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Her fingers trembled in his. His unease sharpened.
“I am so sorry.” Her voice was hoarse with unshed tears.
His world narrowed to her face, taking in the grief and doubt in her eyes. “Please don’t,” he whispered, uncaring that everyone could hear him. “We will be fine, Willow. I love you.”
Something in him broke when she lowered her hands and dropped the rosebuds.
He had lost her.
She ran.
“Willow!”
The harsh sound of her mother’s voice rang out, blending with the gentler tones of her father to let her go. But she did not hesitate. She burst through the doors of the chapel as if the devil were on her heels. Her mind drew maps of the house as she moved with more speed than she thought possible.
Please don’t.
The quiet plea had been evident in Alasdair’s voice. The bleakness. He sounded as if she had shredded something in him. The doubts almost drowned her. She had once again rejected him. He would hate her now. A harsh sob clawed from her throat as she stumbled up the stairs. She needed her room, her sanctuary, to still the mess of emotions suffocating her.
She couldn’t do it. But how could she live without him? The pain of loss sliced through her. “Oh God, please let this pain stop,” Willow moaned as she reached the landing. She turned right and tried to walk with measured steps, her fingers gliding against the wall’s surface. She came to the fourth door and felt for the knob. She pushed inside, moving too fast and tripped.
She cried out as she fell forward. Unable to check her momentum, she braced for the impact that never came. Gentle hands caught her.
She froze. He had followed her? She had not smelled or heard him. Relief crashed into her. He was there. “Alasdair.” There was nothing calm about the way his name burst from her lips along with the sob. It was raw and ugly, and she did not care.
“Easy,” he reassured. “I have you.”
I will be your anchor when you falter…always.
Her chest constricted, and it seemed impossible to draw air. “I hurt you, again.” She pressed a fist to her mouth as he drew her to him, leaning her against his chest. His heat was a comfort and a temptation. “Forgive me, I never wanted to bring you pain ever again.”
His heat shifted slightly, and the door to her chamber closed. The snick of the lock as he thumbed it had her swallowing. “My parents will come.”
“No one would dare co
me up here. They understand I am trying to persuade you to be my wife. That I am trying to convince you of the depth and breadth of my love. The hounds of hell will not part me from you now, Willow. They saw that. I am the only one that followed you. The others have dispersed to the lawns.”
She nodded, her throat tightening. There was no anger in his voice, no pain, only patience, and understanding. This man loved her. Treasured her. He had been willing to marry her even without a dowry. Oh God, what had she done? “And the vicar?”
“I told the family and the vicar they can leave if we do not return. If we do not marry today I will not panic,” he said softly.
She waited for Alasdair to say more, to berate her, and nothing. The tension eased from her, and she relaxed into him. “You are not angry,” she observed fighting to control the pounding of her heart.
“No.”
“You are disappointed.”
“No.”
“You are hurt.”
He pushed her forward, walking deeper into her room.
“I feel only relief that I am holding you. All else faded the moment I touched you,” he confessed, raw emotions evident in his voice.
“Hold me, Alasdair, and do not let me go, ever.”
He drew her into his arms and hugged her tightly.
