Faye’s fall stopped abruptly as her hands found purchase. Pain seared at her side, where Moiré had managed to cut her.
Faye blinked, her mind still reeling with shock. One moment, her hands were out, grasping first at Moiré, then at air and the next, they closed on firm stone. A flutter of yellow kirtle rippled past her, accompanied by a scream of terror as Moiré plunged to the rocks below.
Faye averted her gaze. Not only did she not want to witness Moiré’s demise, but she also couldn’t bear to see what her fate might await her, should her hands give out.
The cliff face was directly in front of Faye, its surface comprised of rock and soil and stubborn bits of grass. She was close enough to stretch her feet out and meet a narrow ledge. The small movement burned like fire at her side, but the ground held firm underfoot. She relaxed her grip on the stone somewhat, but not releasing it entirely.
A prickle stung her palms where the rock had scraped her skin—the slight hurt was insignificant in light of her life having been spared.
Her arms trembled with exhaustion, even just from the small amount of time she’d been hanging on. She didn’t dare relax her grip anymore, though. Not when the ocean roared beneath her, like a monster’s gaping mouth, ready to swallow her.
A shiver of fear threatened her composure. She scanned the cliff face. Any hope she might have had to climb out was dashed away by disappointment. Aye, she’d managed to stop herself from falling, but what could she do to return herself to solid ground?
She was at least eight feet below the cliff. Too far to stretch a hand or try to jump. Nor were there any more visible bits of rock like the one she clung to.
She could scarcely feel her arms, and her fingers had begun to ache. She couldn’t hang there forever with a toehold on a small ledge.
But what of Ewan?
An ache balled at her throat as she thought of her husband. Had Monroe found her letter? Had he gone out to find Ewan? Was he safe?
Tears of frustration burned in her eyes. She had to climb up, to save Ewan, to be with him.
The memory of the bloody handprint flashed in her mind, brilliant red against the whitewashed wall. And all that blood on the floor.
He might be injured. Mayhap already dead.
Nay. She could not think about such horrible things.
There had to be a way out. She stretched her foot farther to the right, and her weight shifted, threatening to pull her from the rock she held. Her fingers clenched the stone tighter, and she eased her toes back to the small ledge. The emptiness at her back seemed to pull at her, eager to drag her to her death as it had Moiré.
It was impossible to move without letting go of the rock.
“Faye,” Ewan’s voice came from overhead.
She looked up, shocked to find her husband’s head peering over at her.
“Ewan.” Her hands nearly slipped from the rock with relief.
“Monroe, I need a rope,” he called while leaving his gaze fixed on her. “Stay there, my love. Dinna move.”
My love.
Tears ran down her cheeks at the sentiment. She’d been a fool to hold back on her emotions for so long. And for what? To have nearly died without having told him.
“I love ye, Ewan Sutherland,” she cried against the wind. “I love ye.”
He blinked rapidly. “And I love ye, Faye Sutherland,” he choked out.
A rope appeared over the edge of the cliff with a loop tied at its end. It lowered down to her, dangling within arm’s reach where it danced about in the wind. Sweat tingled at her palms, but she slowly released the rock with her left hand. A gust billowed up and threatened to pull the rope from her, but her hand closed around the roughhewn fibers, and she drew it toward her.
The act had been minor yet had left her panting for breath as fear sent an unnatural energy racing through her. She needed to thread her foot into the loop.
Cautiously, she lowered her gaze to where her toes rested on the stone ledge. Beyond it was the danger of a fall that would go on for too long. How many breaths would she take before being smashed upon the rocks?
She tightened her grip on the stone.
“Dinna look down,” Ewan said.
A cry choked from her, wrung out by her terror.
“Faye, look up at me,” he said in a soothing voice.
Her gaze lifted to where he stared intently at her with his beautiful hazel eyes.
“Use the feel of it,” he instructed. “Ye’ve got the rope, bring it to yer toe. Ye can do this. Ye’re the bravest lass I know.”
She moved her left shoe, and the rope bumped clumsily against it. Her toe searched blindly before the loop brushed either side of her foot, and she knew it was in place.
Ewan nodded. “Aye, like that. Is it secure?”
She tentatively pressed her weight on the loop. The rope tightened around either side of her shoe. “Aye.”
“Now let go of the stone,” he said.
Her palms went damp, one curled around the rope, one clutching at the hard stone.
