Page 71 of Four Promises to Love

“Finn?” Owen’s voice was harsh with worry.

She concentrated on not blinking—on giving the appearance of being caught in a trance. But she found herself fighting a sudden urge to cry. Liquid heat pushed behind her eyes; she resolutely pushed it back.

“Madame Seraphina has opened herself up to the realm of spirits.” Caleb came to her aid. “She cannot hear you. You must remain calm, my lord, and let her work.”

“Do not tell me to be calm,” Owen growled. “Why hasn’t she spoken? This isn’t right. What if Rose takes over again⁠—”

“The seer knows what she is doing. She will speak soon.”

Finn understood Caleb’s unspoken message to hurry up before the scheme fell to pieces.

I’m sorry, Owen. Her heart twisted in agony. You deserve better than me.

She parted her lips⁠—

And another’s voice left her.

“I want to see the roses.”

Desire swept through her, a longing she’d suppressed for so long. Suddenly, there was nothing more important—nothing more urgent than seeing her lover’s gift again. The proof of their undying love.

She surged to her feet—and found herself anchored.

He gripped her hand. “Where are you going?”

“To our rose garden.” Looking into his eyes, she whispered, “Take me there, my love.”

Owen’s heart pounded as he led the entourage into the garden. He and Finn were in the front, and her hand was secure in his…although he wasn’t sure it was her hand he held. At least she didn’t seem frightened like the last time. There was a lightness to her step, and she was whistling…some jaunty folk song he didn’t recognize. He twisted his head around, catching the gaze of Finn’s nearest assistant.

“Does she usually whistle?” he asked in a low voice.

Eyes huge, Simon shook his head.

“Do hurry, darling.” Finn tugged on his hand. “I cannot wait to see them.”

Owen led the way through the gap in the hedge into the rose garden. The blooms were lush and colorful, the air rich with their heady perfume, but Finn outshone them all. He was captivated by her dreamy smile, the way she turned her face up to the sky, her hands clasped to her chest. She whirled around, and pins scattered, her hair tumbling wild and free.

She turned to him. “Where are they?”

Somehow, he knew what she meant.

“Over here,” he said. “Come.”

He led her to the ancient grove where the damasks were in full bloom. As they walked beneath the brambly arch, they were showered with bright petals.

“How they’ve grown,” she said. “You have tended to them.”

“I have.”

“They were your gift to me, do you remember?”

He didn’t, but he nodded.

“Do you remember what you told me the first time you brought me here?”

He was enchanted by her eyes, swirling with green and bronze.

“Remind me,” he said.