Where could she have gone? He’d seen her walking the dog along the path that curved along the cliff’s edge. The thought of her taking that path on today of all days sent a chill down his spine. Every instinct warned him away from that ledge. But he had to look, had to know if she’d fallen to the rocks below. He went there now, testing each step before placing his weight down. When he was close enough, he peered over the edge.
No telltale pale yellow gown dashed to the rocks below, no broken limbs, no golden hair tangled in the jagged stone.
The relief that filled him was so great, he nearly sagged to the ground. But she was still out in the storm, so he hurried away from the danger of the ledge and began a sweep of the land. Far to the right, then back toward the cliff, then back inland again. His eyes scanned every rock, every hedgerow, searching for even the smallest sign of life.
He didn’t know how long he searched; it could have been minutes or hours. All the while, as his boots moved swiftly across the saturated earth, his heartbeat pounded in his ears, a desperate accompaniment to his calls for her.
After traversing what felt like the entirety of the Isle, he came to a low fence. Beyond was a valley, large puddles forming in what he suspected was a field of wildflowers this time of year. Surely she wouldn’t have come this far from Seacliff. Yet something called to him, propelling him over the fence, across the valley. The ground was soggy beneath his feet, the mud sucking at his sodden boots. “Lenora!” he called for what must have been the hundredth time that day.
It was then he saw it, the slight movement in the tree line ahead. A pale arm waving frantically.
His heart seemed to stall, then stop altogether, before starting up again at a gallop. He sprinted forward, his feet kicking up mud and water. And there she was, just inside the doorway of a dilapidated little hut. Her hair hung about her shoulders in bedraggled locks, her pale yellow dress soaked and muddied, plastered to her shivering form.
He had never seen anything so beautiful in his entire life.
His feet ate up the distance between them. And then he was pushing into the hut, and she was in his arms, and he felt his world right as his lips found hers.
***
Lenora’s fear melted away under the urgency of Peter’s kiss. She clung to his shoulders, opening her mouth to him. She had never thought to feel this again, this roiling need that only he brought out in her, that only he could quench. How it had frightened her when it had first come crashing over her. Yet now she grasped onto it with both hands.
But she couldn’t stop shivering, no matter how she pressed herself against him and tried to bury herself in his embrace. The violence of it seemed to break through to Peter. He pulled back and peered down at her in the gloom of the hut.
“My God, you’re pale.”
The warmth of his kiss was wearing off now, the chill reaching down into her again. She wrapped her arms about herself, rubbing hard at her upper arms. But no amount of friction could take away the bone-deep cold.
He came close to her, pushing her hands aside, replacing them with his own. As he tried to bring warmth into her limbs, he scanned the single room. “We have to get you warm.”
She let out a shaky laugh. “You’re no better off than I am,” she admonished, the words coming out in a chatter of teeth.
He peered down at his drenched clothing as if just noticing them before shrugging. “Never mind that. I’ve been through worse.”
He quickly pulled off his jacket, draping it over her shoulders. Though it was soaked through, it still held his warmth. She pulled it tightly about her, willing that warmth into her, even as she said, “Now you’ll be chilled.”
He waved her concerns off. “Have you looked for any wood for kindling?”
She nodded as well as she could. “There isn’t any.” And she had looked, in every nook and cranny of the small cottage. But not a stray log or bit of kindling had been found, nor even a stick of furniture to break up and make use of.
Peter nodded grimly, eyeing the streams of water pouring in through the rotting thatch roof, the door that listed sideways on its hinge. “As horrible as it is outside, it will be infinitely more dangerous if we stay here. With no way to get warm or dry, we’ll quickly fall ill.” He looked at her, his grim expression sending his face into sharp shadow. “We need to get back to the house. Now.”
She gave a cautious look out the doorway. She couldn’t imagine going back out into that. “I don’t know…”
He came closer, hooked a finger under her chin, forcing her worried gaze to his. “Do you trust me?”
“Yes,” she said, without the least bit of hesitation. She was stunned to realize just how true that was. She would trust this man with her very life.
His eyes warmed. “Then let’s be off.” Without warning, he swept his arms beneath her and headed out the door. Immediately they were deluged with rain. It came down in buckets, making it nearly impossible to see.
“You needn’t carry me, you know,” she said into his ear. “I’m perfectly capable of walking on my own.”
“The ground is soaked, and you have the most abysmal footwear possible for this,” he replied without the least bit of breathlessness. His steps were long, eating up the distance to the house. “And,” he continued, his voice darkening, though he tried to keep his words light, “your teeth are chattering so loud, I can hardly hear myself think.”
His worry was palpable, his shoulders tense beneath her hands. A warm glow started up in her chest. She clenched her stiff fingers in his linen shirt, pressing her face into his neck, feeling safer than she ever had, though they were not yet out of danger.
He shifted her slightly, stepping over a low fence. “Why the devil were you out so far to begin with? Why didn’t you return at the first hint of rain?”
Suddenly it all came crashing back down on her, the reason for her fear before Peter had found her, washing it away with his kisses. “It was Freya. There was a clap of thunder and she ran off. I looked for her as long as I could. Lady Tesh will be frantic. And that poor sweet pup. She must be frightened out of her wits, out here in this.”
