He rushed into the room, shocked to find it empty. Where would she go? He had rather expected to find her hiding in an armoire or a closet or something, but the room looked still and undisturbed.
Then he thought, what if she had gone to his rooms, fearing for him as he had for her? He sprinted back up, rushing with all haste to sling his door open.
And there she was. Not hiding as he would have expected, but standing in a too-thin gown, ephemeral in the cool air of the tower. He shut the door and rushed in.
"Andrew," she cried, her voice oddly resonant. "I've been waiting for you! I'm so afraid!"
He rushed to her and held her, fighting a nagging feeling that something was terribly wrong.
"Come with me," he told her, throwing a cloak over her shoulders.
They'd made it! They were out! He looked back over it all, and it seemed like nothing but a dream. They'd run from the Tower before the Templars had realized there was something wrong, and now they were standing at the altar.
He was marrying the woman of his dreams!
She said her vows without hesitation, and he stared at her. When had she stopped stuttering? It was so endearing. He found he rather missed it. But oh well, he wanted her to be happy, and surely she was happier without it.
He found himself looking back on those first two years of wedded bliss with a great deal of longing. "He's just like his mother," he told Miranne. "Too full of energy for me to keep up with."
She laughed, a purring, sweet laugh. "You keep up just fine," she told him suggestively.
He kissed her over their son's head.
"I'll let you prove it later," she told him, arching one of those perfect red brows at him.
He couldn't help but smile.