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“You are all unclothed, Kayne…you have not been out in this weather?”

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“Aye,” he murmured.

“But why?”

“To find a measure of peace.”

Sorrow knifed through her, far more painful than what her body had just experienced. “Oh, Kayne,” she murmured sadly, stroking strands of wet hair from his face. “’Tis all my fault. I am so deeply ashamed and sorry.”

He shook his head. “You are not the one to blame, Sofia. It is my own sickness that makes me ill within. You are my only refuge from the misery of it. I need you, Sofia.” Whispering the words this time, he said again, “I need you. But if you tell me to leave, I will go at once. Indeed, I should go. I have no right to ask anything of you.”

Sofia swallowed heavily. “I want you to stay, Kayne. But I am afraid…!”

The Stolen Bride

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