Page 93 of Fortress of Snow

Slowly she raised her head and her eyes met his.

“You are as beautiful as a sunrise, as pretty as any meadow full of flowers. To me you are the most beautiful woman in the world.” And he meant every word. He was so in love with her.

Her eyes were glowing in the dim light. Her lips looked so soft, so close.

His heart beat fast as he leaned toward her. Never had he wanted a kiss so much. Never had anything seemed so good and pure and precious.

She did not move, did not turn away. Indeed, she stared at his lips, then closed her eyes.

He closed the gap between them and pressed his lips to hers.

His heart stopped, then beat heavy and fast. Her lips were perfect—soft but firm as she kissed him back, though awkwardly, which was more endearing than he could have imagined. His must be her first kiss, and the way she leaned into him caused him to groan.

One kiss quickly became two and then three. Soon they were holding each other tighter, kissing more urgently, as if afraid it would end as suddenly as it had begun.

He’d never felt this way before. If only it never had to end. And why should it?

“Mazy, will you marry me?”

They were both breathing as if they’d been running uphill. She stared at him with a dazed look.

“I’m in love with you. You’re good and brave and you’re always so kind.” He sounded like a man with only half a brain.

She kissed him again, pulling his head down to hers, before breaking away and whispering, “Are you sure? Why?”

“Why?” What kind of answer was that? “I love you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I want to protect you and love you and treat you as you deserve to be treated.”

She smiled. “Very well. I will marry you.”

Her smile was as beguiling as her answer. He pulled her up onto her toes and kissed her thoroughly, deeply.

When the kiss ended, she was slow to open her eyes. She sighed and said, “I love you too. I’ve never loved or wanted anyone but you.”

She rested her head against his chest. Then, after a blissful moment of silence, she cried out, “And now you will be killed and I’ll be alone again.”

She tried to pull away but he held on to her. Then he felt her body tremble, as if she was sobbing.

She did love him. This wonderful, clever, courageous, emotional woman loved him.

Mazy was going to lose him.

Now that he had said he loved her and wanted to marry her, he would be ruined and possibly even killed because of that evil Lady Bristow, and Mazy would be completely alone.

Sobs overtook her before she could stop them.

Foolish, unrestrained girl, she berated herself. She tried to breathe in deeply, to force back the sobs. She concentrated on breathing in and out, her forehead pressed against Sir Berenger’s chest.

Oh, the dear, dear man. How she loved him. She never let herself admit that she was in love with him, but she had loved him since she was sixteen years old and living at Strachleigh, basking in every bit of attention he paid to her, marveling at how kind and modest he was. He was never boastful, never rude, never treated anyone—from the least to the greatest—with anything less than respect and kindness. He was so good. Could it be possible that he loved her?

But the very next moment a knife pierced her heart. He was in danger, through no fault of his own, and now the terrible event from his younger years was coming back to haunt him, as he was put in danger once again because of false accusations against him.

“Don’t worry.” He was rubbing the back of her shoulder, touching her hair with his other hand.

Even now he was only thinking of her.

“All may turn out well. I will make sure you are taken care of.”

“Please stop saying that.” She buried her face in his chest.