Elena glanced beyond him, over his shoulder.
“Nae, ignore them,” he said. “Look at me, Elena.”
She blinked and stared, seeming to hold her breath.
“I should have spoken sooner, Elena—years ago,” he confessed. “That’s on me—for being held back by the words of others, about the plans they had for you.”
Their families came closer yet, within hearing range, no doubt, but Jacob didn’t care.
“So when I went to yer father,” he said, “it was nae because I felt pressed. It was nae because I was shamed into it. And it was most certainly nae because I mistook obligation for want.”
Her throat bobbed as she swallowed.
“I spoke to yer father because I chose to,” he said quietly. “I chose ye years ago, Elena.”
That did it. Her shock broke, and her lower lip trembled.
“I’ve loved ye since we were bairns,” he said, the truth no longer something he was willing to skirt. “Since before I understood what it meant. I loved ye when ye were fierce and sharp-tongued and too proud for yer own good. I loved ye when ye doubted yourself. I loved ye when ye were frightened and when ye were brave. I’ve loved ye in every season of yer life—and I’ve never once mistaken it for duty.”
She shook her head faintly, as if the words were too much to take in at once.
“So dinna stand there and tell me I’m binding myself out of kindness,” he said, his voice still firm, employing the same tone his father used in lectures. “Dinna tell me I’m settling or sacrificing. And dinna say yes, ye’ll wed me, if ye consider it yer own sacrifice.” He reached out then, hooking the frog closure of her cloak, and then met her still-startled gaze. “Say that ye love me and there, it’s finally settled.”
Her lips moved for a moment without any words escaping. Finally, she managed, “I’ve loved ye for as long as I can remember.” Tears slid from her eyes. “I love ye, Jacob. I always have.”
He pulled her into him, one arm firm around her back, the other rising to cradle her face, his thumb brushing away the wetness on her cheek. The world narrowed to just them and when he kissed her, it was not hurried but certain, a promise sealed in the press of his lips against hers. He poured years of longing into that kiss, feeling something tight within his chest unravel. Finally.
Somewhere behind them, someone let out a whoop.
Elena startled, her body stiffening within Jacob’s arms. Reflexively, she buried her face against his shoulder, mortified that her brothers, her parents—hell, perhaps half the world—had just witnessed the sort of soul-baring confession usually reserved for private corners of the night.
Jacob turned as well, his arm flung over Elena’s shoulder.
“About bluidy time,” Alexander called out, shoving his hand into the air in celebration.
David clapped his hands once, sharp and loud. “Ye owe me six pence, Malcolm! I said, did I nae? That Jacob would set it right?”
A cheer went up then—uneven, enthusiastic, wholly unrestrained. A few whistles followed. Gabriel Jamison’s horse danced sideways, but its rider was smiling. Meggie clapped a hand over one cheek, her eyes bright with happy tears.
Jacob grinned and kissed the top of Elena’s head, before pumping his fist into the air.
Liam MacTavish watched them for a long moment, his expression almost unreadable, until he nodded once, then again, slower and more deliberate, as if granting not only his approval but also a blessing.
The End
