Gillian: Bride of Maine (American Mail-Order Bride 23) by Kirsten Lynn

swam toward her. He climbed onto the rocks, and Gillian wrapped his coat around him. “I couldn’t find him.”
    Tears cascaded down her cheeks and dripped on the rocks. “I don’t care about him. We have to get you to the house.” Gillian pressed her body close to his under his coat and started for home.
    Rhys flinched as they walked past the last of the fire consuming the Femme Rouge . The sloop was named for his mother who had gifted him with his red hair. She’d been the finest woman he’d known…until Gillian.
    He couldn’t tell if the tremors racking his body belonged to him or his wife. He heard her sobs…saw the stark horror on her face, but he couldn’t comfort her yet.
    Gillian allowed Wee Jacques into the house with them, and got both him and the wolf to the fire seconds after the door closed. She started stripping him of his wet clothes. Rhys was grateful because his fingers were numb, and he wasn’t sure he could work the buttons. When she had him stripped, she yanked the afghan from the sofa and wrapped it around as much of him as the cover would fit. Before he could say anything, she’d moved a chair before the fire and shoved him down. She never spoke and dashed away when he reached for her. Rhys gave up. He couldn’t fight the cold threatening to stop his heart and Gillian. When he recovered, he’d soothe her.
    Gillian returned with long johns and a flannel nightgown. He hated the pajamas and never wore them, but tonight, the flannel never looked or felt so good. Again, she left him and then brought back a basin full of water. He stood to help her, but with the sharp look she shot him, he sat back down.
    “For your feet.” He watched her throat work as she swallowed tears. He inhaled a sharp breath when she didn’t just leave the tub, but knelt before him and rubbed each of his feet between her hands like she had done his hands the night they welcomed in a new year. She massaged his feet for long minutes and placed them in the lukewarm water. Because of her earlier attentions, they didn’t burn like they would have before.
    Still on her knees, she took his hands, massaging life back into each finger. “Do you need water for your hands?”
    “No, thank you, ma petite .”
    Tears fell in earnest cutting through the black soot on her cheeks and leaving harsh paths. He leaned forward and cupped her face between his hands. “Gillian, I am fine, my love. This isn’t my first icy swim.”
    “I know, but I was so scared, Rhys. When you disappeared…” He lifted her onto his lap and wrapped the blanket around them both. Her sobs were so fierce they shook her, as well as him.
    “You saved me. He was going to shoot me, and you saved me, Gillian. I am so proud.”
    “I…destroyed…you! I cost you…dearly.”
    He crooked a finger under her chin and tipped her face so their gazes met. “What are you talking about? Edgar Nulton cost me dearly, though not so dearly as losing you.”
    “But he was my father. You said it, my family cost you, and he’d have done nothing to hurt you if I’d only done what…”
    Rhys cut her off by crushing his mouth to hers. Once she was thoroughly silenced from spewing such bile, he broke the connection. He swiped at the tears and soot on her face. How could she think such a thing after standing beside him and fighting just as hard to save the Femme. He’d be lost without her standing beside him in all things.
    “I should never have said such a thing, mon ange , and I assure you, even in my rage, I did not include you. You know you’re the greatest blessing of my life, Gillian Chermont.”
    “But…”
    He captured her mouth in another kiss. When he broke from her, she wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him close. The clock ticked a sad countdown to morning. When a log broke in the fire, Gillian startled against him, and he held her closer.
    Her arms dropped from around his neck, and she tried to stand. Rhys held her to him. “Where are you