She propped herself on an elbow, her intelligent eyes scouring his face. She traced his scar then pressed a kiss to the jagged flesh. If he hadn’t been as frail as a new born foal, he’d have taken her right then and there. Made her his for all time.
“What could ye have done differently?” she asked, the question sincere. “She came to yer bed willingly when there was nae understandin’ between ye. As widow, she kent what to expect. When she lied and said she was with child, ye did the honorable thing and married her. And when she grew more and more difficult, ye still tried to be honorable for the sake of yer children.”
She made it sound so reasonable, so matter of fact. She readily absolved him for the things he’d had no control over. God knew he didn’t deserve such forgiveness.
Compassion crimping her eyes, she shook her head. “I canna think ye could’ve done anythin’ differently. Ye werena the problem. She was.”
“I also killed yer brother,” he said, more abruptly than he’d intended. “I dinna ken how, but he kent we were comin’. He had four men waitin’ to ambush us.”
“Did ye have any other choice?” The color drained from her face, but she didn’t break eye contact.
Drawing his mouth into a grim line, Liam gave one short jerk of his head. “I tried to take him alive, but he was crazed with rage and jealousy. He swore he’d never rest until ye were dead. I am sorry, though. He was yer kin, even if ye didna ken him.”
“I have a sister, too.”
Liam angled his head, interest in his eyes. “Ye do? How do ye ken?”
Emeline succinctly told him about the wills, the birth and marriage records, and the letters from her father and sister.
“It seems, I’m an heiress.” Two lines creasing her brow, her expression took on a faraway look. “I think I shall have to write my sister, at the very least. Or perhaps, invite her here. I dinna think she has anyone now.”
“What if she’s like her brother?” Liam didn’t like the idea at all. He knew firsthand how conniving women could be. The sister had gone from being a woman of substance and position to an illegitimate progeny with few, if any, prospects, unless things were a far cry different in France than England or Scotland.
She shook her head. “I dinna think she is. He name is Jeannette, and she sent a letter, too. In it, she was very gracious.”
“Enough talk of negative things.” Wincing, he turned slightly onto his side, gritting his teeth, and opened the bedside table and withdrew the ring box. He removed the ring and dropped the box before turning back to her. “I have the most wonderful woman in the whole of the world in my bed, and I need to ask her somethin’ verra important.”
He slipped the ring on her finger, delighted the color almost exactly matched her glorious eyes.
Hope vied with doubt in Emeline’s expressive gaze as she looked at the ring. Her attention dipped to his lips for a half-second, and she said with caution, “But ye said ye’d never marry me.”
“I was an unmitigated arse. An absolute inconsiderate, selfish dolt. Please, forgive me, leannan, I—” Stopping abruptly, he scowled.
“What is it, Liam?”
“Now that ye’re an heiress, perchance ye’re no’ interested in weddin’,” he said. “Mayhap, ye want to travel—”
“Hush, ye silly man.” Emeline rolled closer, placing her left hand on his chest over his heart. “There’s nothin’ on this earth I’d rather do than marry ye.”
“Are ye absolutely certain?” She must be. He’d not marry her if she had a single doubt.
She raised her head to plant a kiss on his mouth. “Aye, my Highland warrior.” A deliciously naughty gleam entered her eyes as she slid her hands over his shoulders. “Aye. Let me show ye how much.”
Epilogue
Eytone Hall, Scottish Highlands
December 1721
A palm pressed against the icy window pane, Emeline stood enthralled as great, fat snowflakes sifted from the sooty sky. She’d seen snow before, of course, but never in this quantity. It had begun yesterday morning and hadn’t stopped. The entire Highlands were blanketed in a thick, virginal mantle. Beautiful and peaceful.
A private smile curved her mouth as contentment she couldn’t have imagined flowed through her like warmed honey.
If the weather permitted, Liam had promised to take her sleighing on the morrow. Their houseguests were as enthusiastic about the outing as she. Jeannette, now living at Eytone Hall and Liam’s ward, had proved to be the sister Emeline had always wanted.
They even looked much like one another, except Jeannette’s hazel eyes simmered with a hint of mischief Emeline’s never had. As sweet and sincere as their brother had been evil and calculating, Jeannette had adjusted surprisingly well to her change in circumstances and to living in the Highlands.
Emeline had the privilege of meeting Pierre Durpreiz when he’d escorted Jeannette to her new home. He’d been as charming and kind as Aunt Jeneva had vowed him to be. He wrote her regularly now, and had almost convinced her to journey to France to view her estates once the plague had been eradicated.
Quinn and Skye were houseguests, too.
Last year, Skye had introduced a few of her favorite Yuletide traditions. Recovering from the sudden deaths of both parents within a week of each other in October of 1720, she’d thrown herself into the holiday preparations as a way of honoring them as well as needing the distraction to help deal with her grief.
The result of her efforts had been a season so memorable that, although Scots didn’t celebrate the holiday in the same fashion as the English, Liam and Emeline had decided at Eytone Hall, Christmastide would be observed in the more traditional, festive way.
Kendra and Broden had arrived two days ago, as had Berget and Graeme and a few others. Arieen’s time drew near, so she wasn’t able to come. However, she’d vowed to be the first to arrive next year. Logan and Mayra Rutherford had sent their apologies as well, wanting to remain near Arieen, as well as a reluctance to travel with their two-month-old daughter, especially after Mayra had miscarried last year.
The house overflowed with family, friends, and love.
“Lass, come to bed,” Liam murmured from the comfort of the large curtained bed dominating the room. “I dinna want yer frozen toes and bum assailin’ me again,” he teased.
Turning from the window, Emeline tilted her head coyly, all but purring, “I dinna hear ye complainin’ about my bum this mornin’ when ye—”
“Woman. Bed. Now.” A mocking smile quirked his well-formed mouth.
“Och, I dinna think so.” Emeline made a pretense of sauntering to the fireplace, swinging her hips provocatively. Liam particularly adored her bum. Gathering the curtain of her hair, she bent over and poked the fire, aware she gave her husband of just over a year, a view he very much admired.
Before she straightened, strong arms encircled her from behind. “Ye promised to obey me, serve me, love, honor, and keep me,” he whispered in her ear, his tone husky with unappeased desire.
“I think that was more of a suggestion, rather than an absolute decree.” She turned in his embrace. “Besides, ye, Liam MacKay, Baron Penderhaven, like the chase. Admit it. As long as ye ken the outcome.” She bent her neck and placed a hot, opened-mouthed kiss on his pectoral muscles.