Nerves wound tight and seething, Alistair paced the corridor outside the bathroom as they waited for the spare key. Sophia’s first scream robbed him of the last of his patience.

“Get out of my way,” he shouted, and crashed his shoulder against the door. It rattled, but didn’t give.

“Wait.” Tavish’s hand stopped him from throwing himself against the door a second time. “Let’s do it together. On three.”

Alistair heaved when both women cried one last time, but paced away taking distance and giving his brother his back. “Ready?”

Tavish nodded and counted, “One. Two. Three.”

The brothers threw themselves against the door, flinging it off its hinges.

Alistair looked around horrified.

In the middle of the bathroom floor among water, purple tulips and the broken Baccarat vase, Emma was lying in a pool of blood that was gushing from her face.

“Call an ambulance,” he shouted over his shoulder, his gaze sweeping the room. Fuck! Where is she? Breathe, Alistair Connor! It’s not the time for panic. “Sophia!”

He stepped over Emma and his heart stopped for a second when he saw her.

“Sophia!!” He fell on his knees in front of a very pale Sophia, sitting with her back against the wall. His eyes and hands hovered over her bloodied dress and the knife stuck in her stomach, not knowing exactly what to do. Fuck, fuck! “Mo gradh, don’t worry. Everything will be okay,” he said resolutely.

“Cold,” she whispered through blue lips, a loud roar filling her ears. Her wide dark eyes roamed over him as he immediately took off his jacket. “I’m cold.”

“Lay her down after you put your jacket on her,” Tavish ordered calmly, kneeling beside her with a first aid kit.

“How?” He looked pointedly at the blade protruding from between her fingers.

“Right, Alistair Connor, keep her calm. Keep her warm. Lay her down, but be careful no’ tae jolt her. I’ll put a dressing around the wound, and apply pressure. Any doubts?” Tavish didn’t even look at him and kept his voice soothingly calm. “Do it. Quickly and calmly. The shock will have lowered her blood pressure and body temperature.”

Oh, Christ! Let it not be as bad as it looks. “All right.” He gently put his jacket over her and laid her down. Neither his hands, nor his face betrayed the guilt and shock he was feeling inside. I’ve brought this on her.

“Let me,” Tavish took her fingers from her belly and put his handkerchief around the blade, pressing down firmly. He looked up at an ashen Edward on the threshold. “Give me your jacket, too.”

Sophia’s gaze shifted to Tavish as a giddy, floating sensation took hold of her. Am I going to die? “Numb.”

He squinted at the blade and back at her face. “The wound doesn’t seem deep. The cold is from the shock, okay? Doona move.”

As if I would go dancing, you moron. The thought seemed so out of place that her lips curled up.

Leonard entered the room with two police officers. His face was taut and he stepped over Emma to squat near them. “The ambulance is coming. How is she?”

“Mostly superficial cuts. Nothing to worry about,” Tavish said soothingly, smiling back at her, covering her legs with Edward’s jacket and directing Alistair’s fingers to substitute his.

A strange calm had fallen over Sophia as she observed Tavish’s sure movements. She couldn’t see the woman on the floor, but her presence was grating on her nerves. Her gaze moved back to Alistair’s face. Apart from a slight darkening in his eyes, he maintained a calmness that helped keep at bay the panic that was threatening to pull her down.

Did I kill…? “Is she…” She couldn’t say the word or bear the thought of one more death hanging over her head.

Alistair understood the question, but he couldn’t care less if Emma was dead or not.

Tavish grinned, shaking his head at her. “Only you, Sophia.”

But, for her, there was nothing funny in the possibility.

Alistair noticed Emma’s chest expand and deflate. “Unfortunately, she’s still alive.”

“The ambulance must be arriving at any moment,” Tavish said, rising, intending on helping Emma.

“Tavish Uilleam.” Alistair’s growl was full of menace and anger.

Tavish stopped. “Brother?”

“Let her rot.” In hell.

* * *

Whispered voices shrieked inside her ears. Bright lights sucked her away from the darkness. She was feeling dizzy and weak. And her fuzzy brain couldn’t tell her why.

She shivered and slowly opened her eyes. Gravity suddenly weighed on her and she hurt. Everywhere.

Oh, God. Emma. She closed her eyes and moaned.

A door closed and soft steps approached her.

“I’m here.” Alistair bent down and pressed his lips tight on her forehead. “How are you feeling?”

“Hurt. All over. Lights, please,” she whispered. When the brightness diminished, she peered at him through half-open eyelids, only to close them again. I’m so tired. Take me home, meu amor.

She can’t even bear to look at me. He sat on the edge of the bed beside her.

“Can I go home?”

