“Do ye need a minute to rest?” Noah asked.
“I’ll rest when I’m dead,” Ian declared.
Rhiannon rolled her eyes as Noah nodded in appreciation.
15
Ian watched Rhiannon as she disappeared into the castle with her cousin and his sisters, who’d promised her a floral-scented bath, clean clothes and whatever she desired to eat.
“What’s that look?” Noah asked, elbowing him in the ribs.
“Whenever I look at her, I have this odd sensation.” He pressed his hand to his chest. “As if I might be having some affliction. I canna decide if she’s good or bad for me.”
Noah started laughing so hard he actually slapped his thigh. “Ye’ve got it bad.”
“What?”
“Love.”
Love? Och, nay. That was madness. Ian shook his head. Love was not a sentiment he knew how to possess—and if it were, he was definitely not in love. Was he?
“I never thought I’d see the day. Bloody hell.” Noah faced the castle stairs, the door now closed. “Here we are on the brink of war, and ye’re no’ fighting for the hell of it like usual, but for something else.”
“What?” Ian looked toward the doors, too, hoping the closed entry would somehow give him the answer.
“For Rhiannon.” Noah jabbed him in the ribs again with his elbow and let out a snort. “I was fully prepared to lead Sinclair men into battle for my wife and her cousin, but I think ye’re the one who needs to lead this. For the woman ye love.”
Ian swallowed around the ache burning in his chest. Was this what love felt like? As if he might keel over? “What if she doesna want me?”
Noah shrugged and made a disappointed noise with his mouth. “Ye willna know unless ye ask.”
“Ask her what?” For bloody hell’s sake, was Noah suggesting he walk into the castle and tell her what he felt?
“Ask her if she’ll marry ye.” Noah rolled his eyes as if Ian had suddenly lost half his brain. “My God, ye might have come back from this trek a bit dafter than I thought ye were.”
“Ye think me daft?” Ian jested, giving his brother a challenging look.
Noah tried to speak without laughing but failed. “As much as any other brother would.”
Ian chuckled, then grabbed his head. “Saints, but I canna think straight when I’m around her. I dinna know if talking to her before the battle is a good idea.”
“I think ’tis the right idea,” Noah said. “Or else ye’ll be thinking about it when ye should be focusing on slicing and dicing.”
“Fair point,” Ian conceded.
“Ask her if she’ll wed ye when ye get back. Give her something to look forward to, and ye. She’ll no’ be as worried about ye if she knows ye plan to return.” He shrugged. “Maybe. Och, maybe no’.” Noah seemed to be worrying about his situation and working his way through that.
“Or maybe before we go, we should say our vows. Just in case.”
Noah’s eyes bulged. “Ye’d marry her right now? And wait a second, ye think ye might no’ come back?” Noah pressed a hand to Ian’s forehead. “I sense no fever. What the fok?”
Ian chuckled. “I am no’ with fever, and there’s no bloody way I’m no’ going to win this. I think whatever is happening in here,” he pressed his hand to his chest, “made me say it.”
Noah stared at him, still in half-horror. “Get yourself together.”
“I will. Promise. And aye, I would marry her now.” Ian straightened his spine, realizing that he would indeed do that.
“I’ll get Father August.”
