“Aye, she is.”
“And she’ll make a bonny wife.”
“She will.”
The silence that hurtled down was as bruising as a rockslide. Eventually Brody could bear it no longer. “You’re going to tell me I’m too selfish and shallow to make her happy.”
Fergus’s chiseled features could turn dauntingly stern. He’d never looked more the Laird of Achnasheen pronouncing judgment than he did when, after a sticky pause, he replied. “I know ye better than anyone else, I believe.”
“Aye,” Brody said cautiously, aware that such a remark wasn’t likely to precede an expression of wholehearted support. “That’s true.”
“Do ye love Elspeth?”
Brody frowned again. Love? He hadn’t even thought about it. “I told ye—she’s just right for me.”
“But do ye love her?”
“I want to make her my wife. I want to live with her until I’m old. I want her to be the mother of my bairns. If that’s love, then I love her.”
“Och, it’s a start, I suppose.” Fergus’s shrewd gray eyes leveled on him. “But if you want my advice, you willnae marry that lassie unless ye love her with all your heart. It’s what she deserves. If ye dinnae love her like that, you’ll never make her happy.”
Brody shifted uncomfortably in the saddle. He’d never had a conversation like this with his cousin. With anybody. His mother had died so long ago, and his father, while a splendid fellow and a good laird, had avoided any awkward discussion of emotions. “I mean to do right by her. I’ll be faithful, despite what Hamish thinks.”
Fergus’s eyes sharpened. “You’ve spoken to Hamish?”
“Aye. He’s no’ in favor of the match either.”
“And what does wee Elspeth say?”
His hands tightened on Perseus’s reins. He hoped to hell she wasn’t saying “Kiss me, Diarmid” right now. “I havenae asked her yet. She’s given me cause to hope.”
A girl like Elspeth wouldn’t kiss a laddie unless she had honorable intentions. She wasn’t a hardened flirt like Brody.
Fergus still looked like he passed sentence on a sheep-stealing crofter. “You’re my cousin and my friend, Brody, but if ye break that girl’s heart, I’ll never forgive you.”
“I’m giving up my rakish ways.” Brody scowled at the big, auburn-haired man riding at his side. “I have some honor.”
Fergus looked unconvinced. “There are more ways to hurt a woman than taking a mistress.”
He supposed there must be, although he hadn’t given the matter much thought. Which didn’t mean he appreciated seeing the pity in Fergus’s eyes, as if his cousin was sure Brody had no idea what he was getting into.
“I look forward to marrying Elspeth and proving to you and Hamish that I can be an exemplary husband,” he responded huffily.
“See that ye do,” his cousin said and urged his horse into a canter.
Brody stared unseeing after Fergus. Damn it, since marrying Marina, his cousin had love on the brain. And a few other body parts, too, he’d wager. Marina and Fergus had trouble keeping their hands off one another, even after more than a year together.
If desire equaled love, he definitely loved Elspeth. But he had a grim inkling that his cousin was talking about something more profound than mere physical pleasure. God knew what. Until now, Brody had been content to dabble at the safe edges of intense emotion. Hamish had accused him of being shallow. If there wasn’t an element of truth in that, it wouldn’t have hurt quite so much.
Did Brody love Elspeth? Devil if he knew.
He certainly cared enough to find her absence with Diarmid increasingly infuriating.
In which case, he should have been relieved to see her trot back into view. However she and Diarmid rode a little too close, and the amity between them was too apparent for Brody to find much comfort in her reappearance. He dug his heels into his horse’s sides and galloped across to where the cousins were laughing together.
“See anything interesting?” He wanted to sound nonchalant, but the question emerged with a snide tinge that made Elspeth direct a curious gaze his way. She looked lovely. Pink-cheeked with the cold, and the rich colors of the paisley shawl draped around her head set off her brilliant dark eyes and creamy skin.
Diarmid fixed a sardonic eye upon him, as if he guessed the lurid suspicions running through Brody’s mind. “Aye, we enjoyed a delightful interlude,” he said in a silken voice. “I rarely get Elspeth to myself.”