The Intended

Chapter 6-2

Jaime, tears coursing down her cheeks, watched in horror as his ragged breathing faltered, then came to a rasping stop. She lost all sense. Leaping up, she moved the physician aside and punched at Malcolm’s chest

“Nay, blackguard.” She was hammering on his chest, cursing the Highlander. “Nay, Malcolm. You cannot...”

* * * *

Malcolm was nearly through the door. He could see wisps of silk fluttering, waving. He saw his own arms reach out for the flowing silk, felt his heart open to the soft whispers that beckoned him. Almost through...

Then, he felt arms encircle him from behind. A hand, strong and sure, pressed against his chest, holding him back. A woman’s voice. Why, she was shouting, cursing at him. The b****y wench was calling him names. He could hear her distinctly. She was degrading his honor—his very manhood.

The presence through the door called softly to him, but he could not understand the words. He struggled to shut out the voice behind—to move on.

But she wouldn’t let go. The strength, the anguish behind her angry cries pulled at him. The voice beyond the door called him once again. What is it? Wait, he cried out.

* * * *

The physician looked on, aghast as she continued to curse the Highlander’s carcass. Graves heard language he hadn’t thought possible in a young woman of breeding. Language he hadn’t heard since he was a young man on the Scottish campaigns.

And after all, the man was dead.

* * * *

Jaime, tiring, leaned heavily on Malcolm’s chest. She was not aware of the sobs wracking her body. She only knew that his spirit was slipping beyond her grasp. And she knew no way to bring him back.

Please, Holy Mother, she screamed silently. Please don’t let this man go from here.

* * * *

The voice beyond the door whispered again. b****y hell, Malcolm thought. He couldn’t hear a thing. He turned back toward the wench, anger pervading his spirit. If she would only quit her ruckus. Suddenly, he could see her clearly. Jaime, her hands on his heart, her black hair down around her face, her lips moving. A pain shot through his chest, his head pounded. Malcolm again felt his bones disintegrating. The agony was back.

Nay, he screamed, turning back to the door. He glimpsed the final flash of light, but the door had closed. Gone, he realized through the pain.

By God, the wench had won.