“Do this for our bairn,” he said. “Do it for me. I canna lose ye.” His voice broke. “I canna lose ye, Faye. No’ when I love ye so much.”
So powerful was his love, it overwhelmed her fear and forced her hand from the rock that had saved her. She swung out, spinning wildly. Her other hand gripped the rope, and she squeezed her eyes shut to avoid seeing everything whirl around her. To refrain from the macabre curiosity of looking down.
One foot dangled disconcertingly, while the entire weight of her body was braced against her arch in the rope. A simple loop of rope—the only thing keeping her from plunging to her death.
The rope shifted up. Once. Twice. Over and over, it hefted higher until solid, warm hands closed around her forearms. She opened her eyes, and Ewan was there. Like a wish that had materialized into reality.
His hold braced over her, guiding her to him until the earth was solid under her torso, and then under her feet. “Faye.” He blinked as tears filled his eyes.
He pulled her to him in an embrace that nearly smothered her, and she gladly dissolved into it, into him. The sobs shuddered through her then as she gave way to all the emotions churning inside her. The thoughts that she might have lost him, the horror of how closely she had dangled toward death. The fear that she would never see him again.
“I love ye,” she whispered into his chest between sobs. “I’ve loved ye for a while but was too foolish to say it.”
He moved back slightly and lifted her face up to his with the pressure of his fingertips under her chin. “And I love ye. With all my heart. And our bairn…” He put his hand to her lower stomach and a muscle clenched in his jaw. “Faye.”
Concern flashed in his eyes, and he looked down between them where his hand was red with blood. All at once, the pain of Faye’s injury rushed back. “’Tis a cut on my side. I turned in time to keep Moiré from reaching my stomach.”
Ewan wasn’t listening. He’d swept her into his arms and was already running to his horse.
The ride to the village was so much faster than the slow march Faye had endured with Moiré when she’d been forced toward her own death. Within minutes, they were at Sorcha’s hut.
The healer rushed out to answer Ewan’s calls and immediately took Faye inside.
Ewan didn’t have to wait long before the door to Sorcha’s hut opened, and Faye emerged. He went to her, eager to hold her, to confirm she was a healthy as Sorcha had guaranteed him. Yet, he was hesitant to do so lest he caused her further harm.
His own wounds pulled uncomfortably and ached, all minor injuries he could see to later.
“It was merely a nick on my side,” Faye said as if it were of little concern.
“The babe?” He tried to keep the anxiety from his voice.
Faye took his hand and placed it to her flat stomach. “The babe will be fine.”
He couldn’t ease the tightness of worry from his chest. Not when he’d come so close to having lost her. Having lost them.
“What happened to Blair?” Faye asked. “Is she with yer uncle? Was she harmed?”
Ewan’s mind flinched at the memory. “One of Cruim’s men killed her. She tried to take his weapon. I…I dinna see what happened.”
“All that blood,” she whispered.
“Ye saw it?”
Faye nodded, her eyes wide. “I had to keep pushing it from my thoughts. I was too frightened it was ye—that ye’d been killed. What happened?”
He told her how the men had taken him, and of being injured in the process and how Cruim had insisted he be seen to before going into the cellar. “I dinna think he knew what to do with me, aside from locking me in the cellar.” For the first time, grief penetrated through the haze of the day’s ordeals. “He was never eager for my chieftainship. It was Moiré. She told him I was plotting against him.”
“Ewan.” Faye touched his face with her slender fingers. “I’m so sorry about Moiré. I didn’t mean to grab her when I fell—”
“If ye dinna kill her, she would have stopped at nothing to kill ye.” Emotion welled inside him, the anger at how she’d tricked them and even the sorrow for the loss of the person he’d thought her to be. “She fooled us all.” He pressed a kiss to Faye’s forehead. “I think I understand now why ye were so slow to trust.”
“My inability to trust almost led to never telling ye I loved ye.” Her hand settled on his chest, directly over his heart. “I’m glad I had a second chance.”
He pulled her to him, and her head rested against his chest. “I love ye, Faye.”
“And I ye.” She curled her arms around him, securing them together. “I’m only sorry I foolishly took so long to say it.”
“Ye werena the only one who dinna say it when ye felt it.” He kissed her smooth forehead. “Are ye ready to go home, lass?”
She nuzzled against him, enveloping him in her sweet floral scent. “Aye, there’s nowhere I’d rather be.” She looked up at him from where her head rested on his chest. “And no one I’d rather be with.”