Finally, he set down the knife and braced both hands atop the sideboard, trying to wrestle his wayward emotions under control.
It was proving a nearly impossible task.
He shouldn’t have given Isla an ultimatum. He shouldn’t have blurted out the truth of his love for her. It was unfair and possibly manipulative.
Her white-lipped, stunned face would haunt his dreams.
Bloodyeejit.
Nausea crawled up his throat.
Their situation had become impossible.
The bedroom door opened with asnick.
Clenching his hands into fists, Tavish turned to look at her.
He had supposed her to be changing into a day dress and pinning up her hair. Instead, she wore the same dressing gown, hair still hanging in a long braid over one shoulder. His locket gleamed against her skin. Her eyes were red-rimmed, and her cheeks held the remnants of tears.
Never had she appeared more beautiful.
As ever, his foolish heart panged to see her distress, particularly as his own actions were the likely culprit.
Tavish leaned back against the sideboard, gripping its wooden edge with tense fingers. Anything to prevent himself from reaching for her.
“I’m sorry if I have overset ye,” he began. “That wasn’t my intention.”
“You have overset me.” Tears glittered in her lovely blue eyes. “Therefore, I have a request.”
“Anything, lass.”
She darted a glance at the hearth. “I don’t want you to sleep in front of the fire anymore.”
His brows drew down. Of everything he thought she might say, this was not it.
“Pardon?”
She took a step toward him. Her hands fisted into her dressing gown, as if she were nervous.
“Husband, I don’t want you to sleep in front of the fire any longer.”
Tavish swallowed, his pulse a stampede of hooves against his ribs.
Surely, she didn’t mean . . .
“If not in front of the fire, then where should I sleep . . . Wife?”
“With me.”
“With yourself?”
She nodded, causing a tear to drop onto her cheek. Several more quickly followed.
Tavish struggled to breathe through the dawning reality of her words.
“Isla—” He took three steps toward her before stopping himself. “Are ye sure, lass? Because I meant what I said—I will not let ye go. I want ye to take all the time ye need to think through this decision. I want ye to have all ye wish for and—”
“Seven years ago, I only had o-one wish—to b-be withyou!”
