Not Juliana. They can never take Juliana.
“You love her,” the man said. His knife went to the inside of Elliot’s wrist. “Say it.”
“I love her,” Elliot whispered.
“Shout it. Tell everyone.”
No. She was his secret. If they knew about Juliana, they’d threaten her, mock her, defile her memory, take her away from him. Elliot knew she was safe in Scotland, in her father’s prim house in Edinburgh, with her family, her friends, her miles of lists, her laughter.
They’d force him to talk about her, to tell them every single little secret memory he had of her. They’d describe what they’d do to her, what they wanted to do to her, until any thought of her was mixed with something horrifying.
And then Elliot would have nothing. Nothing between himself and the darkness.
Juliana was light. He couldn’t let them extinguish the light.
“No!”
“Say it.”
“I love her!” Elliot dragged his hands from his face. “Don’t take her away from me. Don’t take her away from me.”
The man grinned, his teeth crooked and brown. “She will never love you. You are broken and ruined, dirt beneath my heel. We broke you. Juliana will never want that.”
The mocking voice, the knife, the smile, her name on his lips, drove Elliot into the frenzy. He’d be beaten for it, he knew, but he couldn’t stop.
“I’ll kill you!” Elliot wrenched himself from his crouch and launched himself at his captor. His hands closed around the man’s throat, fingers knowing what to do. He felt glee when the man scrabbled at his wrists, dark eyes opening wide.
“Sahib!” the man tried to gasp. “Sahib, it is Mahindar.”
Liar. Mahindar was all that was kindness and goodness, and this man was evil incarnate. Elliot would choke Juliana’s name from his throat, so he could never say it again.
“Elliot!”
Her voice came from his dream, which tapped at the back of his mind. The dream wanted him to relax into it, to slumber in its peace, to never wake again.
But Elliot had to stay awake. He had to escape. He had to get home. To her.
Other hands grabbed his, trying to break his grip. Strong hands, as large as his, the slimmer hands of a woman but just as strong, and then the soft touch he knew deep inside his heart.
“Elliot,” she said in her musical voice.
The darkness cracked. Light came rushing at him, spinning in dazzling points, and then faces and voices. The wide, scared blue eyes of a Scottish lad, the dark face of a woman determined, the eyes of the man who’d helped him at every turn, and the sky blue beauty of Juliana’s eyes. Juliana was the only one who didn’t try to loosen Elliot’s grip, who only touched, and asked.
The rest of the real world now crashed into him, and the spinning stopped. Elliot was standing in the dining room of his own house, his manservant Mahindar bent backward over the table, Elliot’s hands around his throat.
Elliot swiftly lifted away from him. Nausea hit him right after that, bile shoving its way into his throat.
Juliana went to him, reaching for him. She closed her arms around Elliot, and he shuddered. He wanted to scoop her to him, to hold her, but he was going to be sick.
“No,” he said hoarsely.
He broke her grasp and pushed her away. Mahindar, coughing, stood up, helped by Channan, who hovered worriedly.
“I am all right, sahib,” Mahindar said, barely able to speak the words. “I will be fine.”
He wouldn’t be. There were bruises on Mahindar’s throat, and he coughed pathetically.
Damn it. Elliot swung away from them all and strode from the room, Hamish scuttling out of his way.
Dear God, he had them terrified, and no wonder. He could have killed Mahindar if they hadn’t been able to break Elliot out of his stupor.
What would have happened if it had been Juliana’s slender throat under his hands? Or Priti’s? What kind of monster had he become?
He heard Juliana calling after him. Elliot didn’t pause but walked on out into the night, into cool twilight and misty rain that had begun to fall.
Juliana started after Elliot. Mahindar, helped by Channan, collapsed heavily onto the chair Elliot had vacated.
“No, memsahib,” Mahindar said. “I told you. When he is like this, it is best to let him go.”
The evening was darker than usual, clouds having gathered, a new rain falling. Juliana saw Elliot outside the open dining room window, his tall form disappearing into the mist.
