to sit up, she pushed off her elbows, but Finlay’s hands were firm on her shoulders, keeping her down. “What happened?”
Finlay’s eyes softened. “Ye took a wee break for a faint,” he answered, trying to make light of the situation.
“Why d—” The question died on her lips as the events from earlier rushed back to her. She pushed Finlay’s hands off her and sat up. “Gerard. He is alive?” She asked. “I-I dinna understand. He-he died.”
Finlay shrugged. “I dinna have any answers for ye, lass. I have barred him from coming into this room. When ye are ready, we can work on getting the answers that ye seek. Here,” he shoved a glass of whisky in her hands. “Drink this.”
He did not have to tell her twice. She drank the amber liquid in one swallow, hissing as it made a burning path down her throat and into her chest.
Confusion muddled her brain. How was it possible? She had been told he had died. His body had never been recovered from the sea, but she had been told that was common. They’d had his funeral. She’d done her mourning period.
Someone pounded on the door and Finlay rushed to it, swinging it open. “What do ye want, Watson?” He growled, and Willamina found herself smiling at his defensiveness.
“Ye canna speak to me that way. I would watch your tongue if I were ye,” Gerard snapped back.
Finlay planted his feet and crossed his arms as he glared at her husband. But, Finlay was her husband.
Oh God. She put her hand up to her forehead. She had two husbands. Did that make her a bigamist? Her breath quickened. What was she going to do?
“Ye need to step back. When Willamina is ready, and if,if, she wants to speak with ye, then we can have a conversation. Until then, ye would be wise to get the hell out of my sight.”
Finlay moved to close the door.
“She’s my wife.”
As fast as lightning, Finlay spun around and poked his finger into Gerard’s chest. Hard. Hard enough to push him back. “Nay,” he sneered. “She ismywife. She ceased to be yours upon your supposed death.”
Willamina fanned herself. The room was suddenly too hot even though the fire remained unlit. Her breaths were still coming in quick succession and she couldn’t get them to slow.
Finlay slammed the door and joined her on the chaise lounge, pulling her into his arms and hugging her close.
She couldn’t help it. Deep, wracking sobs broke from somewhere deep within her chest, and she buried her face in the lapels of his jacket.
He said nothing as his hands stroked up and down her back in a soothing motion.
She felt safe. Cared for. Dare she sayloved?
Never had anyone stood up for her like Finlay just had.
Not her parents. Her friends. And certainly not her formerly dead former husband.
But he wasn’t her former husband now, was he? Och, she was so confused.
She choked out another sob, swiping at her eyes as she pulled away from the warmth and solace that Finlay offered.
She met his eyes, the usual ice-blue dark with concern.
“I dinna ken what to do. What happens now?” She spat, anger replacing the sorrow she was feeling just moments ago.
She pushed up from the chaise and began to pace the floor a few lengths, before turning back to Finlay. “He was dead.Dead!” She all but screamed, frustration getting the best of her. All of their plans. All of their ideas for how they would handle the future were thrown out with the bath water.
