A sound to her right had her lifting her head.
Alis trudged through the muck toward her, a scowl on his handsome face.
Similar to herself, he was dressed in wellies, shirtsleeves, and a long overcoat that dragged behind him. Unlike her, he hadn’t taken a cold mud bath, though his red nose testified to the chill of the pre-dawn air.
She shivered to see him.
Surely he would cast her out now. His good grace could only extend so far.
“Chris,” he growled.
“A-Alis,” she hiccupped, chest spasming as she fought to stop her tears.
He stopped two feet in front of her, eyes flicking up and down the muddy, disastrous expanse of her.
“I dislike finding ye covered in mud, lass.”
“I d-dislikebeingcovered in m-mud.”
“Ye be mad to be out in the bog. And in the cold dark, no less. Have ye no concern for your wee neck?”
Chrissi wanted to reply. Truly, she did.
Something pithy and witty like, “Oh yes, well, I understand a chilly mud bath is excellent to invigorate circulation. ’Tis all the rage in Paris.”
Nothing came out but a wail.
She expected him to ask the meaning of her tears. To berate her or . . . something.
Instead, Alis’s expression turned soft and . . . and loving.
He pulled her into his broad chest, a large hand coming to cover the back of her head.
“Hush now, lass,” he whispered.
Chrissi melted into him, drenching his shirt with her grief and hopelessness. And, truth be told, a goodly bit of mud.
Unconcerned, his arms held her tightly and she felt him press a kiss to her sodden hair.
“Ah, Chris,” he murmured. “Could ye not have had a goodgreitin your bedchamber? The bog seems a wee bitty dramatic.”
His teasing words simply made her cry harder.
How she had missed him . . . missed this sense of closeness.
She had longed to be in his arms once more. To feel the thump of his heartbeat under her cheek, to burrow into the warmth of his body.
They stood for a long while, emotion pouring from Chrissi as the sky lightened around them.
“Oh!” She pushed off his chest with a start. “The sunrise. We can’t miss it!”
Hurriedly, she wiped at her tears and looked toward the eastern horizon and the light swelling there.
“Sunrise?” Alis asked.
“Yes!” Somehow, a warbling half laugh made it past her tears. “It’s why . . .” She reached for his hand. “It’s why I’m here. I promise; I am not entirely mad yet.”
He wrapped his strong fingers around hers.
