Of course, that meant not remembering him either.
Thoughts of Simon the Sassenach haunted Kieran. He hoped the man was paunchy, elderly, and hideous. Or perhaps young and fit enough for Kieran to not feel an utter lout for besting the man in a round of fisticuffs.
How could she consider marrying another?
And so, he had gone on the offensive. She had said she was open to his courtship, had she not?
He had made this woman fall in love with him once. He would do it again.
He included wee gifts on her breakfast tray—a bouquet of posies, an engraved knife for whittling—and took to complimenting her outrageously.
She accepted it all but did not reciprocate.
Stubborn lass.
And still . . . they simply waited.
Until Cuthie’s sworn testimony arrived, they were able to float in limbo. To exist in a liminal space where he could pretend that a future with her was possible, even if she never remembered him.
“What will ye do when this mess with Cuthie is cleared up?” he asked one bright sunny afternoon, extending a hand to help Eilidh over an uneven bit of ground.
They had descended the cliffs today, taking a narrow path down a steep slope to a small cove. The beach here was part pebble, part sand.
“Ifit is cleared up,” she sighed, dropping his hand and stopping beside him.
He stared out at the ocean. Waves rolled over and around the pebbles, sending the stones tumbling and rumbling. The sound of the rocks clacking mixed with the call of seabirds and the low hum of the never-ending wind.
Beside him, she spun slowly in a circle, surveying the ocean and cliffs. The weather was so warm, she had dispensed with a pelisse and left her bonnet behind, saying she wished to feel the sun on her face. The wind tugged at the loose curls framing her face and threatened to upend her hair from its pins.
Kieran adored her like this, unbound and unfettered. A charming blend of all the women she had been.
“Let’s pretend Cuthie exonerates ye,” he said. “Then what do ye do?”
She motioned for them to continue to walk.
“What do I do?” she repeated. “I return to Yorkshire, most likely. It has been my life for the past few years.” She didn’t mention Simon by name, but Kieran heard echoes of the man just the same. “And what about you? What do you imagine when you find yourself awake in the wee hours of the morning?”
“Us,” he said without hesitation. “I think about us. I used to ponder how we were, but lately, I have been thinking about you as ye are now. How we could build a future together.”
They walked in silence for a bit. The cliffs loomed overhead to their left, the pitted stone covered in yellow lichen and flocks of birds. He even saw puffins, their distinctive colorfully-striped bills visible even at a distance. A thin waterfall tumbled through the mix, leaving a trail of mossy green down the red-black rock. The cliffs along the coast here appeared a blank canvas, one that birds and plants and wind sculpted into art.
He helped Eilidh over another outcropping of tide-worn boulders.
“And how could we be?” she asked at his side. “What would you envision for our life, if I were to agree to claim you as husband?”
Husband.
Kieran savored the word on her lips.
Granted, he wanted to savor anything that had to do with her lips, preferably their presence pressed against his own—
He took in a deep breath of lung-cleansing sea air.
Small victories. He needed to focus on small victories. The fact that she was here, listening to him, entertaining the idea at all.
Patience.
“That’s a fair question,” he said. “It partially depends on what ye want our life tae be. Would ye like tae sail with me? Andrew has been begging me tae captain one of his large merchant frigates, to be both master and commander of the vessel. And as ye know, a ship’s captain can bring his family aboard with him. We could sail the world together, you and myself.”
