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Tilting her head, she met his smoldering gaze.

“I love ye, Branwen.” He brushed a calloused thumb across her cheek.

Her mouth parted in astonishment.

He pressed a hard kiss to the knuckles of one hand, then groaned and encompassed her in a powerful hug, wrapping those iron-like arms around her.

“I love ye. When I saw Le Sauvage turn to attack ye, I kent in that instant that I couldna envision the rest of my life without ye in it. Please, marry me.”

“Och, Bryston, I love ye, too.” Branwen stood on her tiptoes and flung her arms around Bryston’s neck, peppering his chin and jaw with kisses. “Aye, I’ll wed ye.”

He swooped her into his arms and, in three long strides, reached the bed.

She glanced over his shoulder. The puppy had given up attacking the rug and lay curled in a ball, sleeping soundly before the fire.

“Lass?” His voice and eyes held a question. “I will wait until we are wed if that is what ye wish.”

Heat suffused her cheeks, but she shook her head. “Nae. We can marry tomorrow, but tonight, I’d give myself to ye in the way a woman does a man. If ye promise me one thing, Bryston.”

“Aye, anything lass.” Such tenderness softened his eyes that tears sprang to hers.

“Ye will nae leave me behind. Where ye go, I go.”

A smile teased his mouth before he swept it across hers. “Another bargain?”

“Aye.” She grinned, tossing her hair over her shoulders. “I dinna intend to mind the hearth while ye roam the seas.”

“It will be as ye wish, leannán. My heart beats with the fullness of ye, mo chridhe.” My heart. “The blood running through my veins hums yer name.”

If she hadn’t already been in love with him, that vow would’ve catapulted her into falling in love all over again.

He gently deposited her on the bed, causing the packages to rustle and tumble. “Do ye want to open yer gifts first?”

She sliced the boxes a swift glance.

Nae, she didn’t.

A wicked glint entered his eyes. “Before I open mine?”

“Nae, they can wait.” She laughed and shook her head. “I canna.”

While he moved the packages to the table with the bouquet, she removed her wrapper and lay it at the foot of the bed before turning the bedclothes down and climbing onto the bed. Biting her lip, she decided to leave her night rail on.

Branwen might be bolder than she was a few days ago, but maidenly modesty still prevailed.

She wanted this more than she’d ever wanted anything in her life. Wanted to become Bryston’s woman. His wife.

Holding her gaze, a lazy smile arcing his mouth, he swiftly undressed.

Good Lord above.

She raked an appreciative gaze over him, admiring the delicious masculine architecture. All sinewy contours and rippling muscles. He was bloody magnificent, his erect maleness, hard and proud, raised toward the rigid bands of his belly.

Swallowing, she brought her attention up to meet his eyes. Opening her arms, she invited him to her.

Then he was upon her, his length pressed against hers from toe to chest. Hunger swirled through her in heady waves. Bryston’s hands and mouth were everywhere as he whispered words of love and desire.

She floated on a dizzying cloud of want and need and love.