Page 45 of My Highland Bride

Her laugh is a bitter one. “You mean a spark born out of a possible alliance?”

I refuse to let her leave here thinking that is all that exists between us. “There is more here, and well you know it, Reyne.”

She doesn’t respond.

“I am not in love with Cettina as you imagine it. Love takes many forms, does it not? You’ve read the Garra’s teachings. Love of your siblings. Your parents. Love, for you, of reading and writing. And for me, of training boys like Bradyn. I did not answer your question the first time you asked it, Reyne, because I wanted us to get the chance to know each other as we are now. Now, the choice is yours.”

If there’s any hope she will give any indication of her answer, that hope is dashed when she stands, pulling me up with her.

“We will be missed.”

I cannot let her leave like this.

“Reyne.” I cup her beautiful face. “Know this. Your father offered your hand to me, but only you can truly give it. I know many men who falsely believe they know better than a woman simply because they’ve a prick in their pants, but I can assure you I’m not one of them.”

Finally, a smile.

“I have told you from the start what we plan here. And if you do consent to marry me, you will never be treated as if your opinion is unimportant or inconsequential. You won’t just be my seat partner at meals or the manager of the castle staff after we return to the Highlands. You will be my wife in all things, and you will have my devotion, always.”

But she wants more. I can see it in her eyes.

Reyne wants my love as well.

I adore her. Desire her. Want to feel her underneath me as I claim her body. I want to be the man to bring the light back into her eyes.

But I cannot say I love her. Not yet. We need more than a sennight to know each other, but Reyne and I are out of time.

* * *

“There!” Warin whispers. “Do you see it?”

We are hidden in the trees so well that it is difficult to discern much at all. I see the dovecote but nothing else.

“Nay,” I whisper back. “Where?”

But no sooner have the words left my lips than I notice it. A barely perceptible movement, and then two men emerge.

“MacKinnish,” Gille says. “Not a surprise at all.”

Nay, though it is a surprise that we guessed correctly about the location. Were these men truly responsible for the attack on Saitford Village? And for planning another similar attack?

Gille moves, but I hold him back.

“Nay, we wait until all arrive.”

We’ve little choice but to arrest these men, and it’s been agreed we will do so on my authority as the queen’s commander. But first, I’d learn how many others are involved.

“There he is,” Gille says.

Rawlins. And two men with him. My hand itches as it rests upon my sword hilt. I crane my neck upward as a bird calls out above us, as if to give away our location. But none of the men now entering the dovecote even glance our way. They’ve no suspicion they might be watched. At least that is to our advantage.

A few moments later, MacKinnish emerges, as if waiting for someone. He looks in every direction, including ours, but doesn’t find what he seeks.

Who is he waiting for?

I listen to Warin and Gille breathing. I listen to the leaves rustling in the trees above us, the quiet, as always, more disconcerting than sounds of battle. With swords clanging and horses neighing, there is no doubt about what lies ahead.

Blood. Death. Families torn apart.