* * * * *
Kyrah was at the big house earlier than usual, perhaps hoping to avoid the much-talked-about Captain Buchanan. She worked with extra vigor, hoping to push thoughts of him far into the back of her mind. As she walked to the cottage, carrying her usual load of laundry, she felt confident that she would eventually be able to rid him from her thoughts.
“Kyrah,” her mother called as she came through the cottage door, “is that you, darling?”
“Yes, Mother,” she replied.
“Come in here, darling,” Sarah added from her usual spot in the parlor. Kyrah sighed, certain that her mother wanted to continue her speculations about Ritcherd. She had talked of him nonstop since word had come of his return to England. Kyrah didn’t think she could bear it any longer.
“What is it, Mother?” she asked blandly, coming into the parlor.
“I believe I left my book in the garden. Would you mind getting it for me?”
Kyrah set the basket down and walked out the side door to the little walled garden behind the cottage. Not so long ago, she had spent every spare minute here, lost in her memories and dreams. But the way things had changed in her mind made the garden distasteful, and she had come to avoid it. The gate creaked as she opened it, and she moved toward the book on the bench.
Ritcherd held his breath as Kyrah walked into the garden, unaware of his presence. It took only a glance to realize that she was more lovely than he could have possibly remembered. But then, she had changed. The girl had become a woman. She was taller, more graceful, more curved. And clearly more beautiful. Her simple attire didn’t detract from her natural elegance. The way her hair was pinned into an unruly knot at the back of her head only enhanced the fluid line of her neck and shoulders. It took only a moment to realize that his youthful fantasies of Kyrah becoming a woman had been shallow and incomplete. As difficult as their separation had been, he couldn’t help wondering if being away from her had made it possible for him to fully appreciate this moment. He held his breath, counting the seconds until she would be in his arms. Then their lives would begin again, and everything—somehow—would be all right.
Kyrah sighed and picked up the book just as she heard a voice behind her. It was deeper than she’d remembered, yet all too familiar.
“Hello, Kyrah.”
The book nearly hit her foot when she dropped it. Turning to face him, everything inside of her fell apart. Captain Ritcherd Buchanan was breathtaking. The fine red coat of his uniform was more striking than she’d remembered. The highly polished tall boots and stark white breeches accentuated the aristocratic air about him. The sling supporting his right arm looked conspicuously out of place. She wondered what had happened, but there was too much consuming her thoughts at the moment to question it. Her incredibly clear memories of the last time she’d seen him came nowhere close to the reality of the man standing before her. He looked more than three years older. It was evident that the time away had been difficult for him, and the hardships had left traces in his face. He appeared all the more dignified, with added character in his expression. But most captivating of all was the undeniable yearning in his eyes.
In Kyrah’s resolve to change the circumstances between her and Ritcherd, she’d not counted on what the reality of his presence would do to her. It had become easy in his extended absence to believe that she could live without him. But as he stood directly in front of her, wearing an expectant smile, her resolve melted away. She didn’t know what to say, or how to respond. Through an intolerable length of silence she attempted to reassure herself that it was best to stop their relationship now, before it got started again. The sooner she ended it, the less opportunity he would have to humiliate her when he decided he didn’t want her. But all she could think of was how it had felt when he’d kissed her. She had remembered his kiss, thrived on it, ached for it all these years. And now, here she was, facing him in awkward silence, telling herself she should not be his.
When he took a step toward her, Kyrah was startled back to the moment. Knowing she couldn’t possibly find her voice even if she knew what to say, she turned away and quickly left the garden.
“Wait!” he called out and followed her, but she ignored him and ran toward the wooded area near the back of the cottage. Unshed tears scalded her eyes as she reached the trees and felt his arm come around her, bringing her to an abrupt halt. Despite his right arm’s being useless, he turned her easily to face him. Kyrah felt something awaken inside of her at his touch. His very presence caused feelings she either didn’t understand or didn’t want to admit to.
Ritcherd couldn’t believe it. He’d made it through three years of hell by imagining the joy of this reunion. He’d wanted only to hold her in his arms and cry with her over the death of her father. But the love and compassion he’d been banking on were nowhere to be seen. He wondered what he’d done to deserve such contempt from the one person on earth who meant more to him than any other.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he asked, his tone betraying the hurt. “Three years and you can’t even say hello?”
“Hello,” she replied curtly.
“That’s it?”
“What did you want me to say?”
“Say what you feel.”
“I don’t feel anything,” she lied.
Ritcherd made no effort to hide the anguish in his eyes. “You can’t mean it,” he said hoarsely. Suddenly the months of lying in an army hospital seemed like sport compared to the desperation he was feeling now. She made no reply and he pleaded, “Will you not even give me a chance? I know a lot has changed, but . . . we need to talk about it. We have to try.”
Kyrah broke away from his grasp and turned away, hoping to hide her emotion. “There’s no need to try. There is not room in my life for you.” She sensed more than saw the way his shoulders slumped as he stood behind her, and she wanted with everything she had to turn to him and tell him she didn’t really mean it. She needed him. She wanted to be with him, to be a part of his life again.
“That’s it, then,” he stated flatly. His mind quickly flitted through the years he had invested in his relationship with her. Deeper feelings aside, she was the only true friend he’d ever had. “There’s not room for me in your life.” He paused and drew a deep breath. “Why?”
“The reasons don’t matter,” she replied quickly.
“Like hell they don’t!” he shouted and grabbed her arm, turning her to face him. “You told me you’d wait for me. And if things have changed, so be it. I can accept that three years is a long time and a lot has happened, but I have a right to know why!”
Kyrah felt weak. She could hardly believe it. But it was true. Ritcherd Buchanan loved her. She could see it in his eyes, hear it in his voice. But that didn’t change the circumstances.
“Tell me!” he shouted in response to her silent stare. “Tell me why!” She saw his chin quiver and moisture brim in his eyes. Only then did she realize that in all the years they’d shared, she’d never once seen him cry. She wondered what kinds of horrors he’d been witness to that would bring him back so utterly disheartened.
When Kyrah gave him nothing but a blank expression, he spoke through clenched teeth. “I want to know why you’re throwing away everything we had together!”
Kyrah couldn’t speak. She couldn’t think of anything to say. The real reasons were too humiliating to discuss, if not too painful, so she just turned away while he continued to hold her arm in a firm grip.
“Look at me,” he whispered hoarsely. Her eyes moved slowly toward his, but hesitated a moment on his wounded arm in its sling, and a wave of compassion swept through her. But before her gaze moved on, it became evident that she had been misunderstood. He nearly flung her out of his grip. “I would have given you more credit than that, Kyrah Payne.”
“What are you talking about?” she asked, genuinely puzzled.
“Is it too much to take . . . to have a man who can’t use his right ar
m?”
“Don’t be ridiculous!” she said.
Ritcherd could see the sincerity in her eyes, and he became briefly mesmerized by them. Nobody had eyes like Kyrah—those wide, almost blue eyes, that in their very innocence held a natural provocative quality.
“If that’s not it, then tell me what it is!” he pleaded.
“I can’t, Ritcherd,” she said softly, and his eyes widened in disbelief. “I just can’t.”
Kyrah ran toward home, unable to face him another second.
Ritcherd couldn’t find the motivation to try and stop her.