She was dressed now as she had been then; a long, fairly full brown woolen skirt, and one of her late husband's too-large white shirts hanging over that skirt and belted at her slim waist; open at the collar, that collar turned up, perhaps to keep the late winter sun from her neck, although the large, battered straw hat she'd brought into the garden with her was hanging from a nearby tree branch. She wore a sleeveless sweater, also too large for her slender frame, and its pockets bulged with whatever she'd carried with her into the garden.
She was, then and now, the most unique woman in the world.
He approached slowly, wondering if he was mad, if he'd misunderstood her letters, if he was meant to ever be happy again.
"Marianna?"
She stopped what she was doing, remained still for a few moments, and then stood up very straight, turned to face him.
Slowly, as he held his breath, feeling less a man of the world than he did a raw youth, she began walking toward him along the brick path, stripping off her gloves. She stopped not two feet in front of him. Smiled.
"Well, Ainsley," she whispered, tears dancing in those beautiful eyes as she raised her face to him, as he bent to capture her mouth, "it certainly took you long enough…"
ISBN: 978-1-4268-0790-9
BECKET'S LAST STAND
Copyright © 2007 by Kathryn Seidick
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