Page 88 of The Laird who Craved her

Leo sat beside a fire, tossing another log onto the flames. "There ye are." Claire smiled. "I've been looking for everyone."

"Were ye?" He looked amused. "I think everyone's been looking for ye."

She stepped toward him, but the fire disappeared, and cold surrounded her. Someone was crying softly.

"Me lady..." Molly.

Claire frowned. "Molly?"

She followed the voice through thick white mist, each step feeling strangely heavy. "Molly?" The crying grew louder, then drifted away again.

A door appeared. She reached for the handle, but before her fingers touched it, it dissolved.

Her father's study stood in its place. He sat behind the desk, looking simply tired, older than she'd ever remembered him. His shoulders sagged beneath a weight she couldn't name. He looked up as she entered.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke, then...

"I'm sorry."

Claire stopped. She'd imagined hearing those words a thousand times, yet now she didn't know what to do with them. "What did ye say?"

His eyes filled. "I'm sorry." His voice broke. "I should have loved you better."

The room blurred. She took one hesitant step toward him, then another. He rose slowly with shaking hands. "I'm so sorry, Claire."

She reached for him. "Dad..."

Her fingers passed through empty air.

The study vanished into rain, cold, and dark trees. She spun around. "Finn?"

He stood only a few paces away, his plaid hung soaked with rain, a streak of blood crossing his cheek. His eyes never left hers.

She smiled. "Ye came."

He reached for her, and she ran toward him, but the distance between them never changed.

"Nay..." she reached again. "Finn."

He faded into the mist. She stopped. "Nay."

Only his voice remained—low, gentle, though she couldn't make out the words. She followed it anyway.

"Molly?" No answer.

"She's colder."

Someone tucked blankets around her, and she felt their weight for a moment before they disappeared.

"More blankets," the words drifted above her like birds carried on the wind.

Another voice: "Another cloth." Water touched her forehead, cool and relieving, then gone again.

She floated somewhere between waking and sleep, between memory and something else entirely. She heard Leo laugh again, then Beatrice praying softly, then Violet arguing with someone.

"He hasnae slept."

"He needs rest."