Page 18 of Loving Graystoke's Heir

He hated the way his beast said her name, because he said it the same way Donal did when he laid his head down at night and prayed for her. They said her name like it was the prayer itself. Like it could conjure her into existence before them.

Tamsin.

And then it did.

She was there. Standing at the edge of the mess tent, her hand on one of the posts, gripping the wooden length as if it was the only thing holding her upright.

And maybe it was.

Because the only thing that kept him on his feet when he jumped down from the back of the jeep was the sheer will of his beast, the very creature who Donal had thought to protect her from years before.

He wasn’t sure how he managed to move. Donal didn’t recall taking the first step in her direction, or the next, or however many steps separated the two.

What he did remember was the way she lifted her hand toward his cheek.

Donal felt her breath on his face and saw the soul-deep pain in her eyes, but when he braced for the impact of her palm, steeled himself for the pain that was rightfully his, he ended up waiting for something that didn’t happen.

No, Tamsin Ellery, the woman who had lived and breathed in every dream and every nightmare since the day he’d left her behind, touched the side of his face with infinite care and drew her fingertips down over his two day growth before she parted her lips to speak.

“I can’t believe it’s really you.”

He had to touch her too.

Had to put his hand on her skin.

Covering her hand with his, he lifted her searching fingers from his face and turned it over so he could lean his nose into her palm. He drew in a breath, bringing her scent so deep into his body that he could taste it on his tongue.

She smelled of rain and cotton, cinnamon, and sugar.

She smelled of every good memory he’d ever had in his life because she was a part of those moments.

“Tamsin.” He said the name out loud and felt her hand tremble in his.

“Donal,” his name caught in her throat, and he longed to see if he could taste it on her tongue. “You’re alive.”

He saw her wince at her own words, but he wouldn’t allow her to take them back or apologize.

“I can see why you would question it, Tam. I wanted to tell you-”

“This isn’t Victorian times, Donal. Even back then when people traveled to the different continents, and what they considered the ‘corners’ of the world, letters were sent. They didn’t need telephones or the internet, they still got their message through.”

He saw the shift in her eyes. The deep, churning ache sharpened and turned cold and distant. Or maybe she’d just buried the heat down deep below the glassy surface of her eyes.

Tamsin took her hand back from his. She didn’t tug or yank. Calm, she raised her other hand and peeled his fingers away. He wouldn’t grab at her or pull her back. He wouldn’t disrespect her like that, but he couldn’t let her pull too far away before trying to explain.

“I couldn’t tell you where I was or what I was doing. I couldn’t do that and expect you to stay where you were. I couldn’t chance that you’d decide to come after me, or bring me home. I knew if I let you in, I’d never be able to keep you away.”

He heard the crunch of dirt under her boot and felt as if she’d set it straight down on his heart. No matter how much it hurt him to watch her take a step back, the way her voice trembled felt as if it could turn into an earthquake at any moment and split him in two.

“You didn’t want me to come after you?”

“Want? Of course, I wanted you to come, Tamsin. It’s the only reason I left alone in the first place. It wasn’t about what I wanted. It was about your safety.”

“Oh,” she scoffed at him. “I’ve heard this before.”

The hard edge to her voice shocked him. “From who?”

“From you, from your uncle, from everyone in my life who never understood that I grew up. I turned eighteen, and then I passed twenty-one. I’m all grown up, Donal. I can make my own meals, shop for my own clothes, and when I’m feeling like I really want to flex my big-girl muscles, I can cross the street on my own.”

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