He walked swiftly, his head bowed. The red setter, Rosie, loped out of the garden and went after him, but Elliot didn’t turn to acknowledge the dog. He pressed on, swallowed by darkness.
“No,” Juliana said. “I won’t let him go. No, don’t stop me, Mahindar. I can’t let him be alone.”
Mahindar’s protests faded as Juliana rushed out the door. She noticed that Channan had not tried to stop her, the look in her wise eyes telling Juliana that she agreed.
Juliana ran out into the rain. She realized halfway down the path that she hadn’t stopped for a wrap or boots, and that she sloshed through mud and wet in her tea gown and slippers.
What did it matter? Juliana gathered up her water-stained satin skirts and ran on.
Rain beaded on her bare head and shoulders, not strong enough to be proper rain, but steady enough to get her sopping wet.
Elliot walked fast. Juliana ran to keep up, panting, her corset stealing her breath.
He was heading not up into the hills as Juliana had expected, but along the narrow, rather precarious road to the river. That way lay the wooden bridge across which Hamish had driven them the first night from the train.
At least, Juliana thought that was where Elliot was going. She soon lost him in the lowering fog, the path and trees swallowed by the thickening mist. Even Elliot’s pale hair and swirling plaid disappeared from sight.
A flash of red came to her, the setter, who rushed back at Juliana, tail waving. Rosie ran in a circle around Juliana then dashed on ahead again.
Juliana’s heart thumped. She could see well enough to keep her feet on the road, but the fog was descending rapidly. Soon, she’d be groping her way through the black, and the edge of this road plunged off into darkness.
The hollow thump of Rosie’s feet on the wooden bridge gave Juliana a burst of vigor. The bridge rode high over the water, the river rushing and roaring below.
Juliana saw the form of Elliot in the mist, facing the rail, his kilt a smudge in the darkness. She hiked her skirts high out of the wet and ran the last few feet.
Chapter 29
“Elliot!”
Elliot didn’t appear to hear her. He kept his face turned to the river, hand gripping the rail, as Juliana dashed to him, the boards hard under her thin slippers.
Her dress would be a ruin, Channan would shake her head at it, but Juliana didn’t care. She’d shred the thing—she never wanted to wear this gown again. She wanted no reminder of the moment in the dining room when she’d seen her charming husband overcome with terror so great he’d slipped away from her. Right in front of her, he’d been taken away.
“Elliot,” she panted.
He looked up. His face was so bleak, that Juliana’s heart broke.
She feared he’d walk away from her again, but he hung on to the bridge’s rail while he shook his head. “Juliana, I can’t do this.”
His voice was broken, rasping with despair. Juliana took the last steps to him and closed her hand around his tight wrist.
“You can. I’ll help you.”
“You saw what I did. I’ve done it before. I’m hurting people—innocent people. And I can’t stop it.”
“But you do stop it.” Juliana caressed his wrist. “You do. You stop in time. Have you ever truly hurt anyone in your fits?”
Elliot looked away from her, his winter eyes closing briefly. “No, but it has been damn close. Look what I did to Mahindar tonight.”
“But you
always stop yourself, Elliot. Something inside you tells you that you must.”
“I stop because someone like Mahindar makes me. Or you do.”
Juliana shook her head. “That’s nonsense. We couldn’t possibly hold you back if you didn’t want us to. You’re far too strong, stronger than any of us. Stopping the attacks is your choice.”
When he looked at her again, his eyes were hot with rage. “What if I can’t come to my senses in time? Dear God, what if I try to harm Priti? I adore her. She’s…she’s the spark that pulled me out of the blackness. She’s why I finally got out of bed after my escape. I needed to take care of her. I need to take care of you.” Elliot released his hold on the railing and caressed her throat with the backs of his fingers. “And what if I try to hurt you?”
“I am fairly resilient,” Juliana said. “Not a porcelain doll. My mother used to disparage me because I was such a robust child. A lady is meant to be fragile and frail, but that’s poppycock. I’d never get a lick of work done if I were frail.”
