Sarah’s obvious wish to put distance between them punched Munro in the gut. He’d already fantasized at length about another night of intimate cuddling and touching—getting to know each other’s bodies.

However, he’d promised to be patient. He had to give her time.

To do what? Decide she doesna love ye?

Grinding his teeth, he lifted the shawl onto her shoulders when she rose from the table, itching to knead his fingers into her slender nape.

The color had drained from her face. It struck him the impending separation would be as hard for her as it was for him. “I do want to see the Shrewsbury School,” he lied. “And visit Wales, the land of my forebears,” he added lamely.

He paid for the meal on the way out, assuring the landlord he’d be taking the coach on the morrow.

“Right-ho,” came the reply. “Still just the one seat?”

Munro glanced at Sarah, hoping against hope, but she averted her eyes and walked away into the foyer. “Aye, just the one.”

“Nine o’the clock. Luke’ll fetch down thy luggage.”

“I’ll be back shortly, after I escort Mrs. North home,” he replied pointedly, mindful of Sarah’s concerns.

“Thy laundry’ll be here. Haven’t seen much of thee lately.”

He nodded his thanks. At least he’d be venturing abroad with clean shirts. It was of little comfort.

Sarah refused to meet his gaze when he reached the foyer. He linked arms with her, determined to relish every step of the short walk to her home.

Sarah had a thousand reasons for wanting to put some distance between her and Munro while she came to terms with all that had happened, but couldn’t organize her thoughts about a single one as they walked in silence.

The stern set of Munro’s clenched jaw indicated his reluctance to give voice to his feelings.

They reached the door of the shop all too soon. Munro produced his key, unlocked the door then handed it to her. “Ye’ll need this for Giles, and I’ll have nay use for it in Shrewsbury.”

She hesitated, her innards in knots. What if he didn’t come back? The urge to recant her suggestion burned in her brain. But if he went away and did return, then she’d be sure her parentage was of no concern.

He stepped inside and drew her into his embrace. “Ye’d best be ready when I return, Sarah. I’m a patient mon, but I have need of ye and I canna wait forever.”

She opened her mouth, not certain what to say in reply, but it was of no consequence when he kissed her. She’d expected hunger, frustration, maybe even anger. Instead, the tenderness and longing in his slow, deep kiss moved her to tears. She was bereft when he stepped back. “Be sure to lock up,” he reminded her, doffing his hat. “Fare-thee-well, Sarah.”

She watched him walk away for a moment or two, then had to close the door, her mind racked by agonizing doubts. Her knees buckled and she slid to the floor, leaning her head back against the door.

She wasn’t sure how long she sat there, too heartsick to cry, when Giles’ voice penetrated the fog. “Are you all right, Mrs. North?”

She managed a weak smile. The boy looked like an angel illuminated by the flickering flame of the candle he held aloft. She accepted his hand to help her rise. “Yes. Just tired.”

“Is Mr. Pendray not coming in?”

She stiffened her spine. “No. He has to get up early on the morrow to go to Shrewsbury.”

He frowned, his lip quivering, and for a moment she feared he might burst into tears. “But he’s coming back?”

“Yes,” she assured him, desperately hoping she spoke the truth. “Off to bed. Sorry I woke you.”

He handed her the candle, then disappeared into the dark shop.

She climbed the stairs, undressed slowly, blew out the candle and collapsed into bed, too weary to hang her best clothes back on the peg. The tears came readily. She sobbed until her head ached and her throat was raw. It was of little consolation there was no one there to hear her weep.

Munro collected his laundry from the innkeeper, nodded a goodnight greeting and fled to his room. He stuffed the clean shirts into his satchel, grabbed the bolster, sat on the bed with it in his lap, and gave vent to his frustration. The heavy pillow served alternately as Reginald, then Henry Marten as he pounded his fist into it. He raged at the damage the two men had wrought on the woman he loved.

Finally exhausted, he hugged the bolster to his chest and buried his chin in it, trying to steady his breathing and get his thoughts in order.

The days ahead loomed like a jagged rock on which his ship might founder. Coach travel could be dangerous. According to his father, Wales was even more rugged and bleak than Scotland. What if he was injured or killed en route, or murdered? Sarah would think he’d abandoned her.

Inhaling deeply, he admitted he was thinking like a deranged person. It was his responsibility to stay safe so he could return.

But did she really want him to?

He gritted his teeth and punched the bolster again. “Of course she does. She canna live without ye.”

He chuckled wearily at his boast. “Apparently, she can.”

Reason told him Sarah was right. There were practical and emotional things she needed to sort out, and he’d only distract her. He’d perhaps fallen in love too quickly and a few days apart would do them both good. But his aching heart refused to listen to reason.

Finally, unable to stay awake any longer, he reluctantly took off his boots, undressed and climbed into a cold and lonely bed.