Vidal scooped Rosalind up. It felt ridiculous to be carried about in this fashion, but exhaustion had set her limbs trembling. She doubted she would be able to stand even if she had wanted to. Besides, it feels good in Vidal’s arms…safe. Safe is such a rare and precious feeling. She rested her head against his shoulder, and he carried her into the house.
She didn’t know how he knew, but he carried her directly to her own little bedroom, pulled back the threadbare blue quilt and laid her down on the bed.
As he stepped away, she convulsively grabbed his arm. “Don’t leave…please,” she whispered desperately.
“I’m not leaving, querida,” he told her, his voice gentle.
She went limp with relief.
He crossed the room in three steps and quickly dipped a handkerchief into the brown porcelain ewe
