“Will you have to return to the ship once you talk to your friend Gregor?”
Roderick did not answer, just turned his head to look at her, staring into her eyes.
“When do they expect you back, Brady and the men? I mean, how long will they wait for you to return?”
“Are you wanting shot of me?”
“No. You know that is not true. Quite the opposite, in fact.”
In the firelight, she saw his expression sharpen. He looked at her longingly.
Maisie’s heart swelled in her chest.
“If they get even a hint of the navy being on their trail, I told them they must leave without me.”
He was as wary as she was, choosing his words with care, taking his time. It was as if they were stepping cautiously around one another, each afraid to say the wrong thing for the other person.
“But what would you do, if you went back to the bay and they had gone?”
“Live a different life.” He gestured around them. “As you can see, I can make shelter. It’s a good start, is it not?”
Maisie sighed. “Roderick, do not taunt me so!”
“Taunt you?”
“You jest...and I adore that. I have never been so happy. But sometimes I need to know if your jest has any basis in truth.”
“I know.” He nodded. “I truly wouldn’t mind being on land awhile, but I do not want you to feel as if you are stuck with me.”
“Oh, Roderick. I would never feel that way.” Her heart ached.
Without hesitation he shifted, moving toward her.
Instinctively, she lay back as he closed in, wanting to feel his heat, his weight, his possession of her.
He crouched over her, like a hunter, but also like a shield. “Never ever?”
She wrapped her hand around the strong column of his neck. “Never ever, ever.”
“We will see how you feel once you are reunited with your kin. You can let me go if you want to, or not, if that is your preference.”
Maisie kissed him, silencing him, then rolled him onto his back and straddled his hips, holding him down—holding him to the Highlands.
* * *
The midmorning mist filled the glen beyond, and Maisie stared across it, remembering this very sight from her childhood. She breathed in the familiar scents of heather and mixed foliage, and the heady scent of damp, mossy grass and mulch underfoot. They used to run through the mist and up the hill on the other side, chasing one another, the morning dew underfoot only making it more fun.
“We are close to Fingal now.”
“That we are.”
When she looked at Roderick, she saw that his brow was drawn low as he studied the horizon. Was he still thinking that she wouldn’t need him when she found home? “What worries you?”
He turned to look down at her, and broke into a smile. “Nothing at all. I was trying to see clearly. Look there, on the distant crag.”
Maisie followed the direction he pointed. Atop the distant ridge a figure sat on a large rock as if watching out, looking in their direction.
Even while he pointed, the figure rose to her feet. It was a woman, shrouded in a heavy shawl. Before she had even thought about it, Maisie knew who it was.