Alistair understood the question, but he couldn’t care less if Emma was dead or not.
Tavish grinned, shaking his head at her. “Only you, Sophia.”
But, for her, there was nothing funny in the possibility.
Alistair noticed Emma’s chest expand and deflate. “Unfortunately, she’s still alive.”
“The ambulance must be arriving at any moment,” Tavish said rising.
“Tavish Uilleam.” Alistair’s growl was full of menace and anger.
Tavish stopped. “Brother?”
“Let her rot.” In hell.
London, Marylebone. The London Clinic Main Hospital.
Wednesday, June 2nd, 2010.
3.17 p.m.
Whispered voices shrieked inside her ears. Bright lights sucked her away from the darkness. She was feeling dizzy and weak. And her fuzzy brain couldn’t tell her why.
She shivered and slowly opened her eyes. Gravity suddenly weighted on her and she hurt. Everywhere.
Oh, God. Emma. She closed her eyes and moaned.
A door closed and soft steps approached her.
“I’m here,” Alistair bent down and pressed his lips tight on her forehead. “How are you feeling?”
“Hurt. All over. Lights, please,” she whispered. When the brightness diminished, she peered at him through half open eyelids, only to close them again. I’m so tired. Take me home, meu amor.
She can’t even bear to look at me. He sat on the edge of the bed beside her.
“Can I go home?”
“I believe so. The nurse just left and said everything looks good. He even took you off the IV, but you were sleeping so profoundly that you only sighed. The doctor has been here twice. She will come back later. She said it’s a normal reaction. You blood pressure lowered and you lost some blood. But the wound wasn’t too deep. She said that the best medicine for you is to rest now.” He spoke every thought that came to his mind to scare away the frustration with his inability to protect her.
It was weird to listen to Alistair’s babbling. He was never nervous. In her fuzzy state, she gave it the briefest passing thought and let it go.
All she wanted was to go home and sleep for days until all this had dissolved into nothing more than a horrible nightmare.
“Gabriela?”
“With Alice. Safe and sound. And happy. We didn’t tell her what happened.”
All she could do was nod. She ached in so many places that she couldn’t have done more.
He sat on the edge of the bed, looking at her pale face with dark shadows under her eyes. His gaze hovered over her shoulders and arms. Two white dressings on her arm was all he could see now. Tavish said she had been very lucky. And the doctors confirmed. A couple of inches to the side and farther into her stomach and the blade would have hit the femoral artery. She could have died. And he was responsible. “Sophia.”
She opened her eyes, astounded by the stern way he said her name. Is he mad at me? Or... “Is she okay?”
Really? He snorted. “The vase hit her temple and broke the skin. That’s why there was so much blood. She had some stitches and her face is badly swollen and bruised. That’s all.” And a concussion that will keep her in hospital for a day or so. You hit hard, my love.
Oh, God, thank you. Tears of relief filled her eyes and she turned her face into the pillow trying to hide her angst and horror at what the situation that could have been.
“Don’t cry, mo cridhe. Emma deserved it.” And much more.
Maybe. But I don’t want any more deaths on my CV. Guilt, confusion and anger wedged their ways into her mind and a dam of tears broke loose.
Oh, Christ. He leaned over her and cradled her gently onto his chest, comforting her. “Hush, sweetheart, hush.”
And what if she comes after you next time? Sophia wrapped her arms around his broad back and cried.
Believing he was the main cause of her distress, her disheartened tears compressed around his heart. He ran his hand over her back, saying tender words, but nothing seemed to calm her. He understood it was the psychological trauma. However, he couldn’t deny that the stabbing had come from his past.
She’s young, gentle and beautiful. She needs a better man. He had dragged her into his complicated life and she deserved much more than he could possibly offer her. Without her, you’ll be a hollow shell. Don’t even think about the alternative.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered with a last shuddered sob. She let her arms fall on the bed. He lowered her and she wiped her face dry with the sheet.
“I’m sorry too.”
For once, in an unselfish and fair conclusion, he decided to give her an option. His deep intake of breath called her attention to his face.
Alistair looked haggard, as if he hadn’t slept the whole night. Dark whiskers shadowed his jaw and his forest green eyes were bloodshot. Troubled. And pained.
Sophia had seen enough hurt in his eyes to know that he carried too much weight in his soul and that he had added tons to it since yesterday. A tremor washed through her. “I don’t want to hear-”
His fingers came to rest tenderly on her mouth. “Let me speak, please. What happened yesterday, was all my fault. I should have known that she would be there. I should have instructed security better. They looked in her purse and found nothing. Fuck!” He ran a hand through his hair exasperated, rising from the bed and pacing the room like a caged tiger. “She was armed to kill, for Christ’s sake.”
She heard his regret in his measured pacing. It was now mixed with insecurity, sorrow and a desire to clean the slate and start fresh. A desire she knew very well. She was surprised she could judge his emotions so precisely. She was still feeling dizzy and faint. Then it dawned on her that she would have understood him at any other time. Because it was him, the man she loved more than herself.
Away from the bed, he spun on his heels and his troubled eyes fixed on hers.
“I... I wish I could undo my past. I wish I could go back and be whole again. For you. To have lived a different life, but... I can’t,” his voice acquired a gruff tone that belied his stoic face, “I’ll understand if you-”
“Are you being serious?” she cut in, not believing her ears. She held out her hand trying to bridge the distance between them. Losing him would destroy her.
He tilted his head considering it before he walked back to her bed and took it, standing rigidly beside her.
Her eyes fixed on his and, unapologetically, painfully, skinned him bare, down to the soul.
He closed his eyes and kept his distance as if this would save him from her redeeming touch. She tugged and he sat on the edge of her bed.
“Are you blaming yourself? For a lunatic?” This is about you, Alistair Connor. My Highland warrior. My Lord Caveman. My love. Mine. “Don’t you dare do this. Because, Alistair Connor, you yourself have already made me wonderful promises that I want to see fulfilled. You, Alistair Connor, are mine to decide what to do with. You lost all the rights over yourself when you put that ring on my finger.” She watched his face for a clue. Lighten the mood, Sophia. She wiggled her right fingers at him. “By the way, where is that heavy, gray rock? I want it back.”
His lips curled up in a ghost of a smile. You don’t want to discuss the subject. I know you by now. Sometimes you’re infuriatingly stubborn, but damned if I don’t love you even more. He rose and crossed the room. Unlocking the safe inside the wardrobe, he took her ring and walked back.