“I willna,” he countered. “For if ye are to be the Lady of Greenock, ye belong to me now. And I might like to keep you close so ye dinna disappear.”
“I will never disappear,” she whispered.
Her lips were too close to be denied. He kissed her long and deep, until passion sparked in his belly and he had to place her gently down before his knees buckled. He wrapped his arms around her and they clung to one another as the sun finally broke through the clouds above.
“So what does the Laird of Greenock say?” Isabella asked, her head tucked snugly against his shoulder.
Hamish sighed in contentment. “I say this: ye have given me back my home. But more than that, ye have given me a reason to hope for the future and be happy in the present. I love ye, Isabella. And I will spend the rest of my life making ye glad ye decided to be the Lady of Greenock.” He paused and looked down at her upturned face. “If ye will let me.”
Isabella nodded thoughtfully. “I think I can allow that. But I must insist on one thing.”
“Anything.” He meant it.
“Kiss me again.”
“Does the lady not wish to go somewhere warmer?” he teased.
“Nay, the lady is growing accustomed to the cold.” She pressed the tip of her nose against his. “Do you not wish to kiss me, Hamish?”
Desire flickered inside him. “I wish to kiss ye very much,” he said honestly. “I can hardly believe ye are standing in my arms.”
“My wild highlander,” she whispered.
Hamish decided enough words had been said. He lowered his head and kissed the woman he loved.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Six years later…
August 1339, Greenock, Highlands of Scotland.
The little ponystepped out briskly, with its grey head held high and its furry ears pricked forward. At first, Hamish hardly dared lift his eyes from the pony, and the precious load it carried, but eventually the tension in his shoulders began to drain away.
His daughter was a natural horsewoman. Even though the pony was new to their yard and this was their first foray beyond the castle walls, she retained the confident seat and light hands of a much more experienced rider.
He had naught to fear.
Luar snorted as if in agreement, breaking into a trot as she traversed a ravine and splashed through a shallow river. Brianne squealed and wiped droplets of water from her pink cheeks.
“Can we go to the cave, Papa?”
Hamish reined Luar in until the little pony caught up with her long stride. They were climbing a wide path lined with an abundance of purple heather; the day was warm and birds chirped happily from nearby bushes. Even the incessant buzzing of summer insects could not dampen his mood.
“Who told ye about the cave?” he asked genially, thinking it was most likely Siegfried. The elderly seneschal had a great fondness for Lady Brianne, and they were often found exploring the castle grounds together, her small hand clasped in his.
Brianne tossed back her chestnut curls and smiled over her shoulder. “’Twas the pretty lady.”
Hamish gulped, steadying himself. Brianne was soon to celebrate her sixth naming day, and it had been many moons since she last mentioned a visit from ‘the pretty lady’ who had been a frequent guest in the nursery. Isabella had long thought this visitor was a product of their daughter’s overactive imagination. But when Frida once came to them at Twelfthtide, she’d calmly observed how her niece had the same coloring and impish smile as her namesake. With no likenesses of his sister, Brianne, hanging in the keep, Hamish had opened his mouth to ask how Frida knew this.
Then he recalled the particular gifts of the de Nevilles, and merely nodded in agreement.
“What did she tell ye, about the caves?” he asked.
Brianne clung onto a clump of the pony’s coarse mane as he plunged through the heather. “That they are cold in winter and smell bad. But in the summer, they can be a fine place to light a campfire and play games of pretend with a brother.” She wrinkled her small nose. “She must mean David, because Adam is too little to do anything but sleep and cry.”
“She must be talking of the future,” Hamish interjected firmly, knowing that if anyone was determined enough to take a four-year-old boy to a cave, it was his spirited young daughter. A lump formed in his throat as he remembered how he, Brianne and Elena had played together as children, clambering over rocks and chasing one another over the hills. Oft-times he had run so fast he thought he might fly.
“Mayhap.” Brianne considered this. “David and Adam will be more fun when they are bigger. That’s what Siegfried says.”
