Twenty-six

They spent the rest of the afternoon in silence, Michael sitting in the armchair by the window, staring blankly at the moor; Caitlin trying to read one of the books she'd got from Inverness, a novel. She gave up when she'd read the same passage five times over and couldn't for the life of her remember anything about it. Her thoughts were elsewhere.

Clearly, this arrangement was not working. Michael was miserable, and there was nothing she could do to make it better. Indeed, the events of this afternoon proved it could only get worse. He didn't believe her when she said she didn't want to go to Darnalay, and why should he? It was a lie. A visit to a castle, meeting new people— friends . . . Oh, it sounded lovely. But it was also true that she'd give a hundred such visits for one day with Michael as he used to be. The caring lover. The understanding friend. The man she'd fallen in love with.

For it was love, what she'd felt for him. She couldn't deny it.

She blinked, and the words on the page blurred as she realized what her own thoughts had just betrayed.

Felt . In the past.

The Michael she'd loved was gone, wasn't he? He'd vanished the moment they set foot on Scottish soil. And now it was simply a matter of time before he would leave in body as he already had in spirit. He would find some dark hole to climb into and booze his life away, and she'd be alone in this vast, empty house on this vast, empty moor. Such a bleak existence . . . The more she tried to imagine it, the less real it seemed. It wasn't her. She couldn't do it. Could not live the rest of her life like that. She'd go cracked, she would.

She'd thought she'd find pieces of her dream here, that it would be enough. But she'd been wrong.

Her dream. It had been ages since she'd allowed herself to think of it, to picture it . . . but now that she did, even that seemed empty. A farm, independence, wealth of her own. It would be better than this , surely, but it didn't shine in her imagination as it once had. Something was missing.

Her eyes fell on Michael who sat so forlornly at the window, the sunlight reflecting off his skin, lighting up his hair like spun gold.

It was him . Michael. Michael was missing.

Her stomach clenched as she watched him. But it was the Michael of the past she wanted, not this stranger before her. And she'd tried everything she could think of to help him. Everything . Why couldn't he just move on? He'd served his sentence, done his time. Surely he deserved to live. What more could she do or say to convince him?

He must have sensed her looking, for he turned and met her gaze. His blue eyes, sharp and angry, pierced through her like needles through cloth. She shook her head and returned to her book, once more blinking away tears.

Nothing she could say would convince him to let go of the past. He was too jaded, too lost in his own misery.

Her heart ached at the thought of losing him, yet in the cut of that pain lay a truth she must face. She might well have lost him already. And that was his choice, not hers.

Now the only question was if she would lose herself as well.

Caitlin wasn't at all sure he would come to her bed that night, but he did. Just after she'd slid beneath the blankets, Michael padded in on bare feet, then climbed in beside her. He kept a distance between them, lying on his side, facing away from her. Not touching.

But he'd come. Somewhere deep down, under that thick shell of his, he must still want to be close.

Caitlin stared at the shadows on the ceiling and took several long breaths, summoning all her resolve.

"I can't stay here." Her words hung like cold fog in the air above them. She waited for him to respond, but he didn't. "I must get away. I thought perhaps America . . . somewhere where I can make a new start." Michael rolled over and stared at her with hard, cynical eyes. "It wouldn't be easy, but there's folks that have less than us. And—‘twould be better than this ."

He was silent for a long, terrible moment. " Us ?"

Such a caustic look he had. Caitlin gritted her teeth, then forced the words out. She must try. Even if it did no good. She must try, one last time. "I do hope you'll come with me. I can't force you to, though I do so want you to—" She swallowed, inhaled. "But even if you don't, I will go. I can't live like this Michael. We can't live like this."

"You'd lose your allowance. You'd have nothing."

"I know that. But it isn't me money anyway. Or me house. I hate it here. I'll take on wage work if need be. Save enough to buy a bit of land. I could do it alone, but . . . we could do it together."

Something seemed to soften in him, and he stared at her for a few long breaths. Then his expression hardened again. "Go, then. I can take care of myself."

Caitlin's jaw clenched. "Is that really what you want?"

"What does it matter what I want?" He was still looking at her, but he no longer saw her. He was retreating into that shell. She was losing him.

"It matters a great deal." She reached out to touch him, to bring him back to her, but he rolled away, and she was once more staring at his back.

She couldn't let him go. Not like this. Not without making him hear the truth first.

"I love you, Michael."

They were the most difficult words she'd ever spoken. Words that peeled off all the layers she'd built up, words that exposed her, raw and naked and needy. Words that carried the admittance of the end of the dream she'd once had and the beginning of a new one—or the rebirth of a very old one. It was the dream she'd allowed herself as a girl. The silly, starry-eyed dream of a peaceful, simple life with the man she loved.

The dream of her heart that might very well never come true.

"All I want in this world is you and a farm and a life like—like we had . . . I'll do it alone if I have to, but I don't want to. I don't. I want you there. To grow old with you to be—to be together." She reached for him again, and her hand landed in his hair, his fine, yellow hair. "But I can't decide for you. And I can't always be there, watchin' over you. That's no way to live. For either of us. You know it as well as I. You have to choose. You have to want life."

Michael lay on his side, staring at the blank wall. The window. The stars beyond. Caitlin's hand, gentle as a feather, stroked his hair, but he could hardly feel it. He was lost. Lost in the darkness of the sky. In the night. In the bottomless confines of his own mind.

You have to want life.

Did he? Did he want life?

