She was gone. In that one instant, the woman who had brought so much passion and joy and love to his life was gone. And in her womb, she’d carried their babe, a mere blossom of a bairn and a symbol of the love they had never spoken, but he knew they both felt.
Tears stung his eyes.
He’d been a coward. And a fool. There had been so many moments he could have told her he loved her.
Faye.
His Faye. With her golden blonde hair that he’d stroked as she slept in his arms. There were too many stories of her life he’d never hear, too many kisses he’d never share with her again. There was a child neither of them would ever meet.
A knot ached in the back of his throat. He made his way to the cliff’s edge on legs that threatened to buckle. Each footstep brought a new memory of the woman he loved, the life they had shared.
What he would never have again.
That life was gone.
All he had left was regret.
24
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
