Page 75 of The Cornish Bride

“Mar not my face but let me be,” Ysella read aloud, peering more closely at the rock, her hand still gripping his. “Secure in this lone cavern by the sea. He’s dedicated this poem to her.” She clasped her hands in excitement. “How romantic.”

Sam wiped a hand over the last two lines in the hope of making them clearer. “Let the wild waves around me roar, kissing my lips for evermore.”

He straightened up, sobered by the simple sadness of the four lines. “I’d wager she drowned here on this beach and he erected this as his own private memorial to her. I doubt many people venture this far into the cave, and if they do, this carving’s hard to spot, the writing even less easy.”

She straightened as well. Without looking at him, she spoke, her voice loud in the silence of the cave, only the distant roar of the surf disturbing it. “If I were to drown, would you make a memorial to me?”

Sam froze.

She turned to face him, her eyes glittering like the glassy mineral deposits, not brown any longer but sparkling with fire. “Would you?”

“You know I would, Ysella.”

She shook her head, and a stray curl dropped over her eyes. “No, I don’t know it, Sam. Morvoren said you care for me. We’ve always been friends. But since we’ve married, I haven’t been sure.” She hesitated. “It’s as though I feel you drawing back from me all the time. As though you’re afraid of something. Afraid of me, perhaps.”

Sam put up his other hand and brushed the curl back for her. “If I were to lose you,” he said, groping for the words he needed, “I shouldn’t be able to live. I more than care for you, Ysella. I love you.”

She opened her mouth to speak, but he hushed her with a finger to her lips. “No, don’t speak yet. Hear me out.” It was as though the darkness of the cave had freed his heart. In here, hidden from the world, surrounded by the trappings of magic and lost love, he felt he could finally say what needed to be said.

“I have loved you for a long time, Ysella, but I never dreamed you could be mine. I thought you always destined for some lord’s hand, not mine. When… what happened to you… happened, I hurt inside for you. I felt your pain. I hated what he did to you. But… I’ve always wanted you to be happy, and if Featherstone could have made you that, I would have been content. I would have lost you, but I would have known you were happy. And that would have been enough for me.”

He hesitated. “But that wasn’t to be. Things… happened that could not be undone. Morvoren suggested that I would make you a steadfast husband. She was right. I will, with all my heart’s devotion.” How hard it was to put into words what he’d felt when they’d married. How he’d felt he could hope for nothing more than friendship, and how now, here in this magic place, he dared to hope for more. He tightened his hold on her hand.

“But I knew what you’d suffered. You, an innocent, had been defiled, duped, conned into thinking you were loved by a man who was only after your money. You were in his power and unable to protest. He did with you as he wanted and you had no escape.”

He watched her face working, as though she wanted to intercede but couldn’t, her eyes large and dark and glistening with tears. He mustn’t stop.

“I made a pact with myself when we married, and a promise to you, that I would not expect you to carry out your marital duties, such as they are supposed to be. Only if you ever wanted that, would I relent. But I knew you didn’t love me. And although there’s a part of me that would accept even a tenth of your regard, I would not force you into anything you didn’t want to do.” How awkward he felt having to skirt around the notion of conjugal rights, of the marriage bed and all it entailed, without putting it into direct words. “But if you could ever love me back, I would be a contented man.” Hot color rose to his cheeks at this last sentence, but she wouldn’t have been able to see. How inept he sounded. How badly he’d explained himself. He went to turn away from her. Best to get back to the beach.

*

Ysella’s heart hammeredin her throat. If she opened her mouth it was going to come leaping right out and land in the sand at her feet. Then she’d be dead and he’d have to carve her image on the rock wall, here, beside this long-lost woman’s face.

And now he was going to turn away from her and leave it at that. He already had one of her hands so she reached out with the other and caught him by his other sleeve. “No. Stop. I have something to say, too.”

He turned back to her but his face was against the light, hidden from view. Impossible to see his expression. She slid her hand down until she was holding his other hand as well. “I love you.” There. She’d said it. Now it was out in the open. He loved her and she loved him. Surely, they could make it work.

He stood very still. Damn it, if only she could see his face. More was needed. “You’re right in saying I’ve been hurt.” The darkness around her made this easier. The blank canvas that was his face gave her confidence for honesty. “Oliver lied to me throughout, and his behavior, which was of the most dishonest, has made me… hesitant to commit myself.”

She sucked her lips in for a moment, considering how to put this. “He told me we should be married within a few days and there was no point in waiting.” This was so embarrassing even in the dark. “I believed him. I believed he loved me. I thought I loved him, but it turned out to be nothing but a sham, and all I really felt was an infatuation. He was a shallow, greedy man, out only to better himself at my expense. I know now that he persuaded me to… do that, just so he could force Kit into allowing him to marry me. He had no intention of taking me to Scotland. He’d planned all along for Kit to catch us up, but for it to be too late. He thought Kit would rather see me married than ruined.”

She was into her stride now, putting the events of those few days into words was helping her to see them for what they were. She saw clearly now, whereas before, her sight had been blurred by too close a proximity to the events.

“I am very glad Kit refused to let him marry me, for I should have been most unhappy. I know that now.” Her bare toes curled into the sand. “I did not find the act he persuaded me to participate in to my taste.” How red her face must be. “It was… painful. I was not comfortable doing it. But he said he loved me, so I did. I thought that was what you did when you loved someone.”

A long pause ensued. He said nothing. He didn’t move. Had she shocked him? She drew a breath. “My feelings for you have changed since we were married. I think… Perhaps all that’s come to me is realization.”

She hesitated. Using these impersonal words made this easier. She felt almost as though she were talking about someone else. “Perhaps I’ve always loved you, Sam, and just didn’t know it.” She swallowed. “But I’ve been avoiding you and pushing you away, because the idea of marriage and all it entails frightens me.” Silence hung between them. “I want to be a properly married woman, but I’m afraid of what that entails.”

She waited. She had nothing more to say. It was for him to respond now.

He shifted his grip on her hands, his thumbs rubbing the back of them in gentle circles. It felt reassuring. How warm his skin was even in this cold cave.

Suddenly, he dropped onto one knee in front of her. “Ysella Carlyon, will you do me the honor of being my wife, in every meaning of the word?”

A little gasp escaped her lips. The thought that this was like a proposal by a hero in one of her novels flashed through her head for a moment, but was gone in a trice. No, she’d thought Oliver a fictional hero and that was what he had been, fictional. Sam was a true hero, and everything about him was real. “Yes, Sam,” she whispered, confidence surging through her. “Yes, I will.”

The sand about her feet ran with water. They both looked down.

“Christ,” Sam almost shouted, leaping to his feet. “The tide’s coming in.”