As the pain slowly ebbed, he opened his eyes. “Och, lassie, I’d go through it all again if it means lying in your arms.”
Keeping a loose hold on him, she shifted to fix wide blue eyes the color of heaven on his face. Unhappy blue eyes. “You shouldn’t even want me anywhere near you. After all, it was because of me that Allan shot you.”
Diarmid caught her fingers and brought them to his lips for a quick kiss. “Don’t be a silly widgeon, Fiona. I always want ye to touch me.”
With a gentleness that eased his pain better than any laudanum ever could, she drew him down to rest against her. For a sweet interlude, he lay silent and unmoving in her embrace. Her warmth surrounded him, and the world took on Fiona’s soft, floral scent. The horrors of the day retreated to the edge of his mind.
“That’s good,” she said, without moving and as if there had been no break in the conversation. “Because I like you to touch me. I like it very much indeed. I’m hoping you have plans to touch me soon and often.”
That sounded promising. Perhaps the knight was about to cease his wanderings after all. His dejection faded with every moment. “How do you feel about more children, lassie?”
To his surprise, her answer came swiftly. “I’d love to have a family with you. More than I can say.”
“That’s grand.”
Diarmid wasn’t sure whether he was up to settling the details of his future this very instant, but it seemed the time had come to make confessions and commitments. The most difficult confession of all loomed ahead, but he could no longer bear to hide the truth in his heart, however Fiona received the news.
This was the greatest risk he’d ever taken, greater by far than meeting Allan Grant today on that bare brae. “The ten thousand pounds I offered Allan isn’t the only secret I’ve kept from ye, sweetheart.”
“Oh?” To his regret, she sat back and regarded him with familiar uncertainty. “You’re making me nervous, Diarmid.”
His lips turned down in self-mockery. “You’ll be bloody terrified before I’ve finished.”
“You were already married when you married me? You have a mistress and ten children stashed somewhere at Invertavey?”
He didn’t smile, although he knew she was trying to lighten the atmosphere. “Much worse,” he said gravely.
“What is it? Stop playing with me and tell me. Whatever it is, I can bear it.”
He swallowed. Now the moment was here, his courage threatened to desert him. “I’ve done a rash and dangerous thing.”
“By helping me?”
“By falling in love with ye, lassie.”
She went white and scrambled off the bed. Disappointment heavy as an anvil smashed down on his heart. Not unexpected, but wretched all the same. He’d never seen a woman look less ready to respond to a declaration of love with a declaration of her own.
“You can’t,” she whispered, one pale hand rising to where her pulse hammered in her throat.
“Aye, I can. I have.”
Perhaps he’d have been wiser to keep quiet. But if they were to stay together at Invertavey as husband and wife, she had to know how he felt. He couldn’t spend the rest of his life with that lie between them. A lie of omission perhaps, but still a lie.
“I know ye, Fiona. I know ye, and I love ye, and nothing will change that until the day I die.” He felt like he dredged the words up from the depths of his soul. “I’m no’ a fickle man. I’ve never been in love before. I willnae fall in love again. It seems I’m just like my father, after all.”
“Because you, too, fell in love with the wrong woman?” Her voice was bitter.
“You’re no’ the wrong woman.”
“I am if I can’t make you happy.” She stared down at the floor. She looked less shocked, but no more gratified. “I’m not sure I know what love is, Diarmid.”
“Ye love Christina.”
“Yes, but that’s not what you’re asking for.”
“No.”
The gaze she raised to him was flat and desolate. “It would be easy to lie to you.”