The Laird's Willful Lass (The Lairds Most Likely 1)
With his heart in his mouth, he wasn’t sure he could muster a single word. But her courage deserved any tribute he could pay. He struggled to swallow the terror blocking his throat and defied heaven to snatch her away before he had the chance to kiss her again. “Do you ken what I thought the first time I saw ye?”
Her fingers dug into the rock behind her as she shifted with infinitesimal movements. “That somebody needed to take me in hand and show me who’s in charge.”
He made himself laugh, because he knew she wanted him to. It was even less convincing than her attempt at a smile. “Och, I did think that within five minutes, but that wasnae my first reaction.”
“What was?”
Fergus cursed that she remained out of reach. Holding her while she moved would do wonders for his peace of mind. “I thought a woman with such flashing eyes belonged in my bed.”
“Eyes?”
“Aye.” He paused. “Although I have a recollection that I might have given your bosom a wee bit of attention, too.”
A choked laugh escaped her. “You’re such a man, Mackinnon.”
“Aye, well, a man is just what you want right now.”
“I have a horrible fancy that’s what I want anyway,” she muttered.
Before he could question that astonishing admission, one of her feet slipped. She gave a broken cry as he surged down in a futile attempt to catch her, barely saving himself from falling, too.
With half-disbelieving horror, he saw her fumble at the sapling. The frail tree bent to an impossible angle. Surely it must break.
By a miracle, it held, and Marina’s other hand scrabbled then found purchase on the rock face. Each second stretched into an eon, as she flung herself face-forward into the cliff.
It took him a few seconds to realize that she was safe. At least for the moment.
The breath he sucked in felt like broken glass. “Don’t…don’t scare me like that again, lassie,” he said, unable to stop his voice cracking.
Her brief laugh sounded more like a sob. “I wanted to check you were wat
ching.”
“I was watching, all right.” His voice deepened. “You say you trust me.”
“Yes, I do.”
If he got her out of this, he’d remember that. “Then lift your arm as high as you can, and I’ll take your hand.”
Without hesitation, she did. By God, she was a woman in a thousand. He dug the toes of his thick leather boots into the ground behind him and prayed to heaven with a fervor he’d never demonstrated before, that he was strong enough to hold her.
Because the possibility of losing her was anathema. He’d known her little more than a week, but in that time, she’d marked him indelibly. He refused to relinquish her to death’s greedy clutches, when he needed her to stay this side of heaven.
Fergus reached over the lip of the cliff and grabbed her wrist in a hold so tight, it must hurt. He wasn’t taking any risks of his grip slipping. “You have to let go of the tree.”
This time, Marina did falter. She lifted her disheveled dark head, and he met dark eyes burning with fear and defiance. Right now, fear was paramount. “If you drop me, I’ll never forgive you.”
He prayed she’d live. He prayed his strength would prevail. He prayed that she wouldn’t discern how close failure loomed.
“As if I’ll let you fall,” he scoffed. “Then I’d miss out on your humble thanks for saving your life.”
“Saving me for the second time,” she said in a thick voice. “That must count as showing off.”
“My granny always said things come in threes. I hope you dinna mean to prove her right.”
“I’ll do my best.”
“Take my hand, Marina,” he said. “I willnae let you fall.” Let that be the truth.