“You came,” she said, kissing him over and over. “You came.”
“Aye,” he said, and sighed. “I was a fool to wait so long.”
“Your past doesn’t matter to me, John. And the future is ours.”
He felt a surge of love fill him. If he belonged nowhere else, he belonged with her. “I love you.” He kissed her and silently damned the bars that separated them. “Gillian—is there a possibility that you might be . . . that I . . .we—” He dropped his eyes to her belly.
She blushed like a June rose. “Oh, that. No. No. I’m—not . . .”
He shut his eyes, half relieved, half disappointed. He stroked her hair, kissed her forehead.
“Is that why you came, why you faced my father?” she asked.
“No. I came for you. But the possibility made me realize how much I love you, how much I want to marry you, live with you, have children with you—now or someday. I can’t imagine my life without you in it.”
She put her hand against her flat belly. “I almost wish—” She met his eyes. “But there will be time for that. For—” He saw fear cross her face, though she hid it quickly. “When you win. Whenwewin.”
He squeezed her hands. “Meggie said the contest was your idea, love. You did it for us, to give us a chance, to show your father who I am.”
“Aye.”
“I will win, Gilly,” he promised.
“I know.” She shut her eyes. He shook her slightly until she looked at him again. “Don’t give up on me, Gillian.”
“Never,” she said. “You are my choice—and I am yours.”
But there was no time to say more. Callum and Meggie were coming back, Meggie was chattering loudly, and Callum’s crisp footfalls were an unspoken rebuke.
John felt his heart climb into his throat. If he didn’t win—he pushed the thought away. He’d almost given her away once. He wouldn’t do it again.
This time, he knew.
She was his.
“Callum, you’d best take Gillian back before her father sees she’s missing and fears the worst.”
Callum came forward and took Gillian’s arm. He met John’s eyes. “Good luck, Englishman.”
Meggie smiled at him. “Just win,” she whispered.
But Gillian said nothing at all. She just looked at him, confident, knowing he would, trusting him completely.
John watched them climb the stairs, heard the door at the top close, and there was only silence.
* * *
Donal was still pacing the floor as the sky began to lighten.
He’d have to announce the contest today, before the lairds began to fear he intended to show the Sassenach’s suit preference over their own. Surely they noticed Gillian’s smile, her happiness at the Englishman’s arrival. He rolled up his sleeves. And they’d seen his own disapproval of the man.
The contest was a fine idea, but what should the first challenge be? Something manly and difficult, something no Englishman could ever hope to succeed at. SomethingScottish. . .
His thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door.
Donal looked up as Meggie entered. She smiled and kissed his cheek.
“You’re up early,” he said, glancing out the window at the morning star, shining bright in the dawn sky.
