Page 153 of Laird of Flint
Snow was coming.
For several moments before Carenza arose, he’d stared at the heavy heavens, torturing himself with self-blame and self-loathing.
He should have taken her home weeks ago.
How could he have been so selfish? So irresponsible? So determined to watch out for his own safety that he’d trapped his innocent wife with him? So intent on keeping her for himself that he would sacrifice her happiness for his own desires?
What kind of savage was he to keep his pregnant wife in a hovel like this?
And what kind of father was he to endanger the life of his child?
He’d been a fool to delay so long. Before, coming out of hiding had meant risking his arrest. Now it meant risking the lives of Carenza and their bairn.
But he could afford to delay no longer. They had to go, no matter the cost.
“Go?” Carenza asked. “Go where?”
“Dunlop,” he said, pushing past her to begin packing what they’d need.
“And risk the king’s wrath? And our arrest? Nay.”
“You needn’t worry. None of this was your fault,” he said, hauling out his largest satchel and stuffing it with wool plaids. “No one will blame you. Not your father. Not Gellir. Not the king. ’Twas allmydoing.”
“This?” she exclaimed, cradling her belly. “’Twas most certainlynotall your doing. I seem to recall givin’ ye little choice in the matter.”
Hew seemed to recall that as well. But no one else would believe that. And that was as it should be. Carenza was too pure of heart to be branded a fallen woman or a wanton. He was much better suited to take on the burden. Many already considered him a boorish lecher anyway.
Nay, he didn’t want to debate her.
“The hens will be safe enough inside,” he said, adding oatcakes and a jack of ale to the pack.
“Hew,” she said.
“We’ll have to leave most of the linens.”
“Hew.”
“And I don’t think we’ll have room for Sister Eve’s gown.”
“Hew! Stop!”
He paused, but he couldn’t meet her gaze. Couldn’t stomach the guilt he felt when he looked at her.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“What’s wrong?” he echoed ruefully.
He’d woken up. He’d realized it didn’t matter if the king condemned him. What was important was that Carenza was safe. Their bairn was safe. Dunlop’s heir was safe.
Maybe by some miracle, Sister Eve had been right. Maybe all had been forgiven. But even if that seemed unlikely, even if it meant risking his life, Hew still had to take the wager.
If the worst happened—if he was immediately seized and put into shackles, carted away to a royal prison, and executed as a traitor—his dishonor would be only a wee blemish on Rivenloch and a worthwhile sacrifice for Carenza and their bairn.
Carenza might grieve for a bit. But she’d have their child to warm her heart and the love of her clan to surround her.
She’d be free to marry again. Indeed, if Sister Eve never showed up, it would be as if she’d never been wed. And a woman as perfect as Carenza—beautiful, sweet, kind, gentle, thoughtful, charming—would have men clamoring for her hand before Hew was cold in the ground, no matter whose child she named as heir.
As for Hew, he knew he would die a better man, just for the privilege of having spent this magical year with an angel.
