She didn’t have to love him. She didn’t. He’d said those words to himself so many times during their brief marriage that he almost believed them.

She didn’t have to love him. But she did have to feel free. Free to be happy.

Because if she wasn’t happy…

Well, that would kill him. He could live without her love, but not without her happiness.

Francesca had known the ground would be damp, so she’d brought along a small blanket, the green and gold of the Stirling plaid making her smile wistfully as she spread it out over the grass.

“Hello, John,” she said, kneeling as she carefully arranged the peonies at the base of his headstone. His grave was a simple affair, far less ostentatious than the monuments many of the nobility erected to honor their dead.

But it was what John would have wanted. She’d known him so well, been able to predict his words half the time.

He would have wanted something simple, and he would have wanted it here, in the far corner of the churchyard, closer to the rolling fields of Kilmartin, his favorite place in the world.

And so that was what she’d given him.

“It’s a nice day,” she said, sitting back on her bottom. She hiked up her skirts so that she could sit Indian-style, then carefully arranged them back over her legs. It wasn’t the sort of position she could ever assume in polite company, but this was different.

John would have wanted her to be comfortable.

“It’s been raining for weeks,” she said. “Some days worse than others, of course, but never a day without at least a few minutes of moisture. You wouldn’t have minded it, but I must confess, I’ve been longing for the sun.”

She noticed that one of the stems wasn’t quite where she wanted it, so she leaned forward and reset it into place.

“Of course, it hasn’t really stopped me from going out,” she said with a nervous laugh. “I seem to get caught out in the rain quite a bit lately. I’m not really certain what it is-I used to be more heedful of the weather.”

She sighed. “No, I do know what it is. I’m just afraid to tell you. Silly of me, I know, but…” She laughed again, that strained noise that sounded all wrong from her lips. It was the one thing she’d never felt around John-nervous. From the moment they’d met, she’d felt so comfortable in his presence, so utterly at ease, both with him and herself.

But now…

Now she finally had cause for nerves.

“Something has happened, John,” she said, her fingers plucking at the fabric of her coat. “I… started feeling something for someone that perhaps I shouldn’t have done.”

She looked around, half expecting some sort of divine sign from above. But there was nothing, just the gentle ruffle of wind against the leaves.

She swallowed, focusing her attention back on John’s headstone. It was silly that a piece of rock might come to symbolize a man, but she had no idea where else to look when she spoke to his memory. “Maybe I shouldn’t have felt it,” she said, “or maybe I should have, and I just thought I shouldn’t have. I don’t know. All I know is it happened. I didn’t expect it, but then, there it was, and… with…”

She stopped, her mouth curving into a smile that was almost rueful. “Well, I suppose you know who it was with. Can you imagine?”

And then something remarkable happened. In retrospect, she rather thought the earth should have moved, or a shaft of light come sparkling down from the heavens across the gravesite. But there was none of that. Nothing palpable, nothing audible or visible, just an odd sense of shifting within herself, almost as if something had finally nudged itself into place.

And she knew-truly, fully knew-that John could have imagined it. And more than that, he would have wanted it.

He would have wanted her to marry Michael. He would have wanted her to marry any man with whom she’d fallen in love, but she rather thought he’d be almost tickled that it had happened with Michael.

They were his two favorite people, and he would have liked knowing that they were together.

“I love him,” she said, and she realized it was the first time she’d said it aloud. “I love Michael. I do, and John-” She touched his name, etched in the headstone. “I think you would approve,” she whispered. “Sometimes I almost think you arranged the whole thing.

“It’s so strange,” she continued, tears now filling her eyes. “I spent so much time thinking to myself that I would never fall in love again. How could I possibly? And when anyone asked me what you would have wanted for me, of course I replied that you would wish for me to find someone else. But inside-” She smiled wistfully. “Inside I knew it wouldn’t happen. I wasn’t going to fall in love. I knew it. I absolutely knew it. So it didn’t really matter what you wanted for me, did it?

