A Hellion for the Highlander

Dinnae worry, Alexander. I’m comin’.

Then she felt a jolt, just below her chest, and everything went dark.

Alexander was not too manly to cry with relief when the healer told him at last that the infection had passed, and Cicilia was awake and asking for him. He and Nathair shared a quiet moment where his friend just hugged him, brother-to-brother, and let Alexander cry.

It was already late, so the twins were asleep, and he didn’t wish to wake them now. Nathair promised to tell Jeanie later and urged Alexander to hurry to Cicilia’s side.

He didn’t need telling twice. He ran to her rooms, spoke briefly to the healer, then practically burst through the door.

Her hair was in disarray, and there were black bags under her eyes. Along one cheek was an angry red line where Thomaes’s cut had finally healed over. There would always be a scar. She looked bleary-eyed and confused.

When her eyes met his, all of that ceased to matter. He’d never seen anything so beautiful.

He was at her side in a moment. “Cicilia,” he breathed. “Me love, I worried—”

“Ye need nae have worried,” she said. She sounded exhausted to the bone, but there was still some of her familiar teasing in her voice. “As if I could go anywhere an’ leave ye here alone. Ye simply cannae be trusted.”

Alexander laughed, touching her hair. It was still soft, despite the mess. “Never go anywhere,” he said to her. “Nae if ye’ve nae got a way back to me.”

Cicilia smiled, but as Alexander’s eyes roamed her face, it faltered. “I…it’s gonnae be a big scar, is it?” she said, sighing. “I’ve never thought meself vain, but…God above, if I dinnae have enough imperfections for ye to see past already. I understand if ye dinnae want to…if it’s too much…?

?

Alexander didn’t understand for a moment, and when he did, he actually let out a sharp laugh of disbelief. “Ye think I see that scar as an imperfection?” he repeated. “Miss O’Donnel, that scar right there is the neatest, most perfect thing I’ve ever seen. It shows that the love o’ me life is brave. It shows that she can survive anythin’. That we can survive anythin’.”

He knew her wound would be too fresh and still sore, so he leaned over and kissed her forehead instead, then her nose, then finally a brush of his lips against her own.

Cicilia blushed, the tiredness in her eyes retreating slightly. “What’s this about the ‘love o’ yer life’?” she asked.

He smiled softly, toying with the black strand in her red hair. “I seem to remember a brave lass declarin’ to all an’ sundry that she was to marry me,” Alexander told her. “Do ye recall such a thing?”

Cicilia looked at him for a moment, and the love in her eyes almost brought Alexander to tears again. This was it. This was happiness.

This was home.

“Well,” Cicilia said finally. “If the Laird o’ Gallagher wants to wed, I would nae dream o’ tellin’ him he couldn’ae. But o’ course, I’d expect him to propose properly.”

Alexander felt a bubble of laughter in his throat. So happy, so carefree. “Aye? An’ how would he say such a thing when he dinnae even ken that his love would be awake today?”

“Easily enough,” Cicilia countered. “After all, this love, whoever she is, would nae need the frills an’ pomp. She would nae wish for a fancy luckenbooth or flowers or any other gift. She would just want his heart, every bit o’ it, an’ to hear it in his words to ken that it was for sure what he wanted, as well.”

How could ye ever doubt?

But he nodded and gestured. She seemed to get the meaning and moved over in the bed to let him lay down next to her. He gently put his arms around her and pressed a gentle kiss to her lips before speaking.

“Cicilia O’Donnel, ye’re an agent o’ chaos,” he told her in a gentle, humming whisper. “Ye’re the wildest creature I’ve never met. Yer hair drives me mad an’ yer eyes are like witchcraft. Yer wee siblings have more energy than I’ve ever had in me entire life, an’ yer stubbornness could topple kings if ye had half a mind to it. Ye’re frustratin’, an’ ye’d argue wi’ a stone wall if ye thought it looked at ye funny.”

She smiled faintly at the praise disguised as criticism, and he knew she understood. His heart beat faster as the words rose to his lips.

“I thought I’d lost ye, Cicilia. I never want to feel like that again. We’ll drive each other mad, but I cannae imagine the rest o’ me life without ye. Say ye’ll marry me an’ make me heart happier than I’ve ever been in me life. Say ye’ll be me wife,” he said.

She started to cry, though they seemed to be happy tears. “I suppose that’s proper enough,” she said with a tearful giggle. “Aye, Alexander. Aye, mo gràdh, me love, I will marry ye.”

His heart sang, and he swore he could hear music in his ears. He felt lighter than he had in many years, something close to complete for the first time since the death of his father. “Ye mean it?”

“I’ve never meant anythin’ more, me heart,” Cicilia told him. “I love ye. More than anythin’.”

He swallowed the hard lump in his throat and kissed her gently again, restraining himself as much as he could since she was still healing. “Well,” he muttered. “That’s awfie convenient.”