Page 61 of To Winter at Wildsyde

His eyes were full of uncertainty, and it was as though the words had been dragged out of him from some long buried place, as though they were foreign and unnatural and he was unsure they were correct.

“Are you, Gordy?” she asked. Her voice was soft, as everything inside her had melted at the sound of those words, as she knew how hard it had been for him to speak them.

He let out a long, frustrated sigh. “Ye know I am. I don’t doubt ye have known my feelings from the start. I’ve been a fool, and a damned coward, and I’m sorry for it, sorry that… that I couldnae be better, be what ye deserve.”

“Oh, Gordy,” she said, shaking her head. “I promise you I knew nothing of the sort, and I’m sorry too. I’ve behaved horribly. I should never have made such a scene as I did. I swear it won’t happen again. I only hope you can forgive me for being so… so pushy and for my wretched temper.”

“I have nae complaints about yer temper, lass. I hated that bloody clock anyway.”

Ruth gave an unsteady laugh. “So did I.”

“Will ye come home now? Please.” He reached down for her again, but Ruth hesitated.

“Is it my home, Gordy? For always? You won’t try to send me away when… when….”

“I won’t,” he said, his voice firm. “Christ, I couldnae do so, surely ye know that? I… want ye near me, Ruth. Always.”

“Always,” she repeated, the word spoken on a shaky breath, somewhere between laughter and tears.

This time, when he reached for her, she lifted her arms to him, and he helped her stand up.

“Put yer arms about my neck and hold tight.”

Ruth did as she was told and he lifted her, grasping her body in strong arms and pulling her up and over the edge until they collapsed together on the icy grass. Gordy didn’t let go, holding onto her so tight she could hardly breathe, not that she minded in the least.

“I’m sorry… about the baby,” she said, putting her hand to his cheek. “I was a bit too quick to assume—”

“I’m nae a bit sorry,” he replied, stopping her apology. “We’ll just have to keep trying.”

He kissed her then, a fierce, urgent, possessive kiss that sent a thrill of desire chasing through her, despite the cold.

“Gordy! Mrs Anderson!”

They both looked up as voices and hoofbeats grew closer and Gordy gave her one last kiss.

“Let’s get you home in the warm, lass.”

***

Two hours later, Ruth had bathed and been tucked into bed, her sore ankle bandaged and an empty bowl of soup before her. She gave a happy sigh.

The castle had been in an uproar when Gordy had returned with her, and it had touched her to see how genuinely upset and worried everyone had been. Sheenagh had been in tears, and Mrs MacLeod even left the sanctuary of her kitchen to scold Ruth for being so reckless as to wander by the cliffs alone before her composure cracked along with her voice. She’d scurried back to her kingdom with a hanky held to her face, waving away anyone who tried to speak to her with a terse flap of her apron.

“Do ye want some more soup, missus?”

Ruth looked up at Sheenagh, who had been fussing about her and ordering everyone about like a general in charge of recalcitrant troops. She’d gotten away with it, for now, but Ruth suspected she’d be pushing her luck if she tried it again once her obvious anxiety had settled.

“No, thank you. That will be all.”

Sheenagh took the tray from her lap, smiling at her. “I’m so glad ye are safe, Missus. I was that feart for ye. We all were.”

Ruth blinked hard. All this happiness was turning her into a wretched watering pot. “Thank you, Sheenagh. It’s very good to be home. Where is…?”

“Yer husband is wearing a hole in the carpet on the other side o’ that door,” Sheenagh said before she could finish the question. “He’s desperate to come in, but I thought ye needed a bit of peace to eat and rest before ye gave him a good scolding.”

“Why would I scold him?” Ruth asked, perplexed. “He rescued me, didn’t he?”

“Aye, but he’s a man,” Sheenagh said darkly. “I’ve nae doubt it was all his fault, one way or another. ’Tis as well ye let him think so, at any rate.”