“Except it did happen,” she said softly. “It happened, and I never expected it. It happened, and it happened with Michael. I love him so much, John,” she said, her voice breaking with emotion. “I kept trying to tell myself that I didn’t, but when I thought he was dying, it was just too much, and I knew… oh God, I knew it, John. I need him. I love him. I can’t live without him, and I just needed to tell you, to know that you… that you…”

She couldn’t go on. There was too much inside of her, too many emotions, all desperately pushing to get out. She put her face in her hands and cried, not out of sorrow, and not out of joy, but just because she couldn’t keep it inside.

“John,” she gasped. “I love him. And I think this is what you would have wanted. I really do, but-”

And then, from behind her, she heard a noise. A footstep, a breath. She turned, but she already knew who it would be. She could feel him in the air.

“Michael,” she whispered, staring at him like he was a specter. He was pale and gaunt and had to lean on a tree for support, but to her he looked perfect.

“Francesca,” he said, the word awkwardly passing over his lips. “Frannie.”

She rose to her feet, her eyes never leaving his. “Did you hear me?” she whispered.

“I love you,” he said hoarsely.

“But did you hear me?” she persisted. She had to know, and if he hadn’t heard her, she had to tell him.

He nodded jerkily.

“I love you,” she said. She wanted to go to him, she wanted to throw her arms around him, but somehow she was rooted to her spot. “I love you,” she said again. “I love you.”

“You don’t have to-”

“No, I do. I have to say it. I have to tell you. I love you. I do. I love you so much.”

And then the distance between them was gone, and his arms came around her. She buried her face against his chest, her tears soaking his shirt. She wasn’t sure why she was crying, but she didn’t really care. All she wanted was the warmth of his embrace.

In his arms she could feel the future, and it was wonderful.

Michael’s chin came to rest on her head. “I didn’t mean that you didn’t need to say it,” he murmured, “just that you didn’t have to repeat it.”

She laughed at that, even as the tears kept flowing, and both of their bodies shook.

“You have to say it,” he said. “If you feel it, then you have to say it. I’m a greedy bastard, and I want it all.”

She looked up at him, her eyes bright. “I love you.”

Michael touched her cheek. “I have no idea what I did to deserve you,” he said.

“You didn’t have to do anything,” she whispered. “You just had to be.” She reached up and touched his cheek, the gesture a perfect mirror of his own. “It just took me a while to realize it, that’s all.”

He turned his face into her hand, then brought both of his up to cover it. He pressed a kiss against her palm, stopping just to inhale the scent of her skin. He’d tried so hard to convince himself that it didn’t matter if she loved him, that having her as his wife was enough. But now…

Now that she’d said it, now that he knew, now that his heart had soared, he knew better.

This was heaven.

This was bliss.

This was something he’d never dared hope to feel, something he never could have dreamed existed.

This was love.

“For the rest of my life,” he vowed, “I will love you. For the rest of my life. I promise you. I will lay down my life for you. I will honor and cherish you. I will-” He was choking on the words, but he didn’t care. He just wanted to tell her. He just wanted her to know.

“Let’s go home,” she said softly.

He nodded.

She took his hand, gently pulling him away from the clearing, back toward the wooded area that lay between the churchyard and Kilmartin. Michael leaned into her tug, but before his feet lifted from the earth, he turned back toward John’s grave and mouthed the words, Thank you.

And then he let his wife lead him home.

“I wanted to tell you later,” she was saying. Her voice was still shaky with emotion, but she was starting to sound a bit more like her usual self. “I’d planned a big romantic gesture. Something huge. Something…” She turned to him, offering him a rueful smile. “Well, I don’t know what, but it would have been grand.”

He just shook his head. “I don’t need that,” he said. “All I need… I just need…”

And it didn’t matter that he didn’t know how to finish the sentence, because somehow she knew, anyway.

“I know,” she whispered. “I need the exact same thing.”

Epilogue

My dear nephew,

Although Helen insists that she was not surprised at the announcement of your marriage to Francesca, I shall own up to a less clever imagination and confess that to me, it came as a complete shock.

I implore you, however, not to confuse shock with lack of acceptance. It did not require much time or thought to realize that you and Francesca are an ideal match. I don’t know how I did not see it before. I do not profess to understand metaphysics, and in truth, I rarely have patience for those who claim that they do, but there is an understanding between the two of you, a meeting of the minds and souls that exists on a higher plane.