“Yes,” I said shyly.
“Possibly a whole book?” he asked, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
“Possibly.”
“Then how about we pack our bags, grab our laptops, and get the hell out of this place? I know a lovely little hotel where we can hole up for a few days. Maybe we’ll even get a few chapters down,” he added, smiling at me seductively.
“You’re on,” I said, a wonderful feeling of contentment spreading through me as I stepped into his arms.
Kyle kissed me, and I melted into him, my mouth opening beneath his as the last vestiges of resistance finally dissolved. I was ready to take a chance on him. Life offered no guarantees, but our path to happiness would certainly be a lot smoother than Alys and Jeremy’s, if we chose to take it.
Epilogue
Alys tucked the blanket around Jamie and smoothed the chestnut curls away from his face before returning to the front room, where Aiofe was sewing before the fire. She looked up and smiled before going back to mending Jamie’s gown. Alys took the other chair and stared into the flames, her hand subconsciously moving to her growing belly. She was about five months along now, or so she thought.
Having finished with the gown, Aiofe laid it atop her work basket and stood, stretching her back. She smiled at Alys, her dark eyes full of sympathy.
“Are ye sure ye don’t want us to stay, mistress?” she asked. “’Tis Christmas Eve, after all.”
“No, ye and Patrick go on home,” Alys said. “Happy Christmas to ye both.”
“Well, if ye’re sure. Patrick brought in extra firewood, and there’s stew in the pot and a loaf of bread for yer supper. Just reheat the porridge come morning. Happy Christmas, mistress.”
Alys nodded, secretly wishing Aiofe and Patrick would stay. The house grew so quiet once they left for the day, and their chatter and laughter during the day was a welcome respite from the silent nights.
“Happy Christmastide!” Patrick called out from the tiny entrance hall before the door closed firmly behind him.
Alys glanced at the window. Snow had begun to fall, and it was pitch-dark out there, not even the glimmer of moonlight to brighten the winter night. She was warm and snug in her little house, and she had Aiofe and Patrick McMahon to look after her, but she was lonely and sad. She hadn’t had any news of Jeremy since Hal had driven her and Jamie to Dublin, where he’d stayed long enough to find a suitable house and engage a respectable married couple to look after them. Alys had forgiven Jeremy for not coming to her in her hour of need as soon as Hal told her the truth of what had happened. Jeremy and Walter Lockwood had planned it all, down to the last detail, making sure Marjorie had seen Alys hang and believed Jamie to be gone for good. Jeremy wouldn’t put it past her to keep making trouble, so he’d thought this was the best way to put an end to the matter.
It might have been easier for Alys had Hal simply spirited her and Jamie away before the arrest, but then perhaps she’d never be truly safe from Lady Marjorie or the law, since a charge had already been brought against her. Alys supposed Jeremy had wanted to ensure that no one came looking. Well, a near-hanging was a small price to pay for the life she had. She was alive, free, and didn’t want for anything, except a glimpse of her Jeremy. He didn’t even know for certain she was expecting another child. If only she could write to him, but she’d never learned her letters. She could write her name, that was all.
Alys started when she heard the whinnying of a horse outside. It was probably just a passing stranger, but she never felt at peace when she was alone. She heard the heavy tread of boots on the step and then a loud knock that reverberated through the house. Fear squeezed her heart, so she remained where she was, hoping whoever it was would simply go away. But they didn’t. The knocking continued.
Pushing to her feet, Alys went to the door but didn’t unlock it. “Who’s there?” she asked, her voice quivering with fear. And then she heard it. Jeremy’s voice.
“Alys, it’s me. Open the door.”
She unlatched the door and there he was, standing on the step, his hat and cloak dusted with snow, his face rosy with cold. He tilted his head to the side and looked at her, his face splitting into a joyful grin. Alys threw herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck as he lifted her off her feet and brought her inside. He never let her go. Somehow, he managed to take off his hat and shed his cloak as he held her close, kissing her hungrily.
“Oh, Alys,” he breathed. “You don’t know what the sight of you does to me.” It was only when he finally held her away from him that he noticed the size of her belly. “When?” was all he said.
“Sometime in April, I reckon,” Alys replied.
He pulled her into his arms and held her tight, his chin resting on top of her head. “Oh, sweetheart, I’m so sorry for everything you’ve been through. It’s all my fault. I should have known. Should have protected you better. When I think how it all could have turned out.”
“But it didn’t,” Alys said. “How long can you stay?”
“A fortnight,” Jeremy replied. “Marjorie thinks I’m in London, at court for the Christmas festivities. She would never entertain the idea of a celebration, so she never expected to come.”
“And then?” Alys asked. She didn’t want to press him for answers the moment he arrived, but she needed to know. She’d waited so long for any news of
