Chapter 56
Awry sort of expression settled on her features as she considered the flames. “You are very skilled at building fires. Have you been stranded in many caves?” Fifi asked.
Her delicate brows furrowed. “Was Dettingen different from Fontenoy?”
The flashbacks made his shoulders tighten.
He didn’t mention his cavalier attitude near enemy lines.
Nor did he mention it nearly got him killed a time or two—his goal after losing Sylvia and before learning about the Movement.
Their aim, which is that of the French government, being to undermine and weaken the British monarchy and government.
Slade got an introduction to the Movement and Donald Lochiel, codename Bullfinch, while he was in Fontenoy.
Bullfinch, one of the seven men of Moidart, are special advisors to the rebel prince, Charles Edward Stuart.
His savior, Bullfinch, had given him a new goal, to make trouble for the British.
The man had been his savior but couldn’t be trusted, because he’d feed you information to get you to do what he wants, which wasn’t necessarily the truth.
The people who got along well with Bullfinch, were the ones who knew this about the man.
Slade had made a fortune during the wars supplying the Movement with weapons because he believed in their cause and being a British colonel was the best way to help them with information on the latest British weaponry and to make money in the process.
No one but Bullfinch knew he was a double agent and now, he’d bet his life Fifi was here to see the crafty old Bullfinch.
Fifi was eying him, but she’d gone still. The gentle lines on her forehead were somber. “I am sorry you were thrown into fighting. It sounds dreadful. Have you ever regretted joining the army?”
Slade shook his head. “No. I needed a shock to dislodge me from myself. It wasn’t pleasant, but it accomplished that much,” he said.
Before he could stop himself, he continued. “And you, what is the most dreadful experience you’ve ever had?”
Her eyes widened, and her lips slackened at his question.
Slade held his breath for her answer.
A sliver of intense anguish flashed across her pretty eyes. He imagined he saw fear, turmoil, and anger there as well, but it was so fleeting, he couldn’t be sure.
Her anguish ripped him to shreds. And her fear made him vow inwardly to slay all her demons. But he liked the anger. It was the fighter, the warrior goddess in her.
He shifted on the sandy ground to face her, gently taking her left hand in his.
Her skin was smooth, but her fingers chilled.
He rubbed her palm in between both of his, then placed it close to his lips to blow his warm breath on her skin.
He didn’t miss the hitching of her breath, as she stared at his lips.
His body tightened in response because it was the same hitching of breath every time he’d touched her intimate flesh during the past two weeks.
He loved all the sounds she made, but this one especially.
He enjoyed knowing he affected her as much as she affected him.
After finishing her left hand, he moved to her right.
Her next words surprised him. But they shouldn’t have.
“Alex’s death was beyond bleak. A ray of sunshine snuffed out from the earth. A great loss, it ripped a bleeding hole in everyone’s heart, that will never heal, including in mine.”
There was pain in the crack of her voice.
“You are stronger than you think, Fifi. You have the heart of a goddess and the strength of a warrior. You bend. But you will never break. It’s your ability to survive and adapt after bleak things that steals my breath and leaves me in awe of you,” he said, his tone soft with an undertone of steel.
His words left an intense softness in her expression.
She shook her head. “You don’t know—” she started to say.
“I do know.” He cut in.
He saw the uncertainty in her expression. She wasn’t sure of what he spoke.
She considered him, then her mouth slackened into a wry smile.
“You’ve always made me believe in impossible things like knights, chivalry, heroes, and love. Even now, after all this time. After all the bleakness,” she whispered, her head tilted down to watch their hands connecting as she interlaced her fingers with his.
“You inspire those things in me, my love” he said.
She blinked up at his use of the endearment, her cheeks turning pink. He couldn’t recall when he had started using it. But it was the most natural thing to have ever slipped from his lips.
A gentle radiance came through in her softened expression. She loosened, then rethreaded her fingers with his again. The feel of her warm skin against his was sublimely tortuous. Her gaze locked on to their connecting hands again, as if fascinated by how they fit together.
The feel of her touching him was like sparks to a tinderbox. Keeping the increasing sparks from exploding to a full-blown blaze was tenuous.
The fervor in her voice when next she spoke, made him go still.
“Fifteen years ago, when I saw you riding tall and dark through the portcullis at Eileanach with Egan, it was the first time I ever thought a boy was beautiful. And when you were seventeen and you told me you were about to be betrothed was the first time I’d ever been jealous of another girl.
I’ve never wanted to get married. My greatest fear was a husband wanting to control me, my household, what I wore, where I went, who my friends were and how many children I would have.
But you are the least controlling person I know,” Fifi said.
Something in him took flight at her words as she paused, her throat muscles working before she continued.
“You told me on our wedding night that in the ancient Orient, they believed if you save a life, you are responsible for that life for the rest of yours. You said it meaning you were responsible for me. In truth, you’ve had my heart since I first saw you riding through our portcullis.
My love for you has changed since I was nine, but you’ve had it all along, in all its different facets. ”
Slade’s heart raced, while his mind and soul melted. “Oh, my darling love,” he rasped.
He took her in an ardent hug, crushing her body to his, squeezing her with the rapid fire of blood strumming through his veins.
Slade planted a kiss on the top of her head, inhaling the familiar warmth of her.
Even though his body burned for hers, he found peace in her arms, and bliss in her scent of orange blossom and bergamot.
She sighed contentedly, slackening completely in his embrace.
“My greatest fear is that I will fail you. Failing to protect you, even from myself would break me,” he said, his voice sounding raw, as if his throat was abraded.
“You won’t, you can’t, you are too good, I see your halo,” she said, burrowing further into his embrace.
If she only knew, he’d killed Sylvia. And the thought that he could unintentionally hurt her was choking the life from his heart and soul.
The fire crackled in the cave while the rain thumped the ground outside and the wind’s howls echoed through the air surrounding the cave.
“Have you warmed up?” he asked, still holding her tightly to him.
“Deliciously so,” she uttered.
Fifi released him and sent him a sly mischievous smile, one infinitely more potent and devastating than when she was a wee lass. A smile that was carnal, in a way it had never been before. His heart slammed so hard he feared it would break free of his chest.
She took his left hand, turning it palm down and raised it to her lips, planting a kiss. Her moist lips pillowy soft against the hardness of his first knuckle. His body stilled but his eyes locked onto her mouth, starved.
“What are you doing?” he asked, his voice gruff.
“I should think that’s quite evident. I’m kissing you,” she whispered. She kissed the second knuckle.
“Phoebeee …” he growled, drawing out her name.
The use of her proper given name was a warning which she ignored.