“Yes. Yes, my darling, yes.” The words were spoken softly, but they reverberated down to his very soul, echoing like a sonorous choir of angels.
Yes. She had said yes.
His hands trembled, and he couldn’t stop smiling as he hauled her into his arms and hugged her tight. He buried one hand in her hair and tried not to laugh at the wellspring of joy deep inside him as it threatened to bubble over.
“I vow to make you happy,” Jackson said.
“I vow the same.” Jane giggled. “Lord, what will we tell the children?”
“I don’t care, as long as you are my wife.” He stole a quick kiss. “Let’s do it tonight.”
Jane’s eyes glowed. “What?”
“Let’s marry tonight. There’s a blacksmith in the village here.”
Jane laughed and hugged him tighter. “You don’t mind waking up an angry Scot who will be wielding a hammer?”
“I would face a thousand angry Scots if it meant I could marry you tonight.” Jackson would risk anything for this woman. Since he’d met her, he had sparked to life like a raging fire, and he would not surrender her for anything.
He helped her to her feet, and they went to see the innkeeper, who told them where to find the blacksmith. They walked down the cobblestone street of the village to a small house next to a forge. Jackson pounded on the door. A lit lamp sat in the window, and he figured many couples had disturbed the blacksmith for hasty marriages at all times of the day and night.
“I’m coming!” the man bellowed a moment before he opened the door. A tall, dark-haired man, built like a brick house, glared at them.
“Would you mind marrying us, good sir?”
The blacksmith blinked and peered down at them from the porch of his cottage.
He scraped a hand over his beard. “You ain’t that young, are ye?”
“Indeed we are not, both widower and widow by many years. Nevertheless, we would very much like to marry at once.”
The man sighed. “Ach, fine. Come in.” He opened his door wide. Jackson, holding Jane’s hand, led her inside as they followed the Scotsman, who lit a few oil lamps and carried one to the forge next door. There was a cozy little enclosed room just off the main workshop. The blacksmith set the lamp on a table next to a symbolic anvil. The door to the room opened, and two people in dressing gowns entered. One was an older man, and the other was a middle-aged woman.
“This is my father and my wife. They will be the witnesses.” The blacksmith produced a dark-blue ribbon, which he wrapped around Jackson’s right hand and Jane’s left.
Jackson only vaguely remembered the vows he spoke; his heart and mind were too excited to focus on much besides staring at Jane. It had been so long since he’d felt like this, like he had hope, that he had a full life once again to look forward to, and not just trying to find such a life for his daughters.
All the years since Marianna’s death seemed to have a purpose now. They had kept him waiting for Jane to walk into his life. How strange that they had both been in London society for so long and yet had never crossed paths before now. If Lydia had never been taken by Brodie Kincade, they might never have met. It was ironic that he now had a reason to shake Kincade’s hand—after he throttled him, of course.
“You are man and wife under the eyes of God and these here witnesses.” The blacksmith lifted the hammer up and smashed it down on the anvil.
Jackson kissed his wife, and Jane smiled as she kissed him back.
“We’ll have your papers ready tomorrow,” the blacksmith said. He nodded to the woman, who took note of their full names on a piece of paper. “Now let me get some bloody sleep. Er . . . and congratulations.”
“Thank you. We shall come by tomorrow.” Jackson shook the blacksmith’s hand, and then he escorted Jane back to their inn. When they reached their shared room, he grinned at her.
“Care to start our honeymoon tonight before we resume the chase for Kincade and Lydia?”
Jane began to undo his cravat, a coquettish smile on her lips that heated his blood.
“Absolutely, husband.” She used his loosened cravat to pull his head down to hers for a long, deep kiss that was the beginning of one of the best nights of his life.
21
The following days passed in a blur of laughter, delight, and kisses. Lydia explored the lands around Castle Kincade, with Brodie as her guide. Half the time they had Rafe and Isla accompanying them, and the rest . . . well . . . They took advantage of their time alone.
This was one such moment. Lydia laid a large plaid blanket down on the ground by the lake, and then Brodie removed the food from a wicker basket. She lay back on the blanket while he prepared their plates. She took a moment to admire him without his being aware of it.
His dark hair, slightly too long to be considered fashionable, was tousled by the wind, and a shadow of a beard ghosted his jaw. He was the most handsome man she had ever known. She had met prettier men, certainly, but there was something about the hard-edged features of Brodie’s face and form that made him seem invincible, untouchable, and that he was hers to surrender to. Hers to touch. Hers to love.
Brodie noticed her eyeing him and offered her a wolfish smile. “What are you thinking about, lass?”
“You.” She smiled and rubbed her foot against his thigh. It was so easy now to be playful with him. Here she didn’t have to worry about scandal, rumors, or ruination. She was free.
Brodie’s eyes warmed as he caught her foot and tickled her ankle. She giggled and pulled free of him. He offered her a plate when she sat up, and they ate in pleasant silence.
The waters of the lake glinted in the bright late-summer sunlight. Ducks and swans floated on the surface, bobbing beneath the water to quest for food. It was all so blissfully peaceful.
“Lydia . . .”
She turned to look at him. “Yes?”
“I never apologized for taking you from Bath the way that I did. Although, I canna say I regret it. This last week has been . . .” He didn’t finish, but his smile pulled at her heart.
“It has been wonderful,” she said.
“I hate that I scared you.” Brodie brushed a lock of her hair behind her ear, his gaze impossibly tender. “I would never hurt you, lass.”
She leaned into his palm as he cupped her cheek. “I know.”
“’Tis funny, is it not? All this time, I thought I kidnapped the wrong sister. But as it turns out, I took the right one.” He leaned in and kissed her. It was a sweet kiss, like one between two people who had been lovers and friends for years, not days.
Lydia moved her hand to the back of his neck to keep him close as she deepened the kiss. Their mouths broke apart briefly as she teased him.
“Never hold back with me, Scot.”
Brodie chuckled and tumbled her backward on the blanket. He captured her wrists above her head with one of his hands, pinning them into the soft plaid blanket beneath them. He took his time kissing her, first sweetly, then more passionately until she was flushed with excitement.
“This is how I will remember us,” he whispered in her ear between kisses. “Like this, in the sunshine, the breeze in your hair, and clear skies reflected in your eyes.” Brodie nuzzled her neck, and Lydia’s heart swelled within her chest.