She nodded.
Neither of them added the other truth. Because Fletch, or any gentleman who met Grayburn’s approval, would ensure Malton Hill stayed in her possession forever. Yet one more reason why she needed to be reconciled with her brother.
Tavish was certainly a glutton for punishment because one question rang in his mind.
The one most likely to pain him to hear her answer.
And yet, after a pause, he opened his mouth anyway—
“If all things were equal, if I could offer ye Malton Hill and everything else that a gentleman like Fletch could, who would ye choose?”
You!!
The answershrieked in Isla’s head.
As sure as breath moved in and out of her lungs, she knew the answer.
You.
I would choose you.
In a thousand lifetimes, I would choose you.
She sat impossibly still, the force of her reply stunning her senses as thoroughly as a cold plunge into the River Northcairn.
“Ye look aghast. Never mind.” Tavish waved a hand. “’Twas an unfair question. Forget I asked.”
Mmm.
Forgetting his question would be highly unlikely.
They moved on after that, speaking of how Tavish had met Colonel Archer and Captain Ross.
Isla listened, but her mind still reeled.
Her immediate internal reply to his question had cracked a vital part of her foundation, letting a piece of the girl she had been escape. The girl who had loved him with shattering force.
And now that force pulsed there within her breast, a vagabond reminder of her past self—of a love so deep and vast, it stretched to the horizon of her mind. And now, it hovered at the edge of her vision, eager for rebirth.
What was Isla to do?
Because this feeling meant that the innermost core of her loved Tavish yet. That, in many ways, she was still that starry-eyed girl, longing for things she had best not keep.
And, more to the point, how was she to reconcile this knowledge with her future plans? Could she return to Malton Hill, knowing that Tavish would always be the true love of her heart?
They cleaned up the dishes and tidied the room.
Isla turned for the bedchamber, but paused to watch Tavish make up his bed, concern frowning her forehead.
“Why not at least sleep on the sofa?”
With a snort, he lay on the sofa, showing her quite clearly that his tall frame could not fit.
Her frown deepened.
He grinned. “Though I find your concern touching, lass, I assure ye, I spent years sleeping on the hard ground with nothing more than my arm for a pillow. This—” He pointed to the makeshift pallet on the floor. “—is practically luxurious.”
“Careful. You might be laying it on a bit thick. And saying you are accustomed to such spartan sleeping arrangements is not exactly the comfort you wish it to be.”