She’d hoped to make him smile, but Elliot’s eyes remained bleak. “You’re not that resilient, lass.” He ran his fingers up and down her throat, shaking his head again. “If I hurt you, it would kill me.”
“What were you thinking of—when you went after Mahindar, what were you thinking?”
“What the devil was he even doing in there?”
“I called him.” Juliana swallowed, his fingertips on her skin drawing fire. “When you sat back and went blank, I shouted for him. I was worried about you.” She put her hand on his, stilling his touch. “What were you thinking of?”
Elliot closed his fingers around hers then seemed to realize that she stood there soaking wet. He released her, slid off his coat, and draped it around Juliana’s shoulders. The trapped heat from his body embraced her, surrounding her with his warmth and scent.
“I was dreaming I was back in my cell, in the caves. Except that they made me say your name. I blurted out the secret of you. And they were going to take you from me.” Elliot gripped her shoulders through the loose coat. “They were taking you away from me. I can’t do this if they take you away from me.”
“I’m here.” Juliana looked up into Elliot’s anguished eyes, his brows drawn down as though all the fury in the world coursed through him. “I’m here, Elliot. I’ve always been here for you. And I always will be.”
Elliot gripped her shoulders even harder. His breath came faster, the fine rain dripping down his face.
“I’ll always be here,” Juliana repeated. “Always.”
“Why should you? He was right. I’m broken.”
Juliana didn’t know who he was, but she knew the answer. “Because I love you. I love you my dearest, darling Elliot. I’ve loved you since the day you put the frog in my pocket, and kissed me to distract me from it.” She turned her head and kissed the hand that rested on her shoulder. “I love you, Elliot McBride.”
When she looked up at him again she found his gaze burning into her. The wild look he’d had in the dining room was back, but she could see that he remained in the present, no flashing back to the past.
A hoarse cry escaped his throat. Elliot dragged Juliana to him, his arms coming around her to hold her—tight, tight. He shuddered, then shuddered again, sobs choking out of him.
Juliana clung to him, pressing her cheek to his. He rocked her in his arms, his tears mingling with the rain to wet her face.
“Don’t love me,” he said. “Don’t.”
“There is no do or don’t,” Juliana whispered. The mists dissolved and the rain came down faster. “I love you because I love you. I can’t help that.”
His embrace nearly crushed her, his strong body shaking. “Never stop. Never stop loving me, Juliana.”
“I never will.”
Elliot raised his head. Tears streaked his face, his eyes were red-rimmed, and his face twisted in pain and hope. “I love you so much,” he said brokenly.
Juliana’s own tears came. She brushed away his and kissed his lips.
Elliot crushed her up to him, taking her mouth in a brutal kiss. Their mouths fused, heat to heat, lips touching, parting, gliding together. Never stop loving me.
Never. Never. Gemma had said Juliana shouldn’t try to repair him. Juliana understood now.
She didn’t need to be Elliot’s caretaker; she needed to be his friend and guide, his lover. She would anchor him when he rode the storm of his fears, listen when he needed to speak, and provide a safe haven for him when his journey was done.
She loved him, and the kiss rode on the wings of their love together.
A dog barked. Rosie ran to them, her red body soaked, and shook herself out all over them. Juliana broke the kiss to laugh.
“No hope for this gown now,” she said over the rising wind.
Elliot was looking up and past her, and Juliana turned. Down the path came lanterns, points of light in the darkness. They were all coming—Hamish, Mahindar, Channan, Nandita, Komal, McGregor, and Priti in Nandita’s arms. Even the goat, who shook her head at the rain.
Their lanterns gleamed out in the darkness, falling on Juliana and Elliot in each other’s arms on the bridge.
Mr. McGregor stopped the procession, holding his lantern high. “Well now,” he shouted, his grin gleaming hugely from his bearded face. “It appears as though the lad’s all right.”
