Page 20 of The Love Knot

His breathing stilled. “Does that mean . . .”

“Aye, ye daft man. I’ll marry ye. If’n ye’ll still have me. There’s no one on this earth I trust more with my future than you, Pieter van Duren. It’s always been that way. I simply . . . forgot for a while, is all.”

Pieter beamed at her, his smile wide enough to swallow his ears had they not been attached to his head. Then he yanked his hand away from hers, jumped to his feet, and dug into his trouser pocket for the item he’d carried on his person since the day he left New York.

“Heaven preserve us, Pieter. What kind of strange jig are ye—”

Her words died away as he finally grasped what he’d been searching for and dropped to one knee.

Between thumb and forefinger, he extended the silver ring he’d purchased nearly a year ago, the one specially crafted into the shape of a Celtic symbol Polly had told him about.

Claire’s blue eyes misted over and her hands trembled as she reached out to cup both sides of his proffered hand. “’Tis a love knot,” she whispered, one finger tracing the simple figure-eight design at the center of the ring. “Oh, Pieter. ’Tis the most perfect thing I’ve e’er seen.”

“I’ve carried it with me every day since I left home. And while I understand we need time for you to fully recover and for me to find a parson before we wed, would you let me put it on your finger now? So I can make you mine forever, just as you said?”

Her gaze melded with his. She bit her bottom lip, then nodded. “’Twould be me honor to wear yer ring, Pieter. To tie my future to yours and follow ye all of my days.”

Gently, Pieter clasped Claire’s left hand and slid the ring onto her finger. “I love you, Claire Nevin. And I pledge to do everything in my power to make you happy as we live out our days together.”

She watched the ring slide into place, then lifted her face to meet his eyes. “Just love me, Pieter. That’s all I need.”

Pulse pounding, blood thrumming, Pieter pushed to his feet and swept Claire along with him. Holding her close to his heart, he bent his head and kissed her with all the love surging through his veins. Her arms wound around his neck as she leaned into his chest, her head tilting back to give him better access.

The girl he’d loved for half his life was finally his, and he would never let her go.

Epilogue

ONE MONTH LATER

Dearest Polly,

Two weeks after the wedding, I’m still not used to people calling me Mrs. van Duren. After nearly nineteen years with one name, it feels odd to be addressed by another. Yet I couldn’t be happier about the change.

You were right all along, sister. Pieter is everything I ever wanted in a man. Not perfect, but wonderful just the same. And Liam is such a blessing to us. He’s pushing up on his elbows these days and has figured out how to roll onto his back. Such a clever lad. Soon he’ll have the entire roll mastered, and I’ll really need to stay on my toes.

Life in Snyder is good. It’s a rougher town than Harper’s Station, but that’s to be expected in a place founded by a former buffalo hunter. Word has spread about my work as a healer, though, and some of the women around town are seeking my advice.

Pieter’s dairy business is gaining ground. He wants to teach me how to make cheese. Can you imagine? An Irishwoman making Dutch cheese. I told him he’s daft, but I think he believes that to be a term of endearment, for he just smiles and drops a kiss on my cheek whenever I call him that.

I was so thankful to hear that Miss Fester took you on. Not that I doubted she would. She recognizes a fine hand when she sees it and knows your beadwork will fetch her a pretty penny. I pray for you often and hope one day you’ll find—

Liam began to fuss, waking from his morning nap earlier than expected. Claire set down her pen and started to get up from the desk, but Pieter was faster.

“I’ve got him,” he said, picking up the baby from where she’d laid him in the middle of the bed. Pieter made shushing noises and cradled the child in his arms. He paced the small room, his deep voice crooning a Dutch lullaby.

Slaap, kindje, slaap.

Daar buiten loopt een schaap.

Een schaap met witte voetjes,

Dat drinkt zijn melk zo zoetjes.

Something about a sheep with white feet walking and drinking sweet milk. Claire smiled to herself as she listened to her husband’s fine voice. ’Twas a fitting song for a dairyman’s son.

Her old room at the clinic was barely large enough for her husband to take four steps before he had to change direction, but Pieter didn’t seem to mind. They’d arrived in Harper’s Station last night for the groundbreaking ceremony scheduled for this morning, and Maybelle had been kind enough to welcome them back to the clinic.

Claire glanced around the small space. So many memories in this room. In this town. Dear friends—some of whom she hadn’t seen in months.