Page 3 of An Outlaw’s Desire

She blinked, her gaze still unfocused.

“The guards,” he said, more urgently.

The dreaminess left her expression. Straightening, she swiftly smoothed her hair and cloak. As she hurried from the shadows of the monolith into bright sunlight, the two guards strode into view.

As though she’d been studying the stone directly ahead of her, her attention shifted from it. Her expression calm and collected, she met Pitt’s gaze. “Thank you. I am grateful for what you shared with me.”

“My pleasure, milady.” He fought not to grin.

“I should return to the castle now. Would you please accompany me back to the fortress?”

Five days later

“If you have left any of your belongings behind, we will send them on to you.”

“Thank you.” Blythe smiled at the elegant and ever-gracious Lady Odelia Montgomery, who had become like a second mother to her. When Blythe dried her tears with a linen handkerchief, a raindrop landed on her hand, the beginnings of the rainfall the gray morning sky had promised.

Beside her, the door to the enclosed wooden carriage stood open. In the bailey beyond, tack jingled, and horses pawed the ground as the guards who would be safeguarding her on the journey waited for her to finish her goodbyes. Once she stepped inside the vehicle, her life as Lord Montgomery’s ward was over. She’d journey back to her father’s castle, and in less than a sennight, she’d be married.

Her heart hurt, the pain greater than any she’d experienced before. If only she could have one wish fulfilled this Christmas: to spend the rest of her life with Pitt. They were destined to be together. She knew that with absolute certainty. But, when she’d sobbed in his arms, begged for them to run away together, he’d refused. Stroking her hair, his voice heavy with sadness, he’d told her the dream could never be.

“’Tis for the best,” he’d murmured. “You deserve more than I can give you.”

Tears trailing down her cheeks, her ladyship drew Blythe into her embrace. “I am not good at such moments.”

Blythe hugged her ladyship. “Nor am I.”

Lady Montgomery drew back to arm’s length. “Come visit us whenever you wish.”

Stocky, broad-shouldered Lord Montgomery, standing beside his wife, drew Blythe into his fond embrace. She blinked hard before turning to Rosetta. Her dear friend’s eyes were red and puffy from crying. When their gazes met, Rosetta launched herself at Blythe.

“I do not want you to go.”

Hugging her friend tightly, Blythe barely held back sobs. “You know I must.”

“Promise you will write to me. Once a sennight, at least.”

“Of course, I will.”

Drawing back, Rosetta wiped her eyes. “At least I will see you soon at your wedding.”

Days ago, they’d gone to their favorite spot in the garden; to the stone bench near the rows of grape vines that had gone dormant until Spring. She and Rosetta had spread a blanket on the bench and had sat and talked about their squires. Promising to attend each other’s weddings had been one of the pacts Blythe and Rosetta had made to one another. At Blythe’s nuptials, with lots of guests to speak with, she and Rosetta might not get much of a chance to talk to each other, but ’twould be wonderful to see her and her parents amongst the throng.

Blythe’s vision cleared of tears for the barest instant—enough to recognize the man standing at the well, rinsing mud from his boots.

Pitt.

His gaze locked with hers. The anguish in his expression echoed the pain within her, and she fought not to wail. A low moan escaped.

Unable to bear any more, Blythe spun, stepped up on the mounting block and climbed into the carriage’s shadowed interior. The dark wooden walls, as suffocating as a stone tomb, closed in on her.

Pressing her hand over her mouth, she fought not to collapse in a sobbing heap.

Her gaze fell to the opposite leather-covered seat, lit by sunlight. A folded piece of parchment, topped by a stone the size of a plum, lay there. Leaning over, she picked up the rock: It appeared to be a piece of the standing stones. With a shaking hand, she opened the parchment.

I love you. Never forget me.

A cry wrenched from her.