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“Aye,” he murmured, his voice thick. “Laird MacLeod would fight to the death for his clan, but me…” He buried his face in the crook of her neck and breathed her in, his arms tightening around her.
Isla felt a confusing mix of grief, fear, desire, and warmth rush through her as she melted into his touch.
“But me,” he whispered in her ear, “I would fight only for ye.”
Isla leaned back so she could look at him. His eyes were dark, and his lips were parted. His breath ruffled the stray curls hanging around her face.
“Alisdair,” she whispered.
Her emotions, fears, and hopes poured out just from saying his name.
He shifted them until she was straddling him, her ankles locked behind his lower back. She wound her arms lightly around his neck, her fingers clutching at his shirt, still tense.
“I ken, Isla.”
He settled his hands on her waist and began tracing slow, soothing circles against her back. She rested her head on his shoulder. How did this man, who had been in a war council all day, find it in him to comfort her?
“Mm,” she purred. “This is nice.”
“Nae bad for a brute, aye?”
She chuckled softly and pulled back to look at him. She saw the tension in his eyes, the worry, but she admired that he was keeping it all at bay for her sake.
“Is it bad?” she asked.
“Nae yet,” he said sincerely, “but it will get bad soon.”
She nodded, grateful that he respected her enough to tell her the truth.
“I…” she trailed off, swallowing.
“This isnae yer fault,” he said firmly.
She looked away. No matter how many times he said that, she would have a hard time shaking off the guilt.
“Well,” he added in a teasing tone, “perhaps a little.”
Her eyebrows rose in question.
“Because I would rather kill everyone than give ye up. That is entirely yer fault.”
She let out a wet laugh.
“Aye,” he continued. “Me reputation is ruined because of ye. The cold, harsh Laird is now infatuated with his little wife.”
“Ye had little reputation to begin with,” she scoffed.
“I will have ye ken,” he murmured, pulling her closer, “that I had a fine reputation before a certain little rebel invaded me castle and…”
“And?” she prompted.
He looked into her eyes, his hand brushing her hair back to reveal her shoulder. As if mesmerized, he leaned in and kissed her there.
“And me heart, Isla,” he whispered.
Isla forgot how to breathe.
“Alisdair,” she said, half-plea, half-surrender.