“Mahindar,” Elliot began. He drew a breath to say more, but he arrested it, let out the air he’d drawn, and simply looked at the man who had been with him through so much.
“Come back to the house, sahib,” Mahindar said, raising his lantern high. “Come back to the house with the memsahib. It is warm there.”
Juliana locked her hands behind Elliot’s neck and gave him another long kiss, her body warming at his hard kiss in response.
“Let’s go home,” she said.
The look Elliot gave her heated her to her toes. She snuggled into his coat, took his hand, and led him back toward the house, into its warmth and welcoming light.
“Say it again.” Elliot heard the savagery in his voice, and he couldn’t stop it. “Say it again.”
Their bodies dripped, but with sweat now, not rain. Outside the wind had risen, the summer storm howling in to drive away the mist. Alone in their bedchamber, Elliot had stripped off Juliana’s wet clothes, his own landing with hers on the floor. The bed rocked now with his onslaught, Elliot loving her with the fury of the storm.
“I love you!” Juliana cried.
Darkness swirled through Elliot’s mind, but it was the hot darkness of climax. Juliana’s shout wound him tighter, Elliot barely hanging on.
“Again!”
“I love you!” Juliana opened her eyes, her laughter ringing up to him. “I love you, Elliot McBride.”
“I love you.” The words came out in a rush, wildness washing over him. “I love you, Juliana. My lass, my own sweet lass. Sweet, holy God.”
His seed shot from him, finding home in Juliana. Elliot’s hips rocked against hers, his sweat and her honey where they joined.
The wind slammed into the house, and Elliot thrust for the last time, burying himself inside her. He groaned again, fire flickering on the edges of his vision.
Juliana skimmed her hands down Elliot’s body, touching him everywhere, her face relaxed in the warmth of passion. Her hair was a mess, curls awry, her naked body the best place his could be.
“Say it again,” he said, kissing her swollen lips.
Juliana smiled, the smile languid now, and brushed her fingertips over the base of his neck. “I love you.”
Did the words sound best when they burst out of her in passion, or said sweetly in aftermath? Or whispered into his ear while she’d held him as he’d wept?
Elliot would make her say it in all ways, in every room in the house—and on the grounds, in the dogcart, in the train when they finally went back to Edinburgh. In every place they ever were throughout their lives, Elliot would make it his quest to discove
r where and how the words I love you, from Juliana’s lips, sounded best.
“I love you, my wife.” He let his voice go soft. “Tha gaol agam ort.”
A smile spread across her face. “Is that what that means? I love you?”
“It does.”
“Then…Tha gaol agam ort. Did I say it correctly?”
Hearing the words, in beautiful Gaelic, while she lay under him in bed was undoubtedly the best of all.
“Ye did, lass. Tha gaol agam ort-fhèin. I love you too.” He kissed the line of her hair. “Thank you.”
“Mmm. For what? Letting you teach me Gaelic?”
“For all of it.”
Juliana knew what he meant. Elliot loved that he didn’t have to explain himself all the time to her. She understood.
Juliana touched the tip of his nose, and gave him her most beautiful, warm, and loving smile. “In that case, my love, my bonny husband…You’re welcome.”
Chapter 30
FOUR WEEKS LATER
Elliot found Juliana in the morning room, July’s warm air carried on a light breeze through the window. She was elegantly beautiful in her pale lawn gown buttoned all the way up her throat, her hair dressed casually in a twist of curls.
As usual, she had a notebook open on the table beside her and a pile of letters and cards on a second table. Ink, paper, and blotting paper were spread out before her, waiting for her to cover them with her practical words.
Elliot walked into the room and closed the door behind him. “Good afternoon, my wife.”
Juliana scribbled something into her notebook and looked up at him. She took him in—his boots and kilt, a loose coat slung over a loose shirt—and flashed her beautiful smile. “Good afternoon.”
“We’re going on a picnic,” Elliot said.
“How delightful.” Juliana wrote down another note. “Who is going? You and Priti? Or Uncle McGregor and Mr. McPherson? Or—”
“You and I.”