Not this life, surely. Never this. With the guilt of what he'd done chaining him to the rock of his misery so much more effectively than any of the irons he'd worn in New South Wales.

He'd come to her tonight to tell her that it was time to give up. That he'd resolved to go, leave her to her happiness.

But she loved him. And life as she described it, simple and easy, caring for her and being cared for in return. Living together, day in and day out. For better or for worse. That was love, wasn't it?

He loved her .

The truth of it pulled at him. A chain of a different sort, one that connected him to the world, and drew him up, up, out of the dark . . .

But it hadn't been perfect, had it? Yes, they'd found peace together, even love, but there had always been a shadow looming, weighing him down. The nightmares hadn't gone away. And they never would, no matter how far or close he was to Darnalay. That's what had come clear to him today. The worst had happened, or nearly. He'd confronted Cameron's wife, come face to face with the cook—a woman he'd wronged just as he'd wronged everyone at Darnalay. It was so near to the fate he'd been dreading, he'd expected something terrible to happen, for his wretchedness to increase somehow. But it hadn't. The countess had left and nothing had changed. Because the fact was, it didn't matter where in the world he was. Didn't matter if he ran away or froze in place. The guilt of what he'd done would never leave him. It would always be there. Always. It was inside him. Part of him. It was irredeemable.

Which was why he'd resolved to leave. But . . .

You have to choose.

Could he? Could he choose? Was it possible to rid himself of this weight rather than be crushed by it? To break his chains once and for all?

What if he went to Darnalay? Apologized, and asked forgiveness?

He pushed the idea away before it could take shape. Just a spectral mist, banished with a breath. No. He couldn't. What he'd done was unforgivable. And to go there, it would—

It would what?

Kill him? Surely not. Embarrass him? Perhaps, but what did that matter?

It was quite possible it wouldn't change a thing. But it could hardly make things worse.

And what if it did change things? What if he could be with Caitlin, in a life of their own, without the guilt?

What if he could be happy?

The idea was dizzying, like standing on a bridge high over a swiftly moving river and looking down. His stomach flipped. No. He didn't have the resolve for such a thing, and even if he could bring himself to try, he'd muck it up somehow. It would be better to let Caitlin go alone and find a new life for herself. She'd be happier that way in the end, even if she couldn't see it now. Then he could go to London or some other city. Live out what was left of his life without anyone else's happiness to worry about—

"Are you still awake?" Caitlin's voice brought him back into his body. Into the bed. Her fingers trailed over his shoulder.

He grunted, trying desperately to ignore the draw of her touch.

"What are you thinking?"

To wake up with her. To walk with her, arm in arm. To drink tea each afternoon. To sit and smoke together each night. To fall asleep in her arms. To rejoice with her in the good times and comfort her in the bad . . .

"Michael? Please. Say something."

If he could choose. He would choose that. Life. With her.

You must choose .

"Michael, please."

The pain in her voice was too much to bear. He rolled over and met her eyes. They were bright with unshed tears, her expression gripped with worry. She'd had the courage to lay herself bare. She deserved the same from him.

"I love you." It was just a stream of air through his lips, but it took every shred of will he possessed. A single tear welled in her eye, overflowed, rolled down her cheek. She smiled and brushed it away. Then he leaned in and kissed her.

He poured everything he couldn't say into that kiss. Love and despair. Defeat and hope. Guilt and freedom. He loved her. Beyond all doubt. Beyond all fear. He had no idea what would come, if the choice was really even within his power, but it didn't matter. He would take the risk. Somehow, he would find the strength to try.

For her. For himself. For them.

She kissed him back in equal measure. Desperate, not for body to be closer to body, but for soul to meet soul. Her cheek was wet against his, and he pulled her closer, wrapping his arms around her and bringing her into his heart, where she would be for the rest of his days. No matter if they were twined together in passion, or separated by fathomless oceans.

From one breath to the next, the clothes between them were too much. He needed her skin on his. He moved back and peeled off his shirt, helped her rid herself of her night rail, and then they were together again. Mouth on mouth. Breath in breath.

She was on top of him, rising up, his goddess, fitting herself around him, sinking down onto him. Accepting every naked, miserable part of him. Loving him. Choosing him.

Michael.

Michael Dunn.

The imposter. The kidnapper. The beast. The lover. The man.

She lifted up and slowly lowered herself back down, savoring each inch of their joining. His hands came to her breasts, cupping them and pinching the nipples just how she liked. Caitlin groaned. Her eyes lost their focus, and her head tipped back, her unbound hair floating behind her in a whirling black cloud.

Goddamn, she was beautiful.

She rose off him again, then slammed back down, and all his thoughts and worries disintegrated as he lost himself to the pleasure. She rode him faster and harder and mindless until she lost her rhythm and fell upon him, gripping him tight, begging for something beyond words. Something only he could give. He held on for dear life and thrust up into her, giving her everything he had. Everything he could ever be. The hero and the villain. The man and the beast. It was all hers. He was all hers.

Then Michael's vision blurred and Caitlin cried out, and they came together in an explosion of tears and shouts and love. He spilled inside her, each thrust taking him deeper, bringing him closer they he'd ever been.

Until finally, wrung out, bodies entwined, hearts joined, they stilled.

They lay together, panting, for a long while. Eventually, Caitlin pulled herself up and went to the wash basin. "I suppose I have me answer, then." There was such relief in her voice, such happiness, that Michael couldn't bring himself to tell her what he planned to do.