She also wanted those children to be hers and that made her nervous for she still wasn’t entirely certain Lucian wouldn’t soon tire of dragging around an animal-loving, sometimes headstrong half-English, half-Scottish woman, and then send her packing, straight back to Cranleigh.
He had said he’d make certain the estate was returned to her. That his London staff and his solicitor would manage everything, keeping her home safe and well-tended, should she ever wish to visit.
He’d used the term ‘visit.’
She worried he’d send her home for good – once he wearied of her.
And she wouldn’t be able to bear that.
She was also beginning to wonder about something else, something mysterious…
So she set down the oatcake she’d about to eat, then she glanced to where Dod Swanney stood behind the inn’s long bar. He was a huge soul, a great bear of man, but he did not look at all like a mystic. Nothing about him suggested magical powers.
Yet…
She turned back to Lucian. “How did he know you wanted the room called Scottish Night?”
“Because, sweet lass, this table goes along with that bedchamber.” He leaned toward her, lowering his voice. “This table, the feast he’s serving up, and the room, are part of a bridal package famed here at the inn.”
Melissa stared at him, her pulse quickening. “What are you saying?”
He smiled. “Can you no’ guess?”
“I can think, but…” She tried, her mind racing to untangle the thoughts whirring in her head. “So you truly do want us to wed? You are entirely certain?”
“Aye, and aye again.” He lifted a brow. “If you will have me?”
“You know that I will.”
“Do I?” His brow remained aloft. “Even after all I’ve told you?”
“More so now than ever,” she returned, speaking past the lump in her throat. “But…”
“Speak your concerns now, lass. Once you’re mine, I’ll no’ be letting you go.”
Heavens, I hope not.
“I am more curious than concerned,” she said aloud. “If you wanted a speedy wedding why didn’t we continue on the Old North Road to Gretna Green? Everyone goes there.”
“So they do.”
“But not the Black Lyon of Lyongate Hall?”
“Can you blame me?” He gestured to the huge fireplace so near to their table and then to the peat-hazed taproom with its thick whitewashed walls and black-beamed ceiling. “Why plunge into an overrun smithy’s ‘marriage mill’ when we could be here?”
“Why, indeed.” Her heart hammered. “And why do I think you truly mean all this?”
“Because I do.” He reached across the table and took her hand, squeezing it. “Dinnae ask me how or why I know it’s meant for us to wed, but I know it all the same.”
“I do, too,” she admitted, surprising herself with how easily the three words slipped from her tongue.
How right they felt.
“I feel it here.” She placed her free hand to her heart. “Like you, I just know. I think I did from the moment I looked up and saw you before me in the Merrivales’ cloakroom.”
He gave her fingers another, even tighter squeeze, then released her hand and sat back as the same serving lass returned with two big bowls of steaming oyster soup.
“I told you already, sweetness,” he said when the girl left them. “Stranger things have been known to happen. Always trust your heart.” His smile flashed. “And never doubt the wisdom of a meddlesome Highland crone.
