The Laird's Willful Lass (The Lairds Most Likely 1)

She tilted her head. “Another barbarian custom, caro?”

“You’ll like this one. In the eyes of God, we’re already husband and wife. If a man and a woman hold hands and promise to stay true to one another for the rest of their lives, they’re wed. It’s a very solemn vow, you ken.”

She drew away and turned to take his hand. “Fergus Mackinnon, Laird of Achnasheen, I promise to be your wife and love you until the day I die.”

He stared down into eyes lustrous in the firelight. After all the turmoil and unhappiness, her pledge moved him beyond words. “Marina Lucchetti, formerly of Florence, I swear to protect and love and cherish ye for all our life together. From this moment forward, I’m your husband.”

Catching her up against him, he kissed her with all the adoration he felt. Their lips met in a passionate promise for the future.

By the time he raised his head, he was trembling. So was she.

Marina lifted an unsteady hand to touch his cheek. “We’re married now, caro?”

His smile was wry. “In spirit at least. However for the vows to be binding, we need to make them before witnesses, and I’m no’ sure a court of law will uphold the contract, even then. We still have an appointment with the Reverend Angus ahead of us.”

Her lips turned down in disappointment. “So we need to be respectable?”

“For a mere three weeks, lassie.”

She caught his hand where it rested at her waist and kissed it. “Dio mio, it will be a long three weeks.”

“Aye, that it will.”

“I feel married,” she said softly.

“So do I.”

“And I suppose I have to sneak back to my room before the sun comes up.”

“Aye, that, too.” He kissed the side of her neck and felt her shiver. “But in late October, the sun doesnae rise until late, and it’s nowhere near dawn yet. You don’t have to leave me for hours.”

“I think I might come to like these dark Scottish winters.” He could tell from her voice that she was smiling.

“It’s no night to wander around barefoot, so ye should stay here as long as you can.” He lifted his head to look down into her face. “I’m only thinking of your health, you ken.”

She laughed. “You’re all consideration, Mackinnon.”

“You have no idea.” Then in another tone altogether, “Will ye no’ come back to bed and warm up the last hours of the night with me, mo leannan?”

She rose on her toes and kissed him briefly but with purpose. “It will be my pleasure, laird of my heart.”

Epilogue

Edinburgh, April 1819

Edinburgh’s high society gathered en masse at the George Street Assembly Rooms to view the new Highland paintings by noted artist Marina Mackinnon, Lady Achnasheen. A few connoisseurs even abandoned the London season to venture north and see what all the fuss was about. The critics from London and Edinburgh had also turned out in force, and so far seemed bowled over by the artwork on display under the line of crystal chandeliers that lit the magnificent ballroom.

“Are ye over your nerves, mo chridhe?” Fergus asked, coming up behind Marina and curling his arm around a waist that was no longer as slim as it had been. The fashionable high waist of her dark gold silk gown concealed that she was expecting her first baby in late August.

His touch warmed her as it always did, and she rested back against him for an instant before standing straight as befitted a laird’s wife in company. “Not until I see the reviews.”

Fergus’s laugh was fond. “You and your artistic temperament.” He glanced around the packed room. “All I’ve heard is the most extravagant praise. People must have told you how much they love your work. I’ve certainly had trouble getting near ye all night.”

She cast him a seductive smile. For an instant, the busy crowd disappeared, the noise faded to nothing, and she became just a woman standing beside the man she loved.

He looked superb in elegant evening dress. Nobody seeing him would guess at the wild, kilted Scots warrior who strode the hills and braes of Achnasheen like a king.

“Once we go back to the glen, we’ll have plenty of time alone, caro. Have patience.”