before she refused,
and her lips tightened briefly before she replied, 'I have no business with you. All I have
to do is stick this out until after the wedding, if necessary. You can stay or go as you like.
That hasn't changed.'
'But, Kirstie, if I was so hell-bent on Louise, why would her marriage stop me any more
than her engagement did? It still comes down to you and me, right now, and what might
happen when we get back—that is the real issue,' he told her softly, his gaze almost
sleepy.
'Damn you,' she whispered, shaken, and when she did reach the sanctuary of her own
bedroom it was a hollow escape.
Cloistered there, she read until midnight and then pulled on one of her brother's old T-
shirts that came down to her thighs, and went to brush her teeth and wash her face. The
rest of the cabin was in darkness. Even Francis's room was silent, the door pushed to but
not latched, revealing a crack of space that was pitch-black. Ridiculously, she gave it a
wide berth on her route back to her own bed where she tried to go to sleep herself, but
only ended up tossing and turning under the weight of her troubled thoughts.
Would Louise's marriage stop Francis? Kirstie burrowed her forehead into her pillow in
frustration. Had he meant it as a threat, or merely to point out the flaw in her thinking?
But then it would be Neil's duty to protect Louise, and Louise's responsibility to protect
him. But didn't that mean it was Neil's duty even now, as Francis said, to fight for their
relationship, in spite of how Louise sought to keep him unaffected?
But—but—but—sputtered in her head like a faulty engine. At this rate she would never
be able to sleep.
Certainly she was wide awake enough to hear the first stealthy brush of sound from the
other side of the door, but at first she automatically discounted it by assuming that
Francis was making a nocturnal trip to the bathroom. But when there was no closing of a
door, no evidence of other normal noise, not even the customary distant gush of the
water tap, she perked up and listened curiously.
Swish, swish. That was a strange noise. What could he possibly be doing? There was a
loud crash and a rattle that seemed to come just outside her door, then a queer
scrabbling, and a slow chill swept down her entire body. Whatever it was, something
was horribly wrong.
Nightmarish flashbacks detonated in her head.
He could be capable of anything. . .
She began to tremble violently. After being so very reasonable in his own wretched
fashion, oh, why would he do anything now in the middle of the night? Didn't he know it
was dark out there?
Going to try the reasoning tack? What do we get after that, threats?
He wouldn't. He couldn't, not even he would go that far, she wouldn't believe it of him—
God, what was that?
Kirstie bolted upright in bed at the same instant the grey shadow of her door opened
silently and, in a culmination of her worst imaginings, Francis glided in. One part of her
deep-fried wits managed to take in his supreme caution and how he very carefully
latched the door behind him, even as she battled against pure terror to haul in a great
lungful of air for an ear-shattering, completely useless scream.
But, when he was quick, he was very, very quick. She didn't have a chance. In one fluid
rush he was at her side, and he clamped a hand over her open mouth. It was so large that
it covered half her face.
Her whole body jerked with the terrifying shock, but before she had time to give in
totally to her unreasoning panic he put his lips to her ear and breathed, 'Be very quiet
now.'
His unaffected calm got through to her. She held herself as frozen as a frightened rabbit,
and in the stillness of that inaction they both heard the strange, blundering noise again.
Now it appeared to be coming from the living-room.
Flooded with a crazy, reeling relief, Kirstie sagged against the warmth of Francis's bare
chest and he loosened his grip on her
and her lips tightened briefly before she replied, 'I have no business with you. All I have
to do is stick this out until after the wedding, if necessary. You can stay or go as you like.
That hasn't changed.'
'But, Kirstie, if I was so hell-bent on Louise, why would her marriage stop me any more
than her engagement did? It still comes down to you and me, right now, and what might
happen when we get back—that is the real issue,' he told her softly, his gaze almost
sleepy.
'Damn you,' she whispered, shaken, and when she did reach the sanctuary of her own
bedroom it was a hollow escape.
Cloistered there, she read until midnight and then pulled on one of her brother's old T-
shirts that came down to her thighs, and went to brush her teeth and wash her face. The
rest of the cabin was in darkness. Even Francis's room was silent, the door pushed to but
not latched, revealing a crack of space that was pitch-black. Ridiculously, she gave it a
wide berth on her route back to her own bed where she tried to go to sleep herself, but
only ended up tossing and turning under the weight of her troubled thoughts.
Would Louise's marriage stop Francis? Kirstie burrowed her forehead into her pillow in
frustration. Had he meant it as a threat, or merely to point out the flaw in her thinking?
But then it would be Neil's duty to protect Louise, and Louise's responsibility to protect
him. But didn't that mean it was Neil's duty even now, as Francis said, to fight for their
relationship, in spite of how Louise sought to keep him unaffected?
But—but—but—sputtered in her head like a faulty engine. At this rate she would never
be able to sleep.
Certainly she was wide awake enough to hear the first stealthy brush of sound from the
other side of the door, but at first she automatically discounted it by assuming that
Francis was making a nocturnal trip to the bathroom. But when there was no closing of a
door, no evidence of other normal noise, not even the customary distant gush of the
water tap, she perked up and listened curiously.
Swish, swish. That was a strange noise. What could he possibly be doing? There was a
loud crash and a rattle that seemed to come just outside her door, then a queer
scrabbling, and a slow chill swept down her entire body. Whatever it was, something
was horribly wrong.
Nightmarish flashbacks detonated in her head.
He could be capable of anything. . .
She began to tremble violently. After being so very reasonable in his own wretched
fashion, oh, why would he do anything now in the middle of the night? Didn't he know it
was dark out there?
Going to try the reasoning tack? What do we get after that, threats?
He wouldn't. He couldn't, not even he would go that far, she wouldn't believe it of him—
God, what was that?
Kirstie bolted upright in bed at the same instant the grey shadow of her door opened
silently and, in a culmination of her worst imaginings, Francis glided in. One part of her
deep-fried wits managed to take in his supreme caution and how he very carefully
latched the door behind him, even as she battled against pure terror to haul in a great
lungful of air for an ear-shattering, completely useless scream.
But, when he was quick, he was very, very quick. She didn't have a chance. In one fluid
rush he was at her side, and he clamped a hand over her open mouth. It was so large that
it covered half her face.
Her whole body jerked with the terrifying shock, but before she had time to give in
totally to her unreasoning panic he put his lips to her ear and breathed, 'Be very quiet
now.'
His unaffected calm got through to her. She held herself as frozen as a frightened rabbit,
and in the stillness of that inaction they both heard the strange, blundering noise again.
Now it appeared to be coming from the living-room.
Flooded with a crazy, reeling relief, Kirstie sagged against the warmth of Francis's bare
chest and he loosened his grip on her
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