The words hung in the mountain air like a challenge and a promise all at once.
They found their mark in Enoch’s chest, piercing through every wall he’d built to keep her at arm’s length.
She loved him.
The knowledge blazed through him like wildfire, burning away his thickly constructed defenses. Standing there in her emerald dress with tears still wet on her cheeks, she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.
His throat constricted. She was offering him everything he’d ever wanted and all he’d convinced himself he couldn’t have. The chance to build something real. To be the man who stood beside her through whatever storms came.
But what if he failed her like he’d failed everyone else? What if his attempts to protect her only brought more danger to her door?
Mrs. Sinclair followed her daughter’s gaze to Enoch, her eyebrows rising with sudden understanding. “I see.” She studied him with the calculating assessment of a mother weighing her daughter’s suitor. “And do you return my daughter’s feelings, Lord Balfour?”
Every eye turned to him, waiting. His brothers wore expressions of barely contained hope.
Mr. Sinclair looked skeptical but not hostile.
Mrs. Sinclair appeared to be dissecting his very soul.
But it was Mandie who mattered. Mandie, who stood there with her heart in her eyes, having just laid her feelings bare before God and everyone. She deserved his honesty, even if the truth terrified him.
“I do.” The words came out rougher than he intended. “More than I ever thought possible. More than I know what to do with.” He swallowed hard, his gaze never leaving hers. “She’s the bravest, strongest woman I’ve ever known, and I’d count myself the most fortunate man alive if she’d have me.”
The admission hung between them like a bridge waiting to be crossed. Mandie’s eyes widened, hope and wonder chasing across her features.
“Then ask her properly.” Mrs. Sinclair’s voice broke through the bubble of Mandie’s response. “A woman in my daughter’s condition needs the security of marriage, sir. Not pretty words.”
Heat crawled up Enoch’s neck. He’d never imagined proposing marriage with an audience of five, but perhaps it was fitting. Mandie deserved witnesses to his commitment—people who would hold him accountable if he failed her.
He stepped closer, close enough to see the gold flecks in her brown eyes. “Amanda Beaumont.” His voice came steadier now, weighted with certainty. “Would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”
“Enoch.” His name was barely a whisper on her lips. “Are you certain? The baby?—”
“Will be our child.” The words came without hesitation. “Blood doesn’t make a family, Mandie. Love does. And I already love that little one because he or she is part of you.”
A sob escaped her throat, and she pressed her hands to her mouth. “Yes.” She spoke through her tears. “Of course, yes.”
He reached for her then, and she melted against him. The rightness of it settled into his bones—the way she fit against his chest, the way her tears dampened his shirt, the way her arms wrapped around him as if she’d never let him go.
“Thank you.” He pressed his mouth close to her ear so only she would hear his whisper. “For trusting me with your heart. For staying. For being brave enough to fight when I was too much of a coward to join the battle.”
“You’re here now,” she whispered back. “That’s all that matters.”
“Well.” Mrs. Sinclair’s voice carried a note of approval that surprised him. “I suppose if my daughter must live in this wilderness, at least she’ll have a proper husband to look after her.”
Mr. Sinclair cleared his throat. “You’ll forgive a father’s concern, Lord Balfour, but what are your intentions regarding my daughter’s…situation? There will be talk, no matter how quickly you marry.”
Enoch lifted his head to meet the older man’s gaze directly. “Let them talk. Anyone who has a problem with my wife or our child will answer to me.” The steel in his voice left no room for doubt. “As far as I’m concerned, this baby is a blessing, not a burden.”
Mrs. Sinclair gave a firm nod. “Under the circumstances, I think a simple ceremony would be most appropriate. Perhaps next week? We could arrange for the minister from town.”
“No.” Mandie lifted her head from Enoch’s shoulder, her voice firm. “I don’t want to wait. Not when Clayton might…” She shuddered.
Enoch tightened his arms around her. She was right—the sooner they were married, the sooner she’d have the legal protection of his name. “We could ride to Walnut Springs tomorrow. Find the preacher there.”
Mr. Sinclair cleared his throat. “If you’re certain this is what you want, Amanda. This man—” He studied Enoch with the shrewd gaze of a father protecting his daughter. “You’ll provide for her? Protect her?”
“With my life, sir.” Enoch met the older man’s stare without flinching. “Your daughter means everything to me. I’d die before I let harm come to her.”
