Page 57 of Betrayed by His Highland Wife

Just as she was about to gather herself, something firm made her jump. A hand—she was sure it must be—pressed into her shoulder. Nora turned, holding a scream. As much as she wanted it, she was certain it could not be the horse.

She was right.

Behind her, a man was standing.

Nora opened her mouth to scream. Then she saw him.

It was William.

17

"Yer wedding dress is wet!"

There she was, just waiting. William tensed when he saw her, crouched in the abandoned blackhouse, seemingly praying.

His guts turned to stone. This was crazy. She was perfect. How could someone so sweet be planning something so evil? Blinking, William wondered if she had initiated all this. The discovery, here, in the abandoned blackhouse of all places.

His heart throbbed. It could be a trap. If what they had told him was true, she could still be planning on carrying out her act. Should he be on guard? It wrenched him to do so, but William checked his dagger, still in its pouch. But he did not take it. That would be going too far. Instead, he walked around her, eyeing her coldly.

Of course, inside, he was anything but cold. Chaos splurged beneath his exterior. Was she waiting for him? What else was she doing here? With her horse, of all things.

William narrowed his eyes. Just what was going on here?

"Nora?" he said, regarding her oddly. On the surface, she was just the same. William fought the urge to go and kiss her, but it was hard. His heart just could not accept what his head knew, that she had been sent to kill him.

Was it true? He opened his mouth to ask, but no words came out. His tongue was claggy and dry. Instead, he found himself wondering about the place; the blackhouse, where they had embraced, kissed.

She must know that this could not just be a coincidence? Could it?

The memory of them together hit him like a ton of bricks, but he resolved to cast it out of his mind. He could not let her seep back in.

So, coldly, William glared and watched her as her face leaped from fright to shock, then horror. A small pull of satisfaction spread across William. At last, she was suffering too. He should feel bad, but he was just too hurt.

Finally, her eyes widened. "William," Nora cried.

She was terrified, no question.

William's bitterness melted. Instantly, he wanted to touch her. Frowning, he forced himself to let go of the memory. He mustn't. He couldn't. It hurt too bad.

Instead, he resolved to stay frozen.

"Hoo there, mistress," he said, clipped and formally. He watched her look at him, her green eyes silent and thoughtful in the half-light. He was still dressed for his wedding day, sporting his best clan plaid as well as the priceless clan brooch. But what about her?

She had cast off the dress he had given her without a second thought. And the brooch...

William felt a dagger where his heart should have been, just at the thought of the brooch. He had had it made especially for Nora. Now she would never wear it.

"'Tis a funny place for ye to be having a wee blether wi' yer horse!" observed William dryly, as Nora still failed to make any sound. Looking at her up and down, William scrunched up his face in thought. "Aye, ye ken, I could have sworn ye were meant to be somewhere else. Right noo, in fact. We both were. But, och, noo, what was that again?"

William perfected his arched look, staring so hard that Nora shrunk away.

"Somewhere we were supposed to be. I dinnae suppose ye can remember, can ye?"

He hated his voice, so cold and sarcastic, and yet he could not stop. Remorseless, he continued, some nasty small part of him wanting to hurt her as much as he hurt.

William's eyes cut her up. He paused. "Och, aye, that's it...oor wedding."

Silence.