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“You are going to catch your death out here,” he realized suddenly. “God, you are soaked. Let us get you inside.” He took her hand and hurried to the front of the manor, nearly pulling her along behind him. They barged through the front door, startling the butler.
“Call up Lizbeth,” Fergus barked. “Get Lady Hillow dried off and warmed up.”
“Shall I call for James too, Your Grace?” the butler asked. Fergus waved him off, turning back to Edwina. She clung to his arms, trying to get him to look at her again.
“Fergus, listen to me,” she said, reaching up to turn his face toward her. “Fergus.” His nostrils flared, seemingly annoyed with her insistence. “Thank you for letting me in,” she whispered, meeting his gaze with her own, trying to show him her earnestness. “Thank you for trusting me to talk about your mother.”
Covering her hand with one of his, his eyelids drooped, relishing her touch. “Will it ever get easier?” he asked her, his voice soft.
“It will with time,” she assured him, “and practice.”
“It will be difficult.”
“Of course, it will,” she told him emphatically. “But you are a soldier, no? Do you give up when the battle gets difficult? Or do you press on for victory?”
He laughed, waving at the scars on his face. “Sometimes you are forced to yield. Sometimes you perish.”
“You will not perish. You will persist. Your wounds are deep but not deadly.” She pointed her finger into his chest, looking up to his face again. “I see you, Fergus. You can persist. You will be victorious. And I will be here, by your side, helping you through.”
He leaned into her again, only for them to be interrupted by Lizbeth and James hurrying up from the servants’ quarters. Edwina cast a look over her shoulder back at Fergus as he and James followed them up the stairs. His gaze met hers again, frank and open. For the first time, Edwina thought perhaps she might be able to fall in love with him. Her heart and her body yearned for him.
