22
Malcolm stood with his back to the hearth, his gaze transfixed on the open window. With the heavy curtains drawn back, the gentle predawn breeze blew freely through the room. The air was cool and damp, but the Highlander felt nothing. For over an hour he had been standing thus, and the lightning gray of the eastern sky meant nothing to him.
She had left him. Silently, her eyes averted, she had slipped into her clothes and started for the window. And he had watched her wordlessly. She had paused only once by the curtains, turning her head as if to speak. But no sound had emerged, and then, like a night bird taking flight, Jaime had gone, disappearing into the darkness and never looking back.
A deep sigh racked his powerful frame, and Malcolm turned his gaze toward the bed. The room wa
