Margaret’s heart stumbled. This was the only course of action left that might end the curse. But it would not be painless. This was what it had come to.
She positioned herself so that when he struck her, she would be at the right distance to hit the rock behind her. “I am ready.”
He drew his hand back, then paused. “Close your eyes,” he said. “I will only do it if you close your eyes.”
She squeezed her eyes closed, bracing herself while at the same time trying to remain at ease so she wouldn’t break her fall. Her breath stilled as she waited.
No strike came. Instead, his mouth pressed on hers, pushing her body up against the giant stone. His lips were cool from the night air but also warm and soft. It took an instant before she recognized it as a kiss, so prepared she had been for a blow. A light flashed behind her eyes, and her blood thrummed with energy.
“No.” Margaret pushed him away. This was not what he’d agreed to. How dare he, after she’d just explained to him how such a thing could not be. Not while she was still cursed.
Her hand flew to her head, ready to press against the pain that always came when the thoughts of another invaded. But there was nothing. Only the dull ache from where the warden had knocked her into the wall.
She looked up at Angus. What was he thinking? She truly did not know. She tried to recall what had swept through her mind as he’d kissed her. That moment of desire—her desire—quickly overpowered by her dread. Nothing from his mind had crossed over.
“What have you done?” Had he broken the curse? Was that possible? Perhaps her surprise had blocked him. But there had been that same force, as if a lightning bolt jolted through her veins. Just like the night with the warden.
“Meg, I’m not going to strike you,” he said as if she’d been a fool to ever believe he would.
“Hush.” She was thinking. Trying to understand what had just happened. And how he had kissed her and she’d seen nothing of his mind.
She had to be sure. She stepped close and grasped his jerkin, pulling his face toward her. Her lips touched his, and she went completely still, searching for his mind. Nothing. She tipped her head away. “You did it.”
“I don’t think—”
She shushed him again. This was no time for talking. She was free.
Free.
She lifted up onto her toes, pressing her lips to his. Her arms wrapped around his neck as she leaned into him. Still, she felt nothing of his thoughts.
His hands threaded through her hair.
“Take your gloves off,” she whispered. She longed to feel his touch on her skin.
“But . . . Are you certain?”
She nodded. “It is gone. What began here in this stone circle six years ago is gone. My mind is my own. You did it. We did it.”
He tugged off his gloves, then she was back in his arms, his hands fingering her hair, brushing along her cheek, her neck. Never had anything felt so sweet. The touch of another person. A simple caress. Until his lips were on hers again, she’d not fully understood how vacant her life had been. How the absence of human touch had drained her. An empty hole that reached down to her toes.
Angus held her close, wiping tears from her face with his bare hands. Gently filling her heart with each stroke of his fingers. Each soft kiss.
Margaret buried her head in his embrace while he stroked her hair, his words drifting like thistledown across her ears. “Margaret. My own Meg. Don’t cry.”
But how could she not? She was whole again.
“We should go,” he whispered. “The warden will be searching for you.”
Forget the warden. Forget everything. She was healed. “Don’t let me go,” she pleaded.
His hold tightened for a moment, then his hands cradled her head, and he leaned in, leveling his eyes with hers. “I will never let you go.” His thumbs wiped her tears. “But we must get you across the border.” He slid his hand down her arm and took her by the hand.
She gripped him tightly. She had never thought she’d be able to hold his hand. Never. It was large, so large that she could barely get her fingers around it. Even in the cold night air, his hand burned in hers, sending a rush of fire to the marrow of her bones.
“Oh,” she exclaimed, pressing her fist to her heart.
“What is it?” he asked. “Are you hurt?”
She smiled up at him. “No. I’m fine. Better than fine. I didn’t know what I have been missing.”
“Such a nonsensical girl.” Angus lifted her up onto his horse, then swung up into the saddle behind her.
In truth, Margaret was not entirely sure what had ended the curse. Perhaps it had been when the warden had thrown her against the wall, for her new injury had split open her old scar. But no. That could not be. How could something so evil beget something so good?
It had been Angus’s kiss in the circle of stones. That was the only explanation. That which had been made from hate had been overpowered by love. It seemed God had smiled on her at last, and that was enough.
It was nearing dawn when they arrived at Carrigdean. Margaret’s head ached, but it mattered little to her now that the curse was broken. She’d never felt better.
The entire courtyard was alive with activity. Stable boys were walking horses lathered with exertion. Men shouted commands, grinning with the intoxication of their night’s adventure.
She’d quite forgotten the reason she was here and not crumpled on the warden’s floor was because of Angus and Lord Linkirk.
Angus lifted Margaret off his mount. A lad appeared and led the animal off toward the stables. Angus took Margaret by the hand as they walked toward the house. The eyes of many followed them, watching the young earl showing affection to the likes of Margaret. She tried to pull her hand away, but his grip tightened.
“I promised you I would not let you go.” He winked. “I am a man of my word.”
The door to Carrigdean flew open, and Angus’s father tromped out. “Where have you been?”
“We had to take a side trip,” Angus said.
“Why? Did the warden pursue you?”
Angus shook his head. “No.”
Lord Linkirk looked from Angus to Margaret, then back to Angus. At last, his eyes settled on their hands, Angus’s large hand still holding tightly to hers. She almost pulled away, but if Angus was not discomfited, why should she be?
Lord Linkirk was, however, Angus’s father. And mayhap a little civility—at least in the world’s standing—might go far.
“Sir,” she gave a small curtsy, though it was not easy because Angus still had not relinquished her hand. “I am in your debt.”
Linkirk glanced at her, his eyes dismissing her as he always did. But then his gaze went to Angus again. Something had happened between them since she was here two days ago. Since Gillis had died. For Angus also seemed to be straining to make some sort of effort.
“My pleasure,” Linkirk mumbled.
“Is everything ready?” Angus asked.
His father nodded, his lips a tight line.
“Good.” Angus started off, taking Margaret with him. “We’ll get cleaned up and be there shortly.”
He led her down the corridor toward the same room she’d stayed in when she’d been here before. He lifted the latch and swung the door open. Osanna stood bent over a table, working with some cloth. When Margaret entered, Osanna let out a squeal.
Osanna ran forward and threw her arms around her. “Oh, my lady! We are saved!” For such a frail thing, she had a surprisingly strong hold.
“I’m so relieved you are here,” Margaret said. For even though Angus had told her his father had brought Osanna out, she’d had doubts he would treat her much better than the warden had.
Osanna brushed the blood-matted hair from Margaret’s head. “This does not look good.”
Margaret ducked away. Osanna’s hands were bare. She had touched Margaret’s skin.
“I’m sorry, my lady. I forgot,” Osanna said.
So had Margaret. It would take time to adjust to being free from her affliction. Margaret reached out and took Osanna’s hands in her own. Flesh to flesh. Osanna’s mouth dropped open. Her eyes were like two blue moons.
“Sit,” Osanna said. “Let’s get you cleaned up and ready.”
Margaret sat on the bed. “Ready for what?”
“To be wed,” Angus said.