The Laird's Willful Lass (The Lairds Most Likely 1) - Page 86

She gulped in a shuddering breath and tangled her fingers in his, drawing strength from the warm certainty of his touch. “First, let me say that I love you more than I can ever say. I didn’t tell you that this afternoon, or not in the way I should have. I’ve never been in love before either. I had no idea…”

“How love sweeps everything else before its path?”

“Exactly. It’s like you’re part of me.” She mustered another smile. “No wonder I wanted to run a mile.”

He didn’t smile back. “Do you still?”

“No.” Again with more emphasis, “No. It would be like trying to escape my soul.” Then in a low voice, she went on, “You’re everything to me, Fergus. The sun in my sky.”

His eyes darkened. “Marina…”

Her free hand made a shaky gesture. “I’m afraid you’re stuck with me.”

“I’ll take that.” His grip tightened to the edge of pain. “I’ll take you.”

This smile was a little more secure, although emotion still clogged her throat. Her voice cracked when she spoke. “And I’ll take you. As my husband, and the father of my children. I’ll take this extraordinary place you live in and make it my home. I’ll paint it in every season. I’ll show you sides of Achnasheen not even you have seen before. I’ll live with you in your castle, and we’ll grow old together, and your strength will feed my strength, and nothing will ever divide us.” She paused and took a tremulous breath. “Now, do you understand what I’m asking for?”

When he raised his head, the candlelight caught the rich red of his hair. Triumph and joy shone in his silver eyes. So much joy that her breath jammed in her chest and she felt dizzy.

The rare, unconstrained smile lit his face to brilliance. How she’d always loved that smile. “I understand, and I accept, my beloved.”

“Fergus…” she whispered, folding forward as her knees gave out. With the stumble, her Venetian cloak slipped to the floor. “Kiss me.”

At last, at last, he wrenched her up against his body and swooped down to capture her lips with his. She sighed in relief and lashed her arms around him, crushing him into her.

Heat flared and passion ignited, but beneath the powerful physical reaction, there was love, steadfast and eternal.

“I love you, lassie,” he murmured against her lips.

Before she could respond with an avowal of her own, he lifted her and carried her the few steps to the ancient four-poster bed in the corner.

Chapter Twenty-Four

The abrupt change from despair to elation left Fergus reeling. When he’d come upstairs, he’d wondered if this one last roll of the dice would win him the prize. Now he struggled to comprehend that everything he’d dreamed of having was within reach.

The lassie he loved. The life he relished. The chance of creating a family with this exceptional woman.

Fergus stepped back from the bed and ripped off his shirt and kilt with clumsy hands. Marina rose far enough to tug that alluringly prim white nightdress over her head, leaving her lavish cascade of hair to tumble over her breasts and shoulders. When she lay back against the pillows, he sank down to bury his face in the warm fall of silky hair. He breathed deep, drawing in her essence. Lilies and love and Marina.

This willful lassie was his at last. He could hardly believe it.

“Don’t make me wait, tesoro.” With a tender gesture that made his blood pulse heavy and sweet, she ran her hands down his back. “I came so close to losing you.”

“Never.” Through her wealth of hair, he kissed her neck and delighted in her shivery response. “It took me my whole life to find you. I wasnae going to let ye go for the sake of a small geographical disagreement.”

“I can’t tell you what it meant when you said you’d come to Italy.” Marina arched up until her breasts brushed his chest and sighed when his hands trailed down her flanks to settle on her hips. “Now I know you really love me.”

He groaned and grazed his teeth across the curve of her shoulder. Their legs tangled against the cool sheets as he settled on top of her. “I die for love of ye, lassie.”

Her fingers dug into his shoulders, her touch as fiercely possessive as his. “Don’t die, amore mi

o. Live. Live for me, as I’ll live for you.”

Fergus rose on his elbows so he could see her beautiful face, noting the signs of will and intelligence and passion. What a wife she was for a wild Highland laird. “I meant it when I said I’d go to Florence.”

“I know you did.” Her smile was incandescent. “But I’m also sincere when I say we’ll make a good life here. We have everything we want in Achnasheen. We can visit Florence now and again, to see Papa and meet my patrons. I’d like the children to know about their Italian heritage as well as their proud Scots blood.”

He arched an eyebrow at her. “Children, is it, mo chridhe?”

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