“Sure and certain.” Skye poked him in the ribs with one finger. “Who do ye think kept ye from dying, husband? Nelda knew the poison an’ kept ye alive till I could get ye home, and I’d done all I could to no avail. It was Ava’s medicines that kept ye with me. Besides, Ava is me friend. There is no one who would care more about me or the bairn.”
“I dinnae mean to doubt her,” Arran said. “I want the very best o’ care for ye. Should something untoward befall ye, the light would go out of me world. I nair understood why me father seemed so lost till I married ye. And nair shall I ken how he could go out night after night, leaving her at home to worry.”
“An’ ye’ve kent it now?” Skye asked gently.
“I think I have. Twas clear from the letter he wrote and buried in her empty grave that he loved her near beyond life itself. I think that somehow he thought that through games of chance or perhaps even friends he made, he could make a better place for her. I can scarcely say that I knew what went through his head.”
Skye looked up at Arran, her face full of sympathy. “I am so sorry. I can see that ye cared for him. I can scarcely imagine what me life would be like without me maither. It was hard beyond measure when we lost me faither.”
“Then ye understand. He wasn’t the best in business deals, and hopeless at games of chance, but he was kind and quick to help his neighbors. Only once in me childhood did he raise his hand to me.”
Skye gave him a saucy smile. “And why was that, Laird McArthur?”
“Because I hid under the stairs from the kitchen to the servants’ quarters, hopin’ to gain a glimpse o’ what was ‘neath the maids’ skirts. The cook caught me at it, an’ took me to Da. Da took me down to the brook, made me cut a birch branch, then he gave me three whacks across me rump. Afterward, he set me down an’ talked to me about respect, and honor, and how a gennelman always asked, never took when it came to the ladies.”
“So that is why ye are different from . . . some men.”
Arran caught her hesitation, and thought he knew its cause. Rage bubbled inside of him as he remembered the scars on Helena’s face. But he kept his voice light as he said, “I don’t know that I’m all that different. I appreciate the sight of a bonnie lassie as well as the next man. But I have to tell ye, the look on me da’s face as he explained the facts of life to me, and his absolute disappointment in me. . .well, that hurt more than the skelpin’ he gave me, which scarcely raised the dust from me troos. So whenever I wanted a lass, I asked. And I never again hid under the stairs.”
“Did it make it hard? To get a lass, I mean,” Skye asked.
Arran deliberately put on a wicked grin and gave her a wink. “Nary a bit. I learned real quick that if ye ask nice, then show the lass a good time, then ye’re likely to be invited back for a second or third time. Is it just possible that I might be invited into yer bed tonight, me lady wife?”
Skye giggled. Even in the dusk of the evening, Arran could see her cheeks turn pink. “Why, yes, indeed, m’lord husband, and maybe even for a fourth or fifth round. For ye do please me greatly.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” Arran said gravely, offering his arm. “I was likewise pleased.”
“Oh, go on with ye,” Skye said. “But there is just one thing.”
“Oh?” Arran quirked an eyebrow at her.
Skye stopped and put her fists on her hips, a fierce glare on her face. “It’s best an’ I were the only lassie yer askin’, ye ken?”
Arran dropped his playful air. “Oh, Skye, ye are me sun, moon, and all the stars. There is no lassie in all the world can hold a candle to ye, so why would I ask anyone else? Just be aware that should any other man lay hand upon ye, I’ll serve the murthurin’ son as I did Blackwell, and he’ll nair touch ye again.”
Skye tucked her hand back into his elbow. “Good to know,” she said. “Although I think in most cases ye could just glare at him or knock him down with yer fists. Blackwell was a special case.”
“He was somethin’,” Arran said, as they walked up the steps into their home. “It’s good to know that I’ll not be called upon to slay every man who appreciates yer beauty, for that is likely to be every man jack we meet.”
“Flatterer!” she teased.
“Not at all,” Arran said. “Ye are looking especially lovely tonight. I think walking in the gloaming agrees with ye.”
“It seems to agree with ye, also, Arran Gilroy. This would appear to be our bedroom door.”
“Then let us go in and celebrate yer beauty, our marriage, and our future.”
“That seems an excellent idea,” Skye agreed.
Arran held the door open for her, then followed her in, closing it firmly behind them. Then they gave each other a night to top all nights that came before it, but not one to exceed nights yet to come. For practice makes perfect, and they had every intent to practice well and often.
EPILOGUE
EIGHT MONTHS LATER
Skye looked at herself in the mirror. Ava had found her a beautiful pale pink dress for her mother’s wedding day.
Skye’s breasts had begun to swell with milk. The high waist of the gown emphasized them, and the full gathers of the skirt flowed over her ripe fullness. She had even spent the previous evening adorning it with embroidered flowers to make it extra bonnie for her mother’s special day.
