It pained him that he had no hope of keeping her. He was still a landless warrior with no proper home to give her. If anything, his uncle’s probable death made his future even less certain than before.
During the night, he had turned to her again and again, each time making love as if was the last time. Because he knew it could be. He feared she would change her mind and decide this was a grave mistake, and he might never hold her in his arms again.
And each time he was inside her, he lost another piece of his heart to her, until she had it all.
CHAPTER 23
Though Margaret sensed it was near dawn, she snuggled closer to Finn and refused to open her eyes. She never wanted this night to end. She had never felt so close to anyone—or such intense pleasure or tenderness—as when they made love.
She would hold the memory with her always.
If only they could stay in their chamber, just the two of them, a little longer. But their troubles would not wait. When Margaret finally gave in and opened her eyes, she found Finn watching her.
“Thank you for last night,” Finn said, and gave her one last kiss that was so tender it made her heart weep. “’Tis early. Stay and get some rest. I’ll go see how my aunt and uncle fare.”
“I’ll go with ye.” If the earl and Helen had passed on during the night, she did not want him to face that alone.
They dressed quickly and went to his aunt and uncle’s bedchamber.
“They’re resting nice and peaceful,” one the maids told them, which sounded to Margaret like the end was near.
“Thank you,” Margaret said in a hushed voice. “Get some sleep. I’ll stay with them.”
Finn held his aunt’s hand and spoke to the couple, though it was doubtful they could hear him.
“Alex is safe,” he assured them. “I give ye my word that, no matter what comes, I will look after him.”
Helen’s eyelids fluttered briefly, so perhaps she did hear and Finn’s words gave her some comfort. Margaret hoped so.
Finn heaved a sigh and got to his feet. “I’ll question everyone, starting with the guards at the gate, to see if I can find a clue as to who did this and why.”
Margaret wanted to hold him in her arms again, but it was not comfort he needed now but answers. “I’ll send for ye if there is any change.”
After adjusting the ill couple’s bedclothes and wiping their foreheads, she curled up on the chair next to the bed. She had gotten almost no sleep and had to struggle to stay awake. She must have drifted off because she was jolted awake by screams.
She sat up, disoriented, and looked about the room for the cause of the alarm. The ill couple still lay unmoving on the bed. As her mind cleared, she realized the screams were coming from a distance.
She ran down the stairs. In the hall, the men who slept on the benches and floor were lurching to their feet and grabbing their weapons. But then, almost as one, they halted in place, as if uncertain what was required of them, as it became clear the screams were not the sounds of an attack but of a lone woman wailing in grief.
When the men saw Margaret enter in the hall, their relief was almost palpable.
“Come with me,” she said, pointing to two of them. “I may need your help.”
She followed the wretched sound down the separate stairs into the dark undercroft, where the kitchen and storerooms were. The woman’s wails echoed against the stone walls, filling the enclosed space with a misery so wretched it made Margaret’s eyes sting.
What tragedy awaited her? A young maid came running from the opposite direction and nearly knocked her over. Margaret caught the maid by her shoulders and spoke with a calm she did not feel. “Tell me what’s happened.”
“I had to fetch her!” the maid babbled. “He told me not to, but I didn’t know what else to do. Don’t ye see, I had to!”
What Margaret could see was that she was not going to get anything sensible out of the maid. “I’ll take care of it,” she told her. “Go sit in the hall.”
Margaret lifted her skirts and hurried past the kitchens toward the pitiful sounds until she reached an open door. Light from a lamp inside revealed a storage room containing bags of oats, a barrel, and two cots that she assumed were used by kitchen servants.
A woman was on her knees beside one of the cots and holding the hand of someone lying on it. Margaret gasped when she saw the woman’s profile and realized who it was. What in heaven’s name was Isabel doing down here?
“Isabel,” Margaret called softly.
When Isabel spun around, the sharp planes of her face were distorted with anguish.