Only the wind answered her, blowing her hair until it whipped across her damp cheeks.
She pulled out her phone and snapped a photo of the initials. Not to show anyone else, but for herself. Her only actual physical proof that she hadn’t lost her mind.
But then…she caught sight of someone climbing the hill. Too far away to make out, she could tell it was a man. A man whose walk looked oddly familiar.
Emma’s lips parted in shock. It couldn’t be. Striding up the moor as if the climb was nothing, he kept coming, head down, moving around rocky barriers and thick stands of Scottish heather.
Willing herself to move, Emma pushed away from the wall and raced down the stone stairs to the bottom of the ruin, where she stood waiting. A thousand thoughts raced through her mind in a giant muddle.
It can’t be him.She squinted harder at the approaching figure.This is what comes of jet lag and then staying up all night staring at his face.
Maybe I’ve conjured up this figment of my—
Close your eyes. When you open them, he’ll be gone.
Except when she opened her eyes, he was still there. Closer now. Beyond any doubt. It was him, not some figment. She could hear the ragged heave of his breath as he drew nearer. The crunch of his boots against the rocky soil.
Steadying herself against the stones behind her, she backed up as he drew closer, staring up at her with that heart-stopping smile.
“Is it…really you?” she whispered.
“Dinna be afraid, Emma,” he said, coming to a breathless stop before her.
But she was. She swallowed hard but stood her ground. He looked…beautiful, perfect…damp. His hair was stuck to his forehead, and she reached up hesitantly and gently pushed it back. His skin felt warm. “You’re…sweating.”
“Aye.” He wiped his brow with the back of his sleeve—a motion that nearly stopped her heart. “Gravity will take some getting used to.”
Still, she could only stare at him.Some getting used to?What did that mean?Gah!Her brain wasn’t working right!
“Are ye not even a wee bit glad to see me?”
She steepled her hands against her mouth, against the hope that she was wrong. That he hadn’t come to take her, this time in the other direction. “That depends.”
“On what?”
She swallowed hard. “On whether you’re here because I somehow just gave myself a heart attack walking up this hill?”
A relieved laugh escaped him, and he shook his head. “No,mo ghràdh. Not this time.”
Thank God.“Then why…howare you here like this?”
He brushed the backs of his fingers against her cheek, then skimmed them down the length of her arm until he’d threaded his fingers with hers. He brought her hand to his mouth. “I’m here because I couldna be anywhere else. I tried. I did. I went to the Council, the place I’d always thought I wanted to be. But I didna fit in there. Truth is I didna fit in anywhere anymore. Ye ken, there was a piece of me missin’. See, I’d left it behind on my last visit here, and without that, nothin’ felt good or right. It just felt like a jagged ache where…where you should be.”
Emma finally took a breath. But she couldn’t dare hope it was for more than just a moment. “So…you dropped by for a visit?”
“I’m not goin’ back, Emma.”
“What? You mean—?” She covered his hand with hers. “They let you go?”
“I wasna a prisoner. ’Tis no’ like that.”
Hope fluttered in her chest. “Then…like Elspeth?”
“Somethin’ like that.” He pulled her closer until she was pressed up against him. “’Twas a bit more complicated in my case. But ’twas Marguerite’s doin’ all along to put us together, to fix the tear in our soul circle. To mend what was broken in me.”
“Broken?” Emma shook her head. “You weren’t broken, Connor. You were only wounded. And wounds heal.” She glanced down at her leg. “And when they do, you get back up and start again.”
He stared at her for a long moment, taking in the sight of her. “I want to start again with you, Emma. I canna go back. I’m mortal now. That canna be undone. But I have no right to think ye feel the same fer me as I do fer you. And I wouldna presume to—”
