“What are ye thinking?” she asked.
He looked down at her with a coy smile on his lips. “Oh, just a few things.”
“Things like what?”
A smile curved his lips. “Do ye want to ken? Truly?”
“Of course,” Emma responded, her voice soft.
He drew in a breath before turning fully toward her, a look of what might be desperation contorting his face.
Emma held her breath, the realization dawning on her perhaps later than it should have. “Jack?—”
“Say ye’ll marry me,” he said, his voice rough.
“I—”
“Ye must also promise ye’ll nae run again this time.”
Her eyebrows rose. “That’s a fine command for a proposal.”
The corners of his mouth quirked up. “Aye, well, I was never good at the kneeling part.”
“Then perhaps ye should practice,” she teased, her laughter easing the tension. “A woman might like to see a laird humbled once in a while.”
He gave her another sly smile. “Ye’ve seen me kneel.”
Emma felt heat creep up her face. “That is different.”
He pretended to consider it. “‘Tis all the same. If I kneel, lass, it’ll nae be during a proposal.”
She swatted at his arm, laughing despite herself. “Ye’re something else, do ye ken that?”
He caught her hand before she could pull away. “Aye, maybe. But I’m asking all the same.”
Her gaze softened, her smile fading to something steadier. “And if I say nay?”
“Ye wouldnae.”
“What makes ye so certain?”
“I just ken ye wouldnae say nay.”
“And if I do?”
“Then I’ll ask again tomorrow,” he declared, his voice low but firm. “And every day after, till ye tire of refusing me.”
“So, yer plan is to wear me down?”
“Me plan is to keep convincing ye until ye see that this is the right choice.”
She studied him for a long moment, then shook her head. “Ye’re relentless.”
“Aye,” he said. “That’s how I keep what matters to me.”
Her smile widened. “I’ll do me best.”
“Is that an aye?”
