Sorry I haven't uploaded a chapter in a while, but here's chapter three. The first part of this story will be a little sad, but don't worry, it will pick up soon with some adventure. Thank you for reading, reviewing and following. I really appreciate it. ~ Sweet R.

Chapter 3: Embers

Several Months Later…

The beam of light caught his eye from several yards away. As Bash reached it, a lump rose in his throat. A lone flowering tree stood in the clearing. Among its snowy petals sat Mary, clutching Francis' lifeless hand. His brother's body rested on the forest floor, encased in the ominous glowing light.

If Bash hadn't known better, he would have thought the tree's toxic beauty held his brother under some kind of trance. But he knew the truth.

Francis was dead.

…

Bash woke up drenched in sweat and placed a hand over his pounding heart. It was a nightmare—a living breathing nightmare. His brother was gone and Mary planned to set sail for Scotland in the next few days. In all his entire life, he'd never felt more lonely.

He rose from his bed and after reviving the glowing coals in the fireplace, he sat in his chair by the hearth, lost in thought. His memory flashed back to his conversation with Mary the other night. She been hurting and alone after bidding farewell to her friend, Lady Greer.

"I lose everyone I love," Mary had lamented.

In a moment of weakness, he'd pulled her into his arms. "Not everyone."

He'd only been trying to comfort her but ended up blurting out his hidden feelings instead. Now Bash felt like a fool, talking of the embers remaining in his heart and offering to go with her to Scotland. Just talking of those nearly dormant embers breathed life into them once again. Now they had grown into a roaring flame, but Mary made her lack of feelings for him painfully clear him by telling him to stay in France.

"As long as she remains in France, I'll protect her with my life," he'd promised Francis. That didn't include starting a relationship with his brother's wife. His foolish actions filled him with guilt. She still needed protection, now more than ever. Maybe if he hadn't admitted his feelings she would have agreed to let him come with her to Scotland and act as one of her guards.

After Francis died, Bash had kept his distance from Mary on purpose. But he secretly kept watch over her from afar. He still remembered how sad and lonely she looked at the funeral, dressed in black and clinging to her rosary beads.

"This is not how we were supposed to go to Paris. We were supposed to dance under the stars," she'd mourned as they stood side by side in front of Francis' casket.

It took every ounce of self-control not to pull her into his arms and comfort her. But it wouldn't have been proper. Instead, he simply nodded and walked away. That's what he'd have to do again tomorrow—push his personal feelings aside and only view Mary as his brother's widow and a dear friend. He'd give her the gift from Francis and then do the most difficult thing of all. Bash would let her go.

…

Mary stared up at the candlelight flickering across the ceiling in her chambers. She desperately needed sleep but it continued to evade her. Every time she closed her eyes, visions of Francis' death haunted her. Several months had passed since that awful day and she thought her heart had finally begun to heal. Then she received Lola's coded letter urging her to return to Scotland in the next few days. There was a short window of opportunity where she'd be guaranteed safe passage. With the realization her days in France were numbered, the wound in her heart had been ripped wide open again.

Finally she couldn't stand the agony any longer. Mary sat up and padded to the far corner of the room. There she found her trunk and clicked open the lid. Her breath caught in her throat, seeing the overcoat Francis wore on their wedding day. She'd stowed it away for safekeeping several months ago and now the sight of it stabbed deep into her soul. Mary sniffled and moved the overcoat aside, choosing a white slightly frayed shirt instead. Hugging the soft fabric close to her chest, she closed the trunk and climbed back into bed.

At first Mary sat by her pillow and buried her face in her husband's shirt, breathing in its scent. It was a nightshirt he'd worn the evening before their fated trip to Paris. To her disappointment, only a faint remnant of her husband's scent remained on the fabric.

She choked back a sob realizing after tonight his scent would probably fade away for good. It was her last chance to savor Francis' memory in the country where they'd shared a life together.

Heartbroken at the thought, Mary spread Francis' shirt over her pillow and rested her head on top of it. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to imagine him holding her. How many times had she fallen asleep with her head resting on his chest? Mary would give anything to hear his steady heartbeat again or simply feel the warmth of his arms around her.

"I'll love you for the rest of my life…and I'll never let you go again," she'd vowed once." It remained true even now.

Her mind skimmed over the past few months. They had been a whirlwind of failed engagements and even a secret fling with the English ambassador. It all seemed hazy and meaningless now. True, over time her feelings for Gideon had grown but she didn't love him. Not really. He'd provided her some temporary comfort but that was the extent of their relationship.

Now Bash had admitted lingering feelings for her. His confession from a few days ago left her heart a jumbled mess. It was why she'd told him to stay in France. Even if she did care for him, Mary couldn't imagine loving someone other than Francis. She wasn't ready to move on and Bash deserved better than half her heart.

She soaked her husband's shirt with her tears. "Oh Francis…I will never…I will never love anyone the way I love you."

Deep in her heart a faint voice whispered. "I pray to God that you do."

After all her tears were spent, Mary fell into a dreamless sleep.