Surrender to Me (The Derrings #4)(67)

Heat swarmed Astrid’s face. Wrapping the covers around herself, she slid from the bed and dropped her bare feet to the floor. Her toes dug into the soft rug. “Yes, thank you.”

“I imagine you did.” Her expression turned lascivious. “With a bedmate like yours, I would have, too.”

Ignoring the comment, Astrid bent and snatched her clothes off the floor.

“I must say,” the girl began.

Astrid shot her a wary glance as she shook out her impossibly wrinkled gown with one hand.

“The way he was looking at you, I was a wee bit surprised that he left so early this morning. Especially on such an errand.”

The hairs on her nape prickled and her stomach began to churn uneasily. “Left?” She could not keep the single word from escaping.

“Aye. Departed over an hour ago.”

As much as it pricked her pride to interrogate a maid on Griffin’s whereabouts and plans, nothing could stop her from asking, “Where did he go?”

“To fetch the reverend in the next village.” She shook her head and laughed ruefully as she set the pitcher on a side table. “You should see the two lairds.”

“Why is that?”

“They’re downstairs even now discussing wedding plans like a couple of old women.”

Astrid’s stomach plunged to her feet in a vicious dive. She dropped back on the bed, her legs suddenly too weak to support herself.

“Never thought to see those two old dogs breaking bread together…even if they still snipe at one another in the process.” She sighed contentedly. “Can’t tell you how happy everyone is. No one ever relished the idea of that Thomas as lord and master of Balfurin. Griffin’s homecoming is a blessing, to be certain. And now his marriage to Petra…well, everything is coming together.”

Astrid nodded dumbly. Of course. He had decided to marry Petra. Precisely as she had urged him. For duty’s sake. For his family, his people…for Petra who had suffered more than any woman should.

For whatever reason, his conscience and good sense must have reared its head at last.

Perhaps that is what he wanted to tell her last night. Before she stopped him, crushing her lips to his. Perhaps last night had been good-bye for him, too. A final farewell before he went about his duty.

“I see,” she murmured, the words escaping her tight throat. “Good for Griffin. And Petra.” She nodded once in a satisfied manner, contrary to the ache that flared to life beneath her breastbone, calling her a liar and ten kinds of fool. A scathing voice rose up inside her, whispering and taunting her…

Did you think this would be so simple? That you could walk away and not feel pain? You don’t want him to marry Petra. You don’t want him to marry anyone but you.

She shoved down the insistent voice in her head, pushing it to the dark well inside where she had stored feelings she deemed too volatile, too selfish, too much like those that had guided her mother and led her to ruin.

Standing, she gathered her composure, cloaking herself in a sheet of ice strong enough to kill off pathetic sentiments.

Uncaring of her audience, she dropped the counterpane and set about dressing herself with stiff movements. Denying Petra a marriage to Griffin would be pure selfishness. Griffin and Petra were right. Astrid and Griffin…well, they were something else. Something that could never be——naught but a dream, elusive and fleeting, never intended to last. Fitting that he should have left before she woke. Would that his memory vanish from her heart as easily.

Her husband had raped Petra. That alone stood as reason to bite her tongue and set aside the love she felt for Griffin…and whatever he may or may not feel for her. Surrendering the man she loved was the least she could do.

Dressed and composed, Astrid walked down the corridor with brisk steps, intent on speaking with Laird MacFadden about arranging an escort to Edinburgh. With luck, she would be gone before Griffin returned.

A part of her died, withered inside at reaching this decision. No good-byes. No seeing him one final time. No pressing her lips to his in a lingering taste. They would never again have a night in each other’s arms.

It had taken her all day to gather her nerve and decide to approach MacFadden. A day spent contemplating Griffin’s abrupt departure, and his stinging neglect to inform her of his intention to wed Petra.

It was one matter to have encouraged his nuptials to Petra, but another to watch him marry another with her own eyes. Her heart could not stand witness to such heartbreak. Nor her dignity. She would be gone before such an event took place.

Quickening her pace, she turned the corridor, noticing a couple ahead. One of them, a female, struck a familiar chord.

“Petra?” she called.

The cloaked woman looked over her shoulder, the action inherently anxious, apprehensive. Seeing Astrid, Petra stopped and shot a vague, inscrutable look at her companion, a young man that held her arm in a plainly possessive hold.

Astrid quickly closed the distance, assessing the man beside Petra suspiciously, her gaze lingering on his hand gripping Petra’s arm.

“Is everything all right?”

“Yes. Fine,” Petra replied, her voice a bit strident as she looked to the man beside her.

Astrid followed her gaze, arching a brow. “Won’t you introduce me?”

“Oh. This is…Andrew.”

“Andrew,” Astrid murmured, somehow not surprised. Her gaze ran over the coachman. Although not particularly handsome, he was strapping, his arms thickly muscled. One of his broad hands clutched the handle of a valise.