“I believe so. The nurse just left and said everything looks good. He even took you off the IV, but you were sleeping so profoundly that you only sighed. The doctor has been here twice. She will come back later. She said it’s a normal reaction. Your blood pressure lowered and you lost some blood. But the wound wasn’t too deep. She said that the best medicine for you is to rest now.” He spoke every thought that came to his mind to scare away the frustration with his inability to protect her.

It was weird to listen to Alistair’s babbling. He was never nervous. In her fuzzy state, she gave it the briefest passing thought and let it go.

All she wanted was to go home and sleep for days until all this had dissolved into nothing more than a horrible nightmare. “Gabriela?”

“With Alice. Safe and sound. And happy. We didn’t tell her what happened.”

All she could do was nod. She ached in so many places that she couldn’t have done more.

He sat on the edge of the bed, looking at her pale face with dark shadows under her eyes. His gaze hovered over her shoulders and arms. All he could see now were the two white dressings on her arm.

Tavish said she had been very lucky. And the doctors confirmed. A couple of inches to the side and farther into her stomach and the blade would have hit the femoral artery. She could have died. And he was responsible. “Sophia.”

She opened her eyes, astounded by the stern way he said her name. Is he mad at me? Or… “Is she okay?”

Really? He snorted. “The vase hit her temple and broke the skin. That’s why there was so much blood. She had some stitches and her face is badly swollen and bruised. That’s all.” And a concussion that will keep her in hospital for a day or so. You hit hard, my love.

Oh, God, thank you. Tears of relief filled her eyes and she turned her face into the pillow trying to hide her angst and horror at what the situation that could have been.

“Don’t cry, mo cridhe. Emma deserved it.” And much more.

Maybe. But I don’t want any more deaths on my CV. Guilt, confusion, and anger wedged their ways into her mind and a dam of tears broke loose.

Oh, Christ. He leaned over her and cradled her gently onto his chest, comforting her. “Hush, sweetheart, hush.”

And what if she comes after you next time? Sophia wrapped her arms around his broad back and cried.

Believing he was the main cause of her distress, her disheartened tears compressed around his heart. He ran his hand over her back, saying tender words, but nothing seemed to calm her. He understood it was the psychological trauma. However, he couldn’t deny that the stabbing had come from his past.

She’s young, gentle, and beautiful. She needs a better man. He had dragged her into his complicated life and she deserved much more than he could possibly offer her. Without her, you’ll be a hollow shell. Don’t even think about the alternative.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered with a last shuddered sob. She let her arms fall on the bed. He lowered her and she wiped her face dry with the sheet.

“I’m sorry too.”

For once, in an unselfish and fair conclusion, he decided to give her an option. His deep intake of breath called her attention to his face.

Alistair looked haggard, as if he hadn’t slept the whole night. Dark whiskers shadowed his jaw and his forest-green eyes were bloodshot. Troubled. And pained.

Sophia had seen enough hurt in his eyes to know that he carried too much weight in his soul and that he had added tons to it since yesterday. A tremor washed through her. “I don’t want to hear—”

His fingers came to rest tenderly on her mouth. “Let me speak, please. What happened yesterday was all my fault. I should have known that she would be there. I should have instructed security better. They looked in her purse and found nothing. Fuck!” He ran a hand through his hair exasperated, rising from the bed and pacing the room like a caged tiger. “She was armed to kill, for Christ’s sake.”

She heard his regret in his measured pacing. It was now mixed with insecurity, sorrow, and a desire to clean the slate and start fresh. A desire she knew very well. She was surprised she could judge his emotions so precisely in her dizzy state. Then it dawned on her that she would have understood him at any other time. Because it was him, the man she loved more than herself.

Away from the bed, he spun on his heels and his troubled eyes fixed on hers.

“I…I wish I could undo my past. I wish I could go back and be whole again. For you. To have lived a different life, but…I can’t,” his voice acquired a gruff tone that belied his stoic face. “I’ll understand if you—”

“Are you being serious?” she cut in, not believing her ears. She held out her hand trying to bridge the distance between them. Losing him would destroy her.

He tilted his head, considering it before he walked back to her bed and took it, standing rigidly beside her.

Her eyes fixed on his and, unapologetically, painfully, skinned him bare, down to the soul.

He closed his eyes and kept his distance as if this would save him from her redeeming touch. She tugged and he sat on the edge of her bed.

“Are you blaming yourself? For a lunatic?” This is about you, Alistair Connor. My Highland warrior. My Lord Caveman. My love. Mine. “Don’t you dare do this. Because, Alistair Connor, you yourself have already made me wonderful promises that I want to see fulfilled. You, Alistair Connor, are mine to decide what to do with. You lost all the rights over yourself when you put that ring on my finger.” She watched his face for a clue. Lighten the mood, Sophia. She wiggled her right fingers at him. “By the way, where is that heavy, gray rock? I want it back.”

