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Doubted himself for dragging her along?

The truth was, nothing in life was certain or absolute. No decision he made was absolutely right or wrong. There were too many uncontrollable variables. At the time, it seemed the most prudent thing to do. Because some churl had planted a maggot in Le Sauvage’s head that Branwen was Bryston’s woman.

Isna she?

Aye, mayhap now, even though he hadn’t declared himself, but she wasn’t mere days ago.

And underlying all of his pondering and plotting was the burning question, why had Le Sauvage come after him again?

In Leith, bringing Branwen with him had seemed the most logical, but he hadn’t expected the attraction he’d felt for her to explode into consuming emotion. However, he could not dwell on that at present. He must concentrate all of his efforts and focus on destroying Le Sauvage, or he’d never find peace. And he risked making a mistake or becoming careless.

More on point, Branwen would never be safe as long as Le Sauvage roamed free.

His heart swelled with emotion. He might not be able to vow undying love, but he didn’t want to lose this lass. She meant something to him, and if marrying her was how he could guarantee she’d be a part of his life, he could do that and still be faithful to his dead wife’s memory.

He could marry Branwen, hold her in deep regard, perhaps have children in time, and still be faithful to Delphine’s memory if he didn’t permit himself to love her.

Bryston didn’t deserve Branwen, but if she’d have him, he’d make her his wife. For she alone had been able to ease the torment in his soul and bring a degree of contentment to him he never thought to know again.

He was a bloody, selfish bastard.

Aye, he was.

An unmitigated, hell-fired arse.

Nonetheless, he’d ask her to be his wife, and she could choose where they lived. Even take to the sea with him, if that was what she desired.

He ought to wait until the matter with Le Sauvage was settled, but if he could persuade her, he’d like to wed before they left France.

A derisive snort almost escaped him.

Hadn’t he vowed to himself mere days ago that he’d do no such thing?

Aye, but he hadn’t spent days in her company then, either, hadn’t realized how perfect she was for him, hadn’t known the transformation to his soul she’d cause.

“Branwen?” He scooted to the opposite seat to sit beside her and took her delicate, gloved hand in his. “Lass, we’ll arrive shortly, and before we do, there’s somethin’ important I’d say to ye.”

He kissed the back of her wrist, where her pulse thrummed along at a speedy clip.

“Aye?” Eyes shining, brimming with unfettered hope, she tightly clasped his hand.

Chuckling, he chucked her under her pert chin. “There’s nothin’ subtle about ye, lass.”

“Ye’d have me dissemble and feign indifference?” A frown crinkled her forehead, and she pursed those plump red pillows of her mouth. “Ye ken me better than that, Bryston McPherson. I’ve always been straightforward with ye, and ye with me. ’Tis why we get along as well as we do.”

“Aye, I do ken ye.”

With a little sniff, she angled her chin. “Well? Did ye wish to say somethin’ or no’?”

Hadn’t he just been thinking she wasn’t the prying sort?

Aye, she’d not pry, but she’d prod—ruthlessly.

“Indeed.” He grinned, delighted at her ruffled feathers and the two bright spots on her cheeks. He drew her soft curves into the circle of his arms. “I would like ye to consider an offer.”

A fine midnight eyebrow quirked, but she remained silent even as she melted further into his embrace.

God, she was so womanly soft, and she smelled divine.