But the result was him sitting nude in the chair, with her on her knees before him, scrubbing at the mud and blood which adorned him. At one point she’d peered impishly up at him. “I think ‘tis the ideal position to practice The Supplicant Swan.”
He dropped his head back against the wood with a groan. “Lass, do ye want me dead?”
‘Twas clear he was in no condition for any kind of sexual position, so she merely smiled and made a mental note.
She doubted he realized how much of his weight she supported as she led him to the bed. But once he was there, instead of tucking him in as she’d done Wren, Wynda placed his splinted arm on his chest and curled around him.
He reached across himself to hold her hand, and they lay like that, blinking in the darkness, listening to one another’s heartbeats.
He was alive.
After a while, he began to speak. He told her more of his childhood, and how alone he’d been after his father’s death. He told her of training Geraldine, and how the falcon had been what had gained the attention of the Campbell gang. He told her of the crimes he’d committed with Geraldine’s help, and the sins he’d repented.
And he told her how he’d escaped, and why Roger Campbell had been chasing him for so many years.
The violent story wasn’t too far from what she’d extrapolated, but it was good to hear it from him. She rested her head on his shoulder and let him speak, although his voice was tight with exhaustion when he finished.
Then she pressed a kiss onto his bare chest. “Ye’re a good man, Pherson. I ken ye think yer past has made ye unworthy of a future, but ye’re wrong. And I’m right. And I’ll spend the rest of my days arguing the point, if ‘tis what it takes.”
She heard him smile, which should be impossible.
“I suppose I wouldnae mind losing that argument,” he confessed. “Are ye certain, lass? Earlier, I asked ye if ye’d marry me and ye took offense.”
She resisted the urge to poke him and disturb the serenity. “I took offense at yer timing. If ye were to confess yer love for me, say, now, when I have the time and mental energy to devote to such an important topic…”
His chest shifted, and she could imagine him holding in his laughter. “I love ye, Wynda.”
A kiss on his bare skin. “I love ye, Pherson.”
Silence.
“And?” she prompted.
He yawned. “And what?”
“And how about, and will ye marry me?”
His fingers tightened around hers. “If ye’ll be happy living here in my simple cottage with plenty of natural sunlight and nae ghosts, along with my hawks and my daughter who already loves ye…then aye, milady,” he drawl tiredly, “I’ll marry ye.”
That part of her mind which was always watching, evaluating, demanded she shriek at his teasing, to poke him, to demand he ask her again.
But her heart vetoed the motion.
She smiled in the darkness, realizing how much love could change a person.
“Good,” she said simply, and snuggled as close as she could without jostling his arm. “We can start planning in the morning.”
A snore was her only answer, and she closed her eyes with a smile.