Was there any chance she might convince herself of his love without him having to make a declaration?
No immediate answers sprang to mind, but if she did find such a clue, convinced herself it was real and true, even if he never admitted to loving her, wasn’t love — securing love and building a life together based on that emotion — worth the risk? Worth almost any risk?
Catriona had warned that in order to secure Breckenridge’s heart, Heather might well have to risk hers. Was this what Catriona had meant?
When all the rest was stripped away, was she willing to risk her heart to secure the future she yearned for?
What if she risked all and didn’t win? Didn’t gain the reciprocal love, the husband, and the life she wanted?
Risk, indeed.
“There, now.” Megan came forward. “I’m all done for the morning, and m’ bonny bairn is sound asleep.” Smiling softly, she reached for the baby.
Heather relinquished the warm bundle, watched Megan’s face, so full of maternal love as she gazed down at her sleeping son. “I’ll leave you now.”
Megan looked up at the whisper, smiled. “Thank you, miss. You’ve made my day much easier — needed a helping hand I did, and there you came along.”
Heather’s smile deepened. “Thank the Lady.”
With a salute, she picked up the basket and stepped through the still open door.
The sunshine beamed down. Halting on the stoop, she closed her eyes, listened to the song of the birds, the buzz of insects, the piping voices of Lucilla and Marcus now playing in the shade of a tree by the edge of the meadow.
A moment of peace in an otherwise thought-filled, thought-provoking day.
Opening her eyes on a sigh, she stepped out, heading back along the path toward the trees. “Come along, you two. It’s time to go back.”
Lucilla waved. Marcus whooped, then led the way down the path, gamboling like a lamb, Lucilla, on his heels, calling out encouragement.
Heather laughed. Feeling much lighter, she lengthened her stride, empty basket swinging from one hand.
She’d reentered the dappled dimness beneath the trees when a flitting shadow at the edge of her vision had her turning her head sharply. Enough to catch a glimpse. Enough of a glimpse to guess.
Smothering an oath, she stepped off the path, tramped through the low underbrush to a large tree five yards off the path.
Rounding the wide bole, she halted and glared. “What the
Breckenridge opened his eyes. Eyes he’d closed in momentary exasperation. “What do you think I’m doing here?” When in doubt, turn the question back. Inspiration struck. “I’m doing what I’ve been doing since I left Lady Herford’s salon — protecting you.”
She narrowed her eyes at him, anger and aggravation in every line of her face. “Has it ever occurred to you that if, in her ladyship’s salon, you’d done the sensible thing and pretended not to notice me, rather than decided to ‘protect’ me by hauling me out and sending me home, then none of this would have happened?”
Guilt washed over him, but it was a more fundamental fear that seized him by the throat and kept him silent. He stared impassively down at her as the seconds ticked by, then finally asked, his voice flat and uninflected, “Would you really rather
“Forget I said that.” She brusquely waved a hand as if erasing her comment. “That’s not the point. The point is that there is no danger here — there’s no need for you to be following me. I don’t need a guard in the Vale.” She waved at the surrounding hills. “I’m at no risk here!”
“You might be.” Her aggravation abraded his. “For all you know Fletcher and Cobbins might have followed us here and just be waiting for the right moment to seize you again.”
“What?” She blinked. Her face paled; she looked toward the track. “Lucilla and Marcus. They’ve run ahead —”
“No — I take it back.” Disgusted that he couldn’t even let himself scare her, he hissed out a breath through clenched teeth. “There isn’t any imminent threat.”
She frowned at him. “How can you be sure? You just said—”
“I know what I said.” Gripping her elbow, he urged her back toward the path. “But Richard sent riders — trackers — around the boundaries, and they found no evidence anyone had crossed, and all the Vale people have been alerted, but no one’s seen any stranger lurking.” They reached the path and he released her. Scanning their surroundings, he grimaced. “And much as I don’t want to dwell on whatever witchy powers Catriona wields, she says there’s currently no threat on Vale lands, and as everyone else seems to think she would know. .” He shrugged.
He matched his stride to hers as she started back along the path. Thrusting his hands in his pockets, eyes on the path, he felt forced to concede, “It’s unlikely you’re in any danger here, but having got you this far safely, there’s no reason to take unnecessary risks.”
He felt her sharp, still annoyed gaze on the side of his face. Made no move to meet it. Instead steeled himself for her next attack.
When he refused to meet her gaze, Heather humphed, looked ahead, and tried to sort out her feelings. Tried to decide what she felt.
The trees ended and the path dipped down to the river’s edge. Ahead, the twins had paused to toss stones into a pool; they looked back, saw Breckenridge and her, waved, then ran on.
Striding freely along the more level path as it followed the burbling river, she couldn’t help but remember her earlier enjoyment in walking the other way alone. Couldn’t help but note and wonder why she felt the same enjoyment, yet a somehow deeper, more complete sense of contentment now, just because Breckenridge was walking by her side.
He wasn’t even holding her hand, yet the connection was still there, ephemeral perhaps, yet undeniable.
Even though she was annoyed with him.
She might jib at him surreptitiously “guarding her,” yet she couldn’t deny that the sense of being guarded, of being watched over, had grown on her. At least when it was him doing the watching. And she’d be lying if she said she didn’t appreciate his attention in having thought to check on the kidnappers, on whether they might pose any continuing threat.
Having him walking beside her, a large, undeniably physically capable, protective male, made her feel safe. Safe in a way that reached soul-deep.
In a way that she would lose, would no longer have, and most likely would never know again, once he returned to London.
The thought sent a spike of loss lancing through her.
“You might as well start practising not following me about — you’ll be leaving for London soon, after all.” Turning her head, she met the unreadable hazel of his eyes as he glanced at her. Tipped up her chin as the long, lonely hours of the previous night replayed in her mind. “There’s nothing to keep you here, not now. So when will you be leaving?”
He held her gaze, his expression like granite, as impassive as ever.
Breckenridge didn’t misinterpret her challenge, didn’t miss the flash of stubborn pride in her eyes. But they both had a surfeit of that particular emotion. “You’ll know when I know.” He kept his tone even, his gaze level — meeting her challenge with his own. “Of that, you can be absolutely sure.”
Her chin rose another notch as, with a faint arching of her brows, she looked ahead.
Facing forward, too, he concentrated on walking on unaffectedly, unthreateningly, by her side, subduing — denying — the compulsion to halt, haul her into his arms, and make clear in unequivocal fashion that he had no intention of ever letting her go, of ever permitting her to escape him. His inner male didn’t appreciate that she’d even entertained the thought, much less given it voice.
But his civilized self was too experienced to give into such reckless impulse. She’d backed away from
