His arm fell. “I had to come back through that door, Lucy,” he repeated through a thick voice. “So I could tell you that I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone in my life. More than I’ll ever love anyone. We were destined for one another, Lucy.”
Her breath caught.
“Arran,” she whispered, coming around to him on unsteady legs.
“I know the story you told me, Lucy.” He dragged a frantic hand through his unkempt hair. “And how you wanted it to unfold.” Arran reached inside his cloak, fumbling around. He muttered and cursed under his breath, in search of something.
And the sight of him, this big, proud, powerful man so undone for her, because of her—
Lucy’s tears fell.
Suddenly, Arran stopped. His expression grew wistful. “I was going to stand on this side of the counter with you there—” He nudged his chin. “And you there, Lucy, but it finally occurred to me.”
“What?” she asked tremulously.
Arran bowed his head. “This isn’t your parents’ story. This isn’t someone else’s moment. This is ours.” Catching Lucy’s hands in his, he pressed something small and warm against her palm.
Lucy opened her hand. Her breath caught sharply.
Arran sank to his knees. He slipped the handmade ring of heather from her fingers and held it aloft. “Lucy LeBeau, will you, goddess of this earth, keeper of my heart, my very reason for being—” Lucy caught a sob in her fist. “You will never serve me. You will serve no person. Not God himself. The sole reason I was made was so I could serve you. Be my wife. Be my partner in life. Sail with me, where I go. See the world as you always dreamed.”
“Oh, Arran.” Lucy struggled to make out his beloved face through her tears.
He wasn’t done.
“Let me show you the places I’ve been and explore new places with you.”
On a gasping sob, Lucy launched herself into his arms. “I love you.”
Lucy leaned in to kiss him, but Arran drew back.
“Uh-uh, Lucy-love. I’ve asked you a question. A number of them.”
She caught him by his lapels and brought herself against him. “Aye, you great bampot. Aye to all of them.”
Minutes Later
Lucy and Arran nearly tripped over themselves in their haste to reach her bedchamber.
“God, I’ve missed you, Lucy,” he breathed, slanting his mouth over hers with desperate hunger. “Do not ever leave me again.”
Giddy with joy, she laughed against his lips. “Then do not ever send me away—”
“Never.” The vow tore from him.
They stumbled over the threshold without breaking contact—clinging, kissing, reaching. Hands everywhere. His and herclothing abandoned in a frantic trail. Lucy barely registered the slam of the door behind them. His jacket and shirt landed in a heap.
“I have wanted you forever, Lucy LeBeau,” he rasped.
With a swift, ruthless tug, Arran tore the back of her striped linen dress. Tiny buttons scattered across the floor. “Silk,” he groaned, shoving it away. Her lawn shift followed. “Satin.” His mouth traced her throat. “I will see you draped like a queen.”
Moaning, Lucy tipped her head back, trembling fingers threading through his hair, guiding him up.
“I don’t need finery, Arran.” She searched his face, willing him to see the whole of her heart. “You are all I want.”
His eyes flared—desire bright with something deeper. “I love you, Lucy.”
Tears stung her eyes at the words.
