“You can go back to having a life of your own.”
His lips turned down. “Don’t you dare think of marrying him, if you’re only doing it so that I can give up all this moving around.”
She shook her head. “Not even for you, Papa. But I wish you’d said something earlier. We could have paid a companion to travel with me, some woman to lend me respectability.”
“Tcha,” he said again. “Some pudding-faced spinster? At least Ugolino Lucchetti added dash to your progress.”
She managed a shaky smile. “He did at that.”
“So you’ll marry Fergus?”
She went back to ripping at her damp handkerchief. “My work is back in Florence. I paint Italian scenes for the English gentlemen who visit the city on their grand tour. You know that’s my bread and butter, not exotic ducal commissions that come out of the blue.”
Her father’s smile was bemused. “If your paintings here are as good as you say, I’ll wager you can paint anything you want anywhere you like and people will buy it. And at this time, Scottish scenes please the popular taste. If you’re worried about your Florentine connections, I can continue to act as your agent there. If I know about anything after all these years, it’s selling art.”
“You make it all sound so easy,” she said, as she’d said to Fergus.
Her father shrugged. “If this is what you want, you can make it come to pass. You have to decide that, Marina. Nobody else.”
“I always imagined when I chose art, love wouldn’t be part of my future.”
“But now you’re in love.”
“Yes.”
“And he loves you.”
“Yes,” she said, all of a sudden feeling much more cheerful.
“Isn’t that worth trying for, then?”
Her hands settled loosely in her lap and she frowned into the distance. Was her father right? “I need to think.”
“Yes, you do, my darling daughter.” Her father’s smile was approving. “Now give your old papa a kiss goodnight. It’s tiring work, advising young lovers.”
This time, her laugh held a note of conviction. “Thank you, Papa. You’re a wise man.”
Again he shrugged, but she could see her compliment pleased him. “I don’t know why this surprises you, cara.”
She put her handkerchief in her pocket and stepped forward to give him a fervent hug. “I don’t know either.”
* * *
Chapter Twenty-Three
* * *
Wearing only his kilt and shirt, Fergus slumped in front of the blazing fire in his tower room. A half-full glass of whisky dangled from his hand. Liquor wasn’t helping to alleviate his suffering. He had a bleak suspicion the only thing that would help was the woman he loved turning up at his door and saying she’d marry him.
Which wasn’t likely to happen any time soon.
He cringed to recall his disastrous proposal. He’d hoped Marina loved him, too, and that she’d agree to marry him with joyful alacrity. They could work out the complications later.
Instead, she’d turned him down flat. That had felt like a punch in the guts, and made him realize quite how much she’d come to mean to him over these weeks.
Even hearing she loved him hadn’t provided balm to his wound, because her love paled in comparison to her dedication to her bloody art.
He wasn’t being fair, he knew it. She’d worked hard for her reputation as a painter, and it was a tribute to her talent and determination that she’d carved out a successful career.
But God damn it, he loved her. He wanted her in his arms, not back in blasted Italy, impressing the connoisseurs. He wanted her beside him as they grew old together. He wanted her to bear him a brood of children, who would no doubt take after their headstrong mother and prove to be a string of wee hellions.
These weeks of having her as his mistress had been glorious, but more and more frustrating. They’d shown him that he wanted a wife. And not any wife, but Marina.
He didn’t want to skulk around and hide what he felt, when he had a woman he was proud to show off. He didn’t want to sleep alone in the big bed looming out of the shadows behind him, the bed where every laird of Achnasheen had been conceived and born for the last two hundred years. He didn’t want to listen to the wind howling like a banshee around his tower eyrie, without having Marina cuddled close in his arms. Spectacular as the sex between them was, he wanted more. Want. Want. Want.
It all boiled down to wanting a life with Marina.
And that life remained as out of reach as the moon.
He tightened his grip on the glass and hurled it into the fire. It shattered and the whisky caught fire. The sudden roar of the flames meant he almost missed the tentative knock on his door.
Who the devil was it? Everyone in the castle should be in bed. It was well after midnight. He’d been up here brooding for hours.
He almost told his visitor to go to hell. But duty, rusty but persistent, kicked in. Somebody might need help.
Stiffly, like an old man, he staggered up onto his bare feet and crossed to fling the heavy oak door wide. “To Hades with ye, what do…”
The rest of his rough greeting died unspoken. He swallowed to ease his constricted throat, and continued in a different tone altogether, one that combined surprise with endless longing. “Marina?”
Under her spectacular crimson cape, she wore a long white nightdress. Her black hair hung loose and shining around her shoulders. With a shock, he realized he’d often seen her naked, but he’d never seen her ready for bed. The everyday intimacy of this meeting struck him like a blow. They’d shared so much, but there were many things, mundane yet important, that remained a mystery.
The elegant hands twisting at her waist betrayed apprehension, and her voice was husky with uncertainty when she spoke. “Fergus, can I talk to you for a moment?”
He burned to drag her into his arms, but after today he wasn’t sure he still had that right. Odd that now they’d both declared their love, he felt more awkward with her than he ever had before.
“Come in, mo chridhe.” He stepped back to let her enter, then wondered if he’d lost the right to call her his heart, too. Although she was and always would be his heart.
After a hesitation, she crossed his threshold. He’d imagined having her here in his tower so often, but his mind had focused on passion, pounding into her like thunder, high above the glen he loved, and feeling her tighten around him as she found her pleasure.
Would he ever do that again?
He gestured to the second armchair beside the fire. “Would ye like to sit down?”
“No. No, thank you.” She paused. “Are you all right?”
