How could he explain to her? This woman who hummed with joy and left a dour man like himself scanning the air for sunbeams in her presence.
“Aside from Allie, there has been very little cheer in my life, Isolde. And as others are fond of pointing out, I am not precisely . . . likable.”
Though Isolde appeared to like him well enough. Once he had ceased being such an arse and apologized.
“Nonsense!” She took his face in her hands. “Last night, ye said the most beautiful things about myself.”
“All true.”
“So, I will now reply with my own thoughts. Believe these words, Tristan Gilbert.” Her blue eyes echoed the sun-kissed sea at her back. “Ye are a loving brother tae your sister. Ye be a fair employer tae your servants. And most importantly, as I have noticed these past three days, a warm, kind heart beats in your chest. Ye be the sort of gentleman many would be pleased tae callfriend.”
She spoke the words so prosaically, so simply. As if they were the veriest truth.
And yet, they danced a whirlwind in his brain, struggling to settle into any sort of order.
“I don’t think I shall ever be capable of the exuberance you radiate simply by breathing.”
“I disagree. Ye were born into light, Tristan Gilbert. Aye, your father was a right bastard of a human being, but ye were gifted with a mother who loved ye and a sister who still dotes upon ye, no matter how surly your tongue. Your life is not destined tae be one of sorrow. Ye simply need tae relinquish your formidable control and allow happiness a wee space within.”
He kissed her—tenderly, gently—his lips reverently supping on hers.
“I feel happy right now,” he confessed. “Brimming with it.”
And he did.
Had he known this bubbling lightness—this joy—awaited him, he would have swallowed his damn ducal pride and admitted he loved her years ago.
“Good. Let us hold on tae that happiness together.” Abruptly, shegrinned, wild and mischievous. “Now, I’m going to race ye back to the house. The loser has to collect eggs!”
She took off at a sprint down the beach, skirts billowing and bunching around her knees, sand kicking off her heels.
Laughing, Tristan chased after.
He caught her around the waist halfway to the house, but all thoughts of winning fled his mind when she spun around and kissed him, her helpless giggles trapped against his lips.
Eventually, they decided to collect eggs together.
Yet Isolde’s ideas still rang in his mind hours later, as Tristan held her close in their bed.
Choose happiness.
Was it truly that simple, this change he sought? To search for sunlight instead of shadows when examining his hours and days?
It was a novel way of pondering his life.
He fell asleep to the sound of his wife’s breathing—her shoulders tucked to his chest, his arm wrapped around her waist—wondering what words, what stories, what gifts, he could summon tomorrow to give her.
24
Hold yourself still, Tristan,” Isolde scolded. “I am nearly finished.”
“I cannot believe you coerced me into this.”
“Hush. Ye love me. That’s why.” Isolde finished adjusting the length of plaid and pushed to her feet. Standing back, she surveyed him, hands on her hips. “Well, thisisa bonnie sight, I must say.”
Admittedly, Isolde considered her husband handsome in any state of dress, but this in particular . . .
She had been correct about thefeileadh mòr.Tristan looked splendid in a great kilt.
