The heavy gates of the Carmichael estate slammed shut in Grant's face. He stood frozen, the horsewhip slipping from his hand to the ground. The winter wind howled, swirling dead leaves around him. A memory hit him—last year, on a night like this, I'd brewed him ginger tea. He'd complained it was too strong and dumped it into a flowerpot. What had my face looked like then? He realized he'd never really looked at me.
"Helena…" he whispered, then spun around, vaulting onto his horse. "To Cold Mountain Temple!"
I'd mentioned going there to burn incense. His horse galloped like the wind, his heart pounding faster than the hooves. He had to find me. He had to tell me… that he loved me.
At the temple, incense smoke curled through the air. Grant burst into the main hall, startling the worshippe
