After a long moment he put a finger under her chin. “They told me you were dead, Fia,” he said.
She ran her hands over his arms, his shoulders, his face. He was warm, alive, and whole. “I was, when they told me you were missing.” She stood on her toes and kissed him again. “I’ve never been more alive than in this moment.”
He resisted her kisses, held her at arm’s length. “David MacKay is a good man, Fia.”
She blinked at him. “Of course he is.”
“He’d make a fine husband, and the MacKays are honorable folk.”
“I’ve no doubt of it,” she said, sliding her palms over the familiar, beloved planes of his chest.
He stepped out of reach altogether. “Do you wish to marry him?”
She advanced on him, put her arms around his waist. “David MacKay is strong, and kind, and pleasant company. But he’s meant for some other lass, not me. I want a pirate who will climb the tallest tower and come through a window to see me, someone bold, daring, and brash, a man who makes a lass feel like a princess when he holds her in his arms, loves her . . .”
He pulled her close, held her against his heart. “I love you, Fia MacLeod. If you had not come to Carraig Brigh . . .” He swallowed. “You saved me, brought me back from a living hell, made me live again.”
“And I love you. You are like breath to me, like light, but I didn’t heal you. You were never mad,” she whispered. “You were just lost and grieving.” She kissed him, and for a long moment neither one of them spoke. He finally broke the kiss.
“Ach, lass, you distract me from my purpose.” He dropped to one knee. “Will you marry me? You fainted before I could ask you properly.”
Her heart opened like a rose blooming. “Yes,” she said solemnly. “Yes, of course I will.”
He grinned at her. “Can you forgive the Sinclairs, feel safe and at home among us again? Logan is gone, and Father Alphonse has returned to France. No one will harm you, and no one believes you’re a—” She put her finger against his lips.
“The Sinclairs are good folk, like their chief. There’s nothing that would keep me from—” She frowned. “Oh no—you’ll have to steal me after all. We’ll have to run away, elope. Once Papa has made up his mind about something, it stays made up. It will be impossible to change it. We’ll have to wed first, hope for his forgiv—”
He got to his feet, cut her off with a kiss. “Did I mention your sisters are on our side? Fia, if ever I’m in a fight, I want the daughters of the Fearsome MacLeod guarding my back.”
“What does that mean?” she murmured.
He didn’t reply. Instead, he lifted her in his arms and carried her to the cot. She fell with him, marveling once more at how perfectly her body fit to his, as if they’d been made for one another and no one else. He nuzzled her throat, stroked her face, and began to untie the laces of her gown, pulling the linen aside to kiss her shoulder.
“I predict your father’s going to change his mind. Very soon, in fact.” He kissed her deeply, and she arched into him. “God, Fia, I want you,” he said, nibbling on her ear. “From the moment I walked into your father’s hall, all I could think about was kissing you like this, bedding you, loving you.”
She put her hand between their bodies, cupped his erection through his plaid. “So I see. Shall we do something about it?”
He groaned and grabbed her hand, stilling it. “Aye, Fia, och, aye, but wait, lass, wait—”
She heard the key rattle in the lock and gasped, tried to sit up. “Oh no, it’s my father! Can you climb out a window as easily as you climbed in? At least hide under the bed, or—” But Dair didn’t move. He kissed her gently and gave her a smile so sweet it melted her heart. “Don’t worry,mo ruin. Your sisters suggested this, by the way.” He pulled his shirt over his head and dropped it.
“No! What are you doing?” she asked. She reached for his shirt, pushing her hair out of her eyes at the same time—when had it come loose from the ribbons and pins? It spilled over the disarray of her open bodice. Dair grinned at her and kissed her again as the door swung open.
“What am I doing, sweetheart? I’m convincing your father to let me wed you, pirate-style.”
CHAPTER SEVENTY
The door hit the wall with a bang that shook the whole tower, and the Fearsome MacLeod strode in, the great bloodstained claymore of his ancestors clutched in his fists. He took in the scene slowly. It was exactly as Meggie had told him—the Sinclair stood by the bed, half naked, and Fia—well. One look at her kiss-swollen lips, her scarlet cheeks, and the fact that she was holding Sinclair’s shirt over her half-laced bodice, told the tale.
Donal’s nostrils flared. His chest heaved, and fury overwhelmed him. With an oath he raised the claymore and pointed it at Dair. The man didn’t move a muscle. “Do ye dare to debauch my daughter under my own roof? Her sister predicted I’d find ye here, Sinclair, but I didna believe it. Have ye no honor at all?”
Fia was on her feet in an instant, stepping between Dair and her father. “Papa, no!”
He glared at her. “Fiona Margaret MacPhail MacLeod, I have just one question before I strike his head off his shoulders. Do you love him?”
Fia blinked. “Yes, Papa, I do love him, with my whole heart. I’m sorry, but I can’t marry David MacKay.”
Donal didn’t lower the blade even one inch. “And do you love my daughter, Sinclair?”
