Elizabeth blinked.
Was he truly asking her to marry him?
On his knees?
The gesture was so intensely sweet that she felt a sting of tears spring to her eyes. Long, long ago, when she was still just a wee girl… she’d dreamt of a moment like this. And with every year that passed, without a proper suitor, nor prospects that weren’t stodgy and old, she’d lost all hope of love with marriage. And though it seemed she mustn’t truly have a choice, this man… this stranger… was giving her one…
She could return home, even to the dismay of her uncle and her cousin.
Her father had never cared one whit what her desires might be, and even now, he was traveling God knew where. Her uncle wouldn’t like it if she muddled his plans, but neither would he disown her. In fact, he had given her this choice to begin with, as distasteful as it might have seemed, and Elizabeth had chosen to come here of her own free will, in order to help restore a family’s good name. So why shouldn’t she still do so?
Simply because it no longer seemed a matter of charity?
Even as Callum knelt before her, asking for her hand, she knew he would honor whatever decision she arrived at. If she asked him to allow it, he would send her back to Westerham, and he would… what? Return home to face his own dispossession?
And what about her cousin? She knew well enough that the only reason James wasn’t being court marshaled for having freed his charge was because, first of all, until now, there hadn’t been proof. Callum MacKinnon hadn’t yet returned from the dead. Although her cousin was now commissioned to his father’s regimen, and he was under Uncle Edward’s protection, it wouldn’t suit either of them if it became known… unless, James and Uncle Edward had some way to reassure the Crown that its interests were being met. Unfortunately for Callum, it was only their marriage contract that could save him from the gibbet. Eventually, unless he too had her Uncle’s protection, he would answer for his participation at Culloden…
Elizabeth studied his face… handsome, despite the small scar on the right side of his chin. She hadn’t the first inkling what his brother Lachlan looked like, but it didn’t matter, because he was just a boy and Callum was a man…
“Very well,” she said. “I will marry you.”
He grinned suddenly, clearly pleased with her answer, and now, again, he pulled the ribbon through his fingers and took her gently by the hand.
“There’s an old Scot’s tradition,” he explained as he laid the ribbon over her wrist, and then he peered up into her eyes long enough to explain. “A man and a woman pledge vows to remain faithful for a year and a day. At the end of such time, according to our laws, ye would be free tae leave me if it be your choice… However… if ye’ll have me, Elizabeth Louise, I will promise tae gi’ ye no cause tae go.”
Elizabeth’s heart pounded fiercely; she feared he must hear it as well. She nodded, and said, “I will.”
And now, again, his smile unfurled in the most stunning display of startling white teeth as he looped his ribbon about her wrist, then tied it carefully, covering her hand with his own. He said, “As this knot is tied, so, too, will our lives be bound.”
And then he nodded as though she was supposed to say something as well.
“Is that all?”
He chuckled richly. “For now,” he said. “Only one more thing…” He reached up to touch her lightly upon the chin, tapping it gently, and said, “May I kiss my bride?”
Chapter 7
Elizabeth sucked in a startled breath.
The unanticipated question gave her a dizzy feeling in her head and a warm gush in the pit of her belly that didn’t have a thing to do with the hearth fire, nor the ale she’d drunk, nor even the whisky in her cranachan.
How had she come to this moment so unexpectedly?
She had left home intending to become a wife and mother to a young man, but here she was, feeling like a naive little girl… seated before a grown man… who was asking sincerely for her hand in matrimony. Nay, she corrected herself… they were already “handfasted”—married in the eyes of Scot’s law. Barbaric, perhaps, but simple, honest and sweet—as sweet as the promises he’d made her.
If you’ll do me the honor of becoming my bride, I shall promise to provide for you to the best of my ability and I will honor and cherish you as a man should honor and cherish his wife…
Nodding jerkily, Elizabeth held her breath as he lifted himself up from one knee to press his warm lips against her trembling mouth, and if she feared it would escalate to the marriage bed thereafter, she feared for naught. He drew back, smiling at her, and then rose to his feet, and limped over to the still steaming tub, reminding her again of his injury—not one, but two.
“We’ll make it proper once we’re home,” he said, giving her a reprieve, although truly, Elizabeth wasn’t overly concerned with propriety. In fact, had she been so, she might have run screaming from the room the minute he’d arrived.
Moreover, she was very well aware that if they didn’t consummate this marriage—here, and now—tonight, she was sorely afraid that everything would fall apart. After all, what if they returned “home” only to discover his brother, young as he was, meant to contest it?
And even if he didn’t, what about her uncle?
It seemed perfectly obvious to Elizabeth that James had intended for Callum to intercept her before she arrived at his home, but that didn’t mean Uncle Edward intended the same. For all she knew, James had carried out the last part of his mission entirely on his own.
All things considered, this “wedding” had turned out better than she’d hoped for, even if it wasn’t yet official in the eyes of the law.
There was simply no help for it; if she didn’t lie with her… husband… as a woman should lie with a man… it would be too easy to challenge the handfasting.
And then a thought occurred to her… a shockingly bold idea that was stunning even for her. She had a very good sense by now that he was too much a gentleman to avail himself of a woman’s body simply because he had a right to…
“May I?” she asked nervously, fiddling with the ribbon at her wrist—a wee scrap of cloth she really ought to remove, lest they brand her traitor for wearing it… and nevertheless, she shoved it higher beneath the sleeve of her chemise, emboldened by its presence.
“May ye what?” he asked, sounding confused.
“If you won’t call for a doctor, may I… see to your wound?” Her gaze fell again to the slip of ribbon still peeking from beneath her sleeve. “If I can help, I would like to.”
Callum swallowed, his mouth suddenly gone dry.
One wound was on his upper thigh, near his groin, the other on his shoulder. The latter was safe enough to show her, though he wasn’t certain he could trust himself to allow her to minister to either. Neither would it change the healing, or the past. Still, he considered her request, reaching down to test the water—warm though cooling by the moment.
God only knew, every part of him longed to wade into that clean, fresh water and inundate himself… It would be a shame to waste Little Joe’s efforts, not to mention all those buckets full of water. But the room was entirely too small, with nowhere to conceal himself… and neither would it be easy to partition, even if he dared to appropriate the bedsheets.