“As do those been, bein . . .”
“Beignets. We can have them every single morning. Màiri, are you saying . . . ?” He couldn’t finish. He simply couldn’t.
“You broke my heart, to use an expression of yours. Last night, I thought to tell you . . .”
He kissed her. Ian couldn’t wait any longer. He pulled his wife toward him and kissed the hell out of her, not even caring they had an audience who was clearly amused by their display.
“I am so very sorry.”
“I packed my trunk for naught.”
Ian wrapped his arms around her, beyond relieved that she’d recovered enough to tease him. “I love you so fucking much.”
“I may have used that word to Marian last eve. But not quite in that way,” Màiri admitted in his ear. He couldn’t help but smile.
“Good. And you can use it again if I ever act like such an asshole.”
He paused.
“So you’ll come back? To Hightower,” he clarified, not wanting to push her on a decision to leave Scotland. As he’d said, it was a huge decision, and he wanted Màiri to have some time to think on it. Unfortunately, they may only have a few days. But the choice was hers, and he intended to honor whatever decision she made.
“You’ll remain my wife?”
Màiri’s smile was even more radiant than the loch beside them.
“I will.”
Ian kissed her again, realizing something important. “If we’re staying married”—his eyes narrowed—“you do know what that means, don’t you?”
But his wife clearly had no idea what he was talking about. Thankfully, he could show her soon enough.
“It means I can show you the most important meaning of your favorite new word. The minute we get back to the castle.”
This promised to be the longest ride of his life.
26
“You have nothing to worry about.”
Màiri grasped Marian’s hands. “Thank you. For your kindness, for listening to me, and”—she smiled coyly—“for making Ian believe I would marry Ambrose.”
Marian squeezed back. “The man could not—what was the expression Grey used? Ah, yes. He could not see the nose in front of his face. ’Twas evident he loved you, but he was scared to admit it.”
“You said nothing of it when I left.”
Màiri paused, listening for any movement in the adjoining chamber. Nothing yet.
“I thought it might create a little more urgency if you left as you did. ’Twas a good decision.”
“But not one made for that purpose.” She truly had intended to go home. Every moment of the ride had been spent in contemplation of what she would tell her father. Would he believe the truth? Likely not, especially if Ian and the others did not leave for a while, but anything less would mean inevitable war with Clan MacKinnish. Even so, being around Ian had become unbearable.
And then, when she’d seen him approaching the loch . . .
“To think so many husbands and wives spend a lifetime together but never find love,” she said.
“Do you believe ’twas meant to be this way? That Shona was pulled back through time so that her sons might find us? And that their intervention actually makes things play out the way they do instead of changing history?”
“How can we ever know?”