His lips curled up in a ghost of a smile. You don’t want to discuss the subject. I know you by now. Sometimes you’re infuriatingly stubborn, but damned if I don’t love you even more. He rose and crossed the room. Unlocking the safe inside the wardrobe, he took her ring and walked back.

“Here, milady.” Softly, he pushed the ring on her finger.

She grinned at him, “It’s only coming off this hand again when it goes on to the left one. Understood?”

He bowed his head, smiling back. “Absolutely.” Christ, Sophia, this is not about your next shopping spree. It’s serious.

Change the subject, Alistair Connor. I will never let you go.

The door opened after a knock and a petite Chinese woman wearing a white coat over a blue printed dress entered the room. “Ah! I see our patient is awake,” she said with a smile. “I’m Doctor Chen Lan. How are you feeling?”

What do you think? “Apart from hurting all over? I’m fine. I just want to go home,” Sophia answered.

The doctor checked her vital signs with practiced movements, talking the whole time in a light tone. She wrote on Sophia’s chart and signed it. “You’re free to go. I need your promise to rest. You’re very lucky the cut was not too deep. Still it is a stabbing, so it needs care. I’ll be right back with your out-patient instructions and the list of medicines you’ll have to take.”

* * *

Standing before the TV, clutching a remote in one hand and his cell phone against his ear, Alistair swung round as she emerged from Gabriela’s room into the TV room. “Aye, I think it’d be better. Come by.”

“Who’s coming by?” Sophia was wearing a loose black long flowing dress, her hair piled high on her head.

“Davidoff and Ash. They need to talk to you. They’ll be here in a few minutes,” he said, as he consulted his watch. He ran a hand over his tired face. “Sit, Sophia.”

What now? She cocked her head to the side, gauging his mood, but his characteristic poker-face was in place. She sat on the comfortable sofa and stretched her legs on the ottoman he had pushed in her direction.

“Comfortable?”

“Spill, Handsome. I’m not made of glass.” She patted the sofa beside her where he sat.

“The police were here while you were with Gabriela. They need your statement. I told them—”

“I won’t press charges,” she whispered.

You’re kidding me, right? His jaw clenched and he narrowed his eyes at her before asking, “Why no’?”

Because. “I don’t want to go to the police or to court. I don’t want the newspapers sniffing around and writing more than they already are. I don’t want to see our lives transformed into a circus, Alistair Connor.”

“She could have killed you.” These excuses are ridiculous, Counselor. I’m not convinced.

I’m here, aren’t I? “Yeah, she could have,” she sighed. “But still, I don’t want to press charges.” She could seek revenge on you. On us.

“This is not—” Something in her eyes made him stop. “What is it, Sophia?”

Your past haunting you. “I’ve gone through this once. I don’t have the strength to do it all again. Please…try to understand.”

“I see,” he breathed, not seeing at all, but he let it go. She was already too distressed to start a discussion. Without a word, he turned on the TV.

Sophia closed her eyes and rested her head on a cushion, enjoying the homely and peaceful feeling. Alistair’s fingers fluttered over the back of her hand and her forearm lulling her into a delicious sleepy haze.

“Mrs. Leibowitz,” Zareb’s voice came through the sound system, “Mr. Davidoff and Ms. Carruthers have arrived.”

“Hmm,” she complained, opening her eyes and grabbing the phone on the side table. “Okay, Zareb. Send them up, please.”

Alistair rose to greet them as they appeared at the top of the stairs. “Davidoff, Ash.”

“MacCraig.” Edward shook Alistair’s hand and came to Sophia’s side, squatting beside her. His blue eyes were concerned when he pushed a lock of her hair behind her ear. “Hello, love. How are you?”

“Beaten,” she breathed, and blinked to whisk away the tears that gathered in her eyes. Sophia was having trouble keeping her feelings in check. She was going through a whole mix of emotions—fear, anger, pain, and guilt. All at the same time.

“I know the feeling,” he whispered, hugging her in his arms. “It’ll get better in a few days.”

A shuddered breath left her lips. “Yeah, I know. Dr. Kent was here earlier and we talked.”

“Hello, my dear. We were worried.” Ashley kissed her cheek and smiled. “I’m booking you for my defense class.” She sloshed in the armchair across Edward with a wry smile. “Maybe you can teach us a few moves.”

That drew a smile from Sophia.

“What can I offer you?” Alistair asked, as Edward took off his jacket and loosened his tie.

“Just water,” said Ashley, “we haven’t had dinner yet.”

“Then you’ll eat with us.” Sophia picked up the phone and informed Aisha that there would be four at dinner.

Edward’s eyes searched Alistair’s before he flung himself in the armchair and stared at Sophia. “Sophia. Listen closely. We—I think it’s best if you disappear for some days until everything is back to normal.”

Disappear? “Pardon?” she whispered. What do you mean?

