He nodded, his brandy-colored eyes dark and full of pain. “The witch can make it so that the tragedy on my thirtiethbirthday never happened. But it means I’ll never meet you, never marry you, never love you.”
Genevieve’s heart twisted. She hadn’t realized she’d wanted to hear that he loved her. The thrill of pleasure was short-lived as the meaning of his words became clear. “You can save Harriet and the baby, but you have to give me up.”
Lightning flashed outside the window, and she saw his drawn face clearly as he nodded.
Genevieve wanted to laugh and deny such a thing—the return of the dead—was possible. Ten minutes ago, she would never have believed it possible, but something about the way he looked, the sudden chill in the air, and the growl of thunder in the distance made her shake. Perhaps she had gone as mad as the rest of them, but the impossible seemed very possible tonight. And why not, when the witch had managed to find all three men and deliver a spell, to lure them to Scotland, to steal Frances away… Whatcouldn’tshe do?
She met Rory’s gaze, and it pleaded with her for understanding and forgiveness. She saw love in his face too. His mask had been cracking little by little these last few weeks, but now it was gone.
Genevieve wished she could drop her mask as well. She wished she could tell him she loved him back and tell him… Well, that was but a suspicion. She pushed all her feelings away. No hope for them now. “Then this is goodbye,” she said, forcing herself to blink away the tears stinging her eyes.
“Genevieve—”
“No,” she said quietly. “There’s really no decision to be made. Your friends lost material things, but your wife and child…”
He looked away, his gaze on the window where rain now tapped against the glass. “I wish there was another way,” he said.
“Will I remember you and”—her voice caught, and she had to swallow before going on—“and Frances?”
“The witch says you won’t. It will be as though we never met.”
She nodded. “That’s not so bad, then.” She would never realize the love she was missing. She’d go back to her life as a governess, and as for the life growing inside her—if she was correct and she was with child—that would be as though it had never happened as well.
“I’m sorry, Genevieve,” he said.
“No.” She kissed his face, trying to take the anguish away from his expression. “You have nothing to apologize for. There’s no other choice. I wouldn’t allow you to choose differently.”
“I wish I hadn’t dragged you into this. I should have stayed on the Continent, stayed away—”
“I don’t regret the time we have together,” she whispered. “I’ll never regret it, and I believe that even if my mind doesn’t remember you, some part of my heart always will. I’ll always carry some part of you with me, Rory.” That was as close as she would come to telling him she loved him.
“I love you, Genevieve,” he said, and kissed her tenderly. “I’ll always love you.”
*
The next morning,Frances hopped on the bed and began walking Harriet over Genevieve’s arms. Genevieve opened one eye and, seeing the pillow beside her empty, opened the other and sat. “Where’s your papa?”
Frances shrugged. “He kissed us goodbye, and when I asked where he was going, he said he needed to visit Elspeth and would be back. I asked to go with him and told him Elspeth is my friend too, but he said I must stay with you. You don’t remember him kissing you on the cheek before he left?”
Genevieve shook her head. “How long ago?” Perhaps she could still catch him, kiss him one last time.
Frances appeared to think. “I heard the horses’ hooves on the stones in the yard, and it was still raining. It’s stopped now, though,” she said. “Can we go outside after we break our fast?”
Genevieve nodded, wondering how much time she had left with sweet Frances and wishing, with all her heart, she’d told Rory she loved him.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Rory stood infront of the ruins of the witch’s hovel, wrapped in his cloak. Even the warm wool garment couldn’t stave off the chill in his bones. The cold seeped into him, and he feared he’d never be warm again. Beside him, King and Henry rubbed their hands together and blew out their breath. Henry shook his hair to dislodge the droplets of the rain that had finally ceased falling.
“Do you think she’s coming?” King asked.
“She’ll be here,” Rory said.
“I wish she would hurry.” Henry looked about him, lip curled in distaste. “I don’t like it here.”
Rory knew what he meant, even without Henry expressing it clearly. As soon as they neared the ruins of the hovel, a feeling of gloom and darkness had fallen over him. He’d felt it last night as well, though he’d paid less attention to it because he was frantic about Frances. But he couldn’t deny it now, couldn’t deny the way a weight seemed to settle on him and push his shoulders down and down.
“This is a bad place,” King said. “The house that stood here has been gone for years, and no one has built here again. I don’t think anyone ever will.”
