She leaned close and set her free hand on his scarred knee. “If you hadn’t come for me that night, hadn’t taken that bullet, there wouldn’t have been a wedding day.”
He met her gaze with a smoldering in the rich brown of his eyes. A smoldering that never failed to jumble her insides and snatch her breath.
“Come with me, lassie.” He stood, grabbed his cane and her hand, and led her out the back door.
“Oh.” Mild disappointment pushed down the corners of her mouth. “I thought you were taking me upstairs.”
He laughed and shot her a look full of surprise, reproach,and delight. “Far too early. We’d set tongues wagging. I only wanted a kiss, but not a wee one.”
What was a little scandal in comparison to being alone with the man she loved—her husband?
Despite his injury, he set a brisk pace, and Cilla scrambled to keep up as he led her to the sea. To the low cliff around the little bay. “This is where we met.”
“Aye.” Lachlan stopped at the top of the footpath. “I was standing here when I first saw my selkie lass.”
So long ago. So much had happened since then, and her throat tightened.
Lachlan led her by the hand down the path to the beach. The tide was out, and grey seals lounged on the flagstones closest to the water and barked at the intruders.
“You were standing here.” Lachlan leaned back against the cliff, rested his cane beside him, and fingered the orange sash knotted over Cilla’s right hip. His eyes darkened. “Here you were, my Dutch refugee, telling me the truth.”
She smirked. “I was also telling you a lot of nonsense.”
“Aye.” The serious look remained. “You asked for mercy. I gave you none.”
“I’m glad you didn’t.”
“Because you might have been caught.”
Cilla shrugged. “If I hadn’t been caught and I’d gone to Tante Margriet’s, I’d never have changed. Because you did your duty, I learned much-needed humility, I found the truth that set me free—even in the trap, and—and I fell in love with you.”
His wonderful mouth relaxed into a slight smile. “If I hadnae captured you that day, I doubt I would have changed either. I’ve found freedom outside of walls and regulations, and I found mercy.”
Cilla ran her finger along his upper lip, lingering on the scar she adored. Why wasn’t he kissing her yet? “You’ve captured me permanently now.”
Lachlan fingered the tartan sash knotted over her left hip. “Now that you’re a Mackenzie, I need to recite a poem to you.”
“A poem?” She grinned. “Lachlan Mackenzie knows a poem?”
“Och, lass. Every Scot knows the works of Robert Burns.” The smolder returned to his eyes, but with a soft burnish. He lifted the plaid from his shoulder and wrapped it around her.
O, wert thou in the cauld blast
On yonder lea, on yonder lea,
My plaidie to the angry airt,
I’d shelter thee, I’d shelter thee.
Cilla snuggled into his shelter, the warm protection of his plaid, and the rolling lilt of his brogue.
Lachlan gathered her close to his chest, and his breath warmed her face.
Or did misfortune’s bitter storms
Around thee blaw, around thee blaw,
Thy bield should be my bosom,
