“I forgive ye because that is what love does.”
A long pause . . .
He held impossibly still, as if her slightest move would unravel him.
And then, on the most hesitant of whispers . . .
“Love?” he breathed.
“Aye.” Isolde licked a tear from her lip, sure he could hear the emotion in her own voice. “I love ye, Tristan Gilbert. I love the goodness that ye try tae cloak in stern duty. I love how fiercely ye watch over those within your care. I love the way your eyes light when ye see me. I love the way ye make me laugh, how ye meet me as an equal. But most of all, I love that we get tae build a life together.”
Anything else she might have said was lost in the hunger of his mouth finding hers, his tears mingling with her own.
He lifted his head, his face a moon-rimmed shadow.
“Truly? You love me?” he asked, so astonished, so awestruck.
“Aye. Would ye like tae hear it again?”
“Please, my darling. Never stop saying it.”
“I love ye,” she whispered.
And then proceeded to show him precisely what that meant.
The next morning,Isolde lazily refused to leave their bed, preferring instead to remain in her husband’s arms and take breakfast there.
She and Tristan talked of nearly everything—the weather, her love for him, the prospect of visiting Inverness, the dozens of details that led her to realize she loved him.
When they finally arrived in the drawing-room close to midday, every head turned in their direction.
Isolde surmised that if her expression was even half as lovestruck as her husband’s, everyone read their mutual adoration plain as day.
Everyone, that was, except her father.
He took one look at her radiant smile and marched across the room toward them.
Isolde didn’t have to wait to know her father’s mind.
“Och, ye still haven’t told her?” He glared at Tristan. “I knew ye tae be a coward, but tae abuse my Izzy’s good faith in such a fashion—”
“Papa,” Isolde began.
“Izzy, ye must know that—”
“I know, Papa. Tristan told me all.”
Hadley frowned. “About his continued assistance and desires to see me stand trial?”
“Aye.”
With an apologetic glance at Tristan, she took her father’s arm, leading him to one side of the large room so they could speak more privately.
“That’s all ye have tae say, Izzy?” Hadley asked. “Just,Aye, my turncoat of a husband told meand all is well?”
“Ye ken it wasn’t that simple, Papa. But the matter, ultimately, is between myself and Tristan. And I have chosen tae forgive him.”
“Izzy, I know I will never consider any man to be worthy of yourself. But in this, I beg ye tae stop seeing good where there is none.”
