"Ye are an honorable sort, Fingal," Iain said. "I can respect a man like ye. I see the rest o' yer clan does as well.”
When he turned, after adjusting his weight on his leg, he saw that Isla was standing a little ways away from the battle, staring at him with wide blue eyes. He could see her in the distance, her hands clasped together, and his heart leaped with joy. Nothing and no one would stand between them now; she was free from the hold the tyrant had on her.
He stood there looking at Isla for a long moment, a tremendous feeling of accomplishment welling up within him. Iain could not stop the joyful grin from spreading across his face, and when she looked up at him, he saw that she wore his same smile.
In truth, he could not remember the last time he felt such triumph and elation. He took in the sight of the woman he loved, content in the knowledge that he was ready to begin their life together.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Isla could have wept with happiness when she watched the man she loved turn around, wearing a victorious smile.
Her knees had grown weak, and she let out a breath that she had held for an unknowable amount of time. The air rushed from her lungs, and she choked back a euphoric sob. She could stand to be away from him no longer and began running towards him as fast as she was able.
Isla sprinted to him, the wind blowing back her dark hair. Iain moved towards her, picking up the speed of his gait as much as he was able.
But something was wrong. He was limping, his right hand clasping a cloth to his leg. Every few steps, he would grimace in pain, his eyes crinkling and his mouth pressing in a grim, straight line.
Oh no! He is wounded!
Isla's feet flew towards him, her steps long and urgent, as she raced up the hill. When she was close enough, she threw her arms around him, enfolding him in an embrace that he met with a gentle sigh.
"Iain!" she cried. "Iain, yer alive! Oh, thank the stars!"
He pulled back to look at her, his brows scrunching up for a moment. He blinked at her, then smiled and shook his head at himself. Iain leaned down, meaning to kiss her, but she searched his face, confused.
"What was tha' look for?" she asked.
"'Tis nothin' truly," he said. "But tha' is jus' what I've heard ye say in the dream all those years. I believe tha' it was a warnin' about Duncan an' a way tae get us closer. Could no' be any other thing."
Isla wondered about that for a moment. She could not imagine the shock he had felt that day upon seeing her, the woman who had somehow drifted into his dreams.
But Iain was pulling her closer, tilting her chin up with his left hand. It seemed as though with her near him, he had forgotten about the wound he suffered altogether.
When their lips met, Isla felt all of the fear and the stress that had taken up residency in her heart fall away completely. She sighed, closing her eyes and thinking of nothing but the warmth and protection of his embrace. He was alive; he had prevailed, and all because of the deep love and connection they shared. Isla let herself enjoy this peaceful moment, this quiet second full of serenity and pure, undying love.
They only pulled away after noticing that most of the men had headed back to the village without them. The two of them stood alone on the rolling green hill, looking up at the sky.
"I cannae wait tae start our life together," Isla said. "I... I hope tha' I can be everythin' tha' ye wish me tae me. A good wife, a good mother..."
At the mention of children, she saw Iain stiffen for a split-second, but when his eyes met hers, she saw that his expression was still one of peace.
"I dinnae want ye tae worry about anythin'," she said. "Nothin' at all, d'ye hear?"
He smiled as he looked up at the sky, the clouds reflecting in the warm brown orbs that Isla fell in love with.
"I'm surprised tae say that I'm no' worried at all," he said. "I feel too much peace with ye tae feel any sort of fear. I cannae say what it is about ye, Isla, but ye are a special woman. I am the luckiest man alive tae be able tae count ye as my own."
Hand in hand, they turned back to the village, but Isla could not tear her eyes from the Laird, who would soon be her husband.
* * *
Iain was almost completely exhausted by the time he made it back to the cottage.
He had not realized how much the battle had taken out of him, but the pain in his leg had only grown ever stronger. Someone had grabbed the reins of his horse and had walked the stallion back for him, tying the beast up around the shabby wooden fence near Helen's house.
Isla personally cared for his wound. With gentle hands, she cleaned the gash, stitching him up with a needle and horsehair. She smiled at him, kissing his knuckles.
“Yer going tae have tae take it easy as much as possible,” she said. “Try an’ relax before we go. I’m goin’ tae help Helen with the wounded.”