A happy female voice coming from the TV called Alistair’s attention and he stiffened when he saw the images. The camera had filmed Sophia and Emma leaving the gallery in ambulances.

Fuck. He reached for the remote control to switch off the TV when Sophia ordered, “Don’t.”

His gaze riveted to her face. Her face was pale and she had thinned her lips.

“—Gabriel Leibowitz’s widow, owner of Leibowitz Oil International. She’s been living here in London for two years hiding under her maiden name. She has since become engaged to Lord Alistair MacCraig, the Marquis of Ells and CEO of The City of London Bank. Yesterday, she was stabbed during the VIP opening of his art gallery, The Blue Dot, in Chelsea. The crime is still unexplained, and it is believed, was perpetrated by Lord Ells’s late wife’s sister, Emma Miller. Until this edition, no charges have been pressed and the police chief said he could make no comments. We’ve tried to reach her family in Rio de Janeiro, but no one was available to answer our questions. All the Leibowitz Oil employees are refusing to comment on the episode. From Saw Paulo, Brazil, our correspondent, Silvia Marques, has more news.”

Alberto Leibowitz appeared on the screen with his arm around Rose. The reporter introduced them and asked what Alberto could tell her about his daughter-in-law.

“Sophia Espírito Santo, the woman our son married, has been declared psychiatrically unstable more than once by doctors and has even lost custody of her daughter,” he said in perfect English and shook papers to emphasize his statement. “She kidnapped our baby granddaughter after our son died and has disappeared with her. We’re taking legal measures to correct this. Our lawyers have been directed to petition the English courts, proving her incapacity and requiring that custody of our granddaughter be given to us. Justice will prevail.” Alberto’s voice had the kind of mad tone one would be scared of.

No! Never! A strangled sound left Sophia’s mouth and she bit down on her bottom lip to avoid the tears that seemed unending.

“Fucking press.” Alistair switched off the TV after the subject changed. He didn’t need a degree in psychology to guess how it would rankle such a proud woman as Sophia to hear her life being dissected publicly. He knew she used her pride as a mask to avoid people getting near her. Anxiety flowed from her body, and when she reached up to dry her eyes, Alistair gently lifted her onto his lap. His fingers slid into her raven locks, pushing her head into the hollow of his shoulder. His large hand rubbed her back to take away some of the stress he had caused. He would do anything to ease her pain.

Can this get any worse? She leaned her head on him and closed her eyes, softly sighing.

“What do you want to do?” Edward’s question was meant for her, but he was looking at Alistair.

Sophia looked up at Alistair, then at Edward’s face. “If I follow your advice? Simply hide again?”

“It’s not going to work anymore. They’ll chase you. Until you tire…or break,” Ashley informed without preambles.

“So, we grab the bull by the horns.” Alistair met Edward’s gaze head on.

“Well, that’s Ash’s suggestion. However…knowing Sophia as I do, I’d rather she disappeared.”

Sophia met Alistair’s gaze with resolute eyes. “I don’t want my personal life strewn across the front page of these English tabloids.”

“Sophia, sweetheart,” Alistair murmured, “I don’t think you have a choice in the matter anymore.”

“Neither do I. Either we give them something, or they’re going to do their worst and dig up whatever they can,” Ashley opened her laptop and started typing.

Edward considered her face with caution before he said, “With Alberto on your trail…who knows what can come out. He can make something up that’s much worse. I fully understand your desire for privacy, but the press, it’s the lesser of two evils.”

Dammit. Sophia turned her teary gaze on Edward. “I hate the press.”

He smiled at her wryly. “I’m sure they feel the opposite about you. You’re it right now. You’re only going to help sales if you disappear.”

“Rumors will brew and spread,” Ash snorted, “I’ve seen it became uncontrollable.”

“I don’t want Gabriela involved. I’ll do everything I can to protect her,” she stated.

Alistair’s hand squeezed hers. “Relax. Nobody will hurt her. Nor you, for that matter. They just want to sell their dirty papers.”

“I suggest a press conference, tomorrow at lunch time. That way I’ll have time to call those I think are most malleable and block the worst scum.” Ashley lifted her eyes waiting for Sophia’s agreement.

Sophia searched Alistair’s strength.

He tightened his arms around her. “I’m here to support your decision even though I think a press conference should be held.”

Oh, damn. Here it comes again. “Tomorrow, midday then. Ash, limit the number to ten journalists—”

Ashley shook her head.

“Twenty then. One question each. After that I’ll spend a month in an abbey in confinement.”

“Airgead,” suggested Alistair. “I can work from the Inverness office if needed.”

Home. She nodded, “Airgead, it is then.”

“So, let’s prepare ourselves for tomorrow,” said Ashley in her business like way.

“Wait!” Alistair interjected. “I have an idea. If it works, the press conference will be much easier to handle.”