Finally, Bob realized how he could get her to look underneath the surface of his note. In the middle of the night, he got up, snugged the quilt against the door, switched on the lamp and rolled a piece of paper into the typewriter. It took several tries to get it right. He kept blinking and yawning. But finally he had a message that might pass muster with Derrick while still alerting Bridget.

Looking at the finished product, he sighed. Because he also knew that it might hurt her.

BRIDGET

A Rabble Approaching

“I won’t let anyone hurt you again.” King Orwen gathered Jancy into his arms.

With a gasp, she went rigid. But when he did nothing more, her shoulders slowly relaxed. She tilted her head back to return his gaze.

His focus narrowed until there was only her. Did Jancy have any idea how beautiful she was, with her black curls tumbling past her shoulders? Her generous mouth, ripe for kissing?

His gaze went from her full lips to her sky-blue eyes and back again. And she was doing the same to him, looking from eyes to lips to eyes to—

“Sire!” A page burst into the room. “Sire!”

Releasing Jancy, King Orwen turned, warmth replaced by cold fury. “Did I not make it clear I was not to be disturbed?” His hand dropped to the hilt of his sword. He was torn between taking the flat to the boy’s backside or simply running him through.

The page’s face paled until the only color was the spots on his forehead and cheeks. “Begging your pardon, Sire, but there is a rabble approaching.” He drew a shaky breath. “And they are demanding your head.”

With a sigh, Bridget closed Mountains of the Moon. She gave the book a pat to thank it. She’d read it a dozen times, but that ending never failed to thrill her.

For a long moment, Ajay didn’t move. Didn’t even seem to breathe. Then he shook his head as if waking from a dream. “Wait. What?”

“That’s the end of the last book.” Reading aloud the scene between Jancy and King Orwen, Bridget had imagined herself and Ajay. What would it be like to have his arms around her? To feel him press his lips against her throat? Every day he sat right next to her, close enough that she could feel his warmth. He seemed like a miniature furnace, while she was always bouncing her knees, snugging her coat tighter, and occasionally blowing on her fingers. And every day he did not move a millimeter closer.