He frowned. “Are you here to find out how I’m feeling?”
“No. Well, yes.” He wasn’t used to seeing her so unsure. “I heard something break.”
“A fit of childish theatrics.” Damn him if he didn’t blush. “I threw a glass into the fireplace.”
“Oh.”
A bristling silence crashed down, then they both spoke together.
“I’m glad you came to see me. I wanted to…”
“I talked to Papa after dinner, and he said…”
They both faltered into silence. He supposed if she’d talked to her father, that meant she’d decided to leave Achnasheen. “May I speak first? I have something to say to you.”
A tiny wrinkle of worry appeared between her eyebrows. “If you wish, but I’d like—”
He spoke before she could finish. “I’ve been going over everything ye said this afternoon.”
“So have I.”
He raised a hand. “Please, lassie, let me say my piece.”
“But, Fergus—”
“Mo chridhe. ”
With a mulish expression, she folded her arms over that lovely bosom and nodded to indicate he had her permission to continue. He supposed it was an improvement on looking like she faced the guillotine, the way she had when she’d first appeared at his door.
>
“I ken what it’s cost ye to build your career. I understand that you don’t want to sacrifice all that, just as you’re reaching the pinnacle of success. The woman I’m in love with is an artist. She’s unconventional. That’s one of the reasons I love her. So I suggest an unconventional marriage.”
Fergus paused, because she looked like she was about to interrupt him again. But as she uncrossed her arms, she didn’t speak. She was listening so intently he felt like her very skin soaked up his words.
He prayed to God that when she’d listened, she’d agree. If she said no to this, he had nothing more to offer.
“Your patrons are in Florence, and your subjects are in Italy, so I’ll come and live with ye there.”
Marina made a choked sound and went as pale as hawthorn blossom. “Do you mean that?”
“Aye, with all my heart.”
“But you love Achnasheen.” She spread her hands in bewilderment. “You’re the laird.”
He shrugged, although they both knew how much it would pain him to abandon his home. Before he reached this decision, he’d taken the time to consider its full cost. “I’ll still be the laird, but I’ll be the laird who lives in Florence with his beautiful, talented wife, and who runs his estate through a capable bailiff. It’s not as if half the estates in the Highlands dinna have absentee landlords.”
“Not this estate.” She shook her head. “You’ll miss it.”
“Aye, I will.” He made a sweeping gesture. “Not as much as I’ll miss you if you leave me. And we can visit. I suspect that once the duke has his pictures on display, your patrons are going to want more Scottish scenes.”
“You’d do this? Leave Achnasheen?” When she blinked, he caught the glitter of tears in her eyes. “For me?”
“And for me.” He gave a heavy sigh and ran his hand through his hair. “I love you, Marina. I’ve never been in love before. Devil if I’ll lose ye just because we cannae decide where we’ll live.”
Her lips tightened, and a tear trickled down her cheek. Now that he took a closer look, her eyes were already pink with weeping. He hated to think he’d made her cry. Still made her cry.
His gut knotted with anguish as he realized her lack of response didn’t bode well for his proposition. Could he lose her yet, despite making this sacrifice to keep her?
After a long pause, she spoke in a tight voice. “You’d come to hate me.”
“Never.” He meant it.
Her delicate throat moved as she swallowed. “Then damn you, Mackinnon.”
Startled, he staggered back. “What?”
* * *
“You heard me.” Marina summoned a shaky smile, although his offer came close to shattering her heart. Unchecked tears poured down her cheeks. “Because I came here to say that I’d stay, that I’d try and overcome any qualms I have about losing my identity as an artist, because I love you too much to leave you. Then you go and turn everything around with this incomparable act of generosity.”
He made a gesture as if to dismiss his extraordinary self-sacrifice. “I ken what I want, and it’s you,” he said seriously. “You must know I’d go to the ends of the earth for you.”
Surely she must burst with joy and gratitude. She’d come so close to losing him. “Even Florence?”
The eyes he leveled on her were alight with love. “Even Florence.”
She raised her hands in a futile attempt to dash away her tears. Silly to cry like a rainspout when she was so happy. “Although I’ll always treasure your offer, you don’t have to live in Florence, amore mio.”
Even after all that soul-searching in her room when she realized that she was a fool to forsake a once-in-a-lifetime love, she’d feared Fergus’s autocratic tendencies. Hearing him say he’d give up the life he was born for told her everything that she needed to know about how dearly he valued her.
He was ready to compromise and make sacrifices. He did, indeed, love her. More than she’d ever imagined, if he’d decided he could live in Italy for her sake. The sheer magnanimity of his gift left her awed and humbled.
He looked confused. “I don’t?”
“No, I want to live here. With occasional visits to Papa in Florence.”
“He’s going home?”
“Yes. It turns out I didn’t need to worry about him after all. He approves of you—or he will, if you make an honest woman of me. We weren’t quite as clever at hiding our affair as we hoped.”
Fergus frowned, as she wondered why he didn’t sweep her into his arms and tell her he loved her. He must know she’d laid down all her defenses, and she was here to deliver her unconditional capitulation. This subdued reaction to her declaration troubled her.
She stepped closer. “Why don’t you kiss me, Mackinnon?”
He spread his hands. “I need ye to tell me straight out what you want.” His voice lowered, and the raw emotion in his expression made her heart ache. “I dinna want to make any more mistakes, like I did this afternoon.”
He’d said something similar, the night she promised to come to his bed. “I’m sorry.” Remorse pierced her like a knife. How she’d hurt him today. “You took me by surprise when you proposed, and you’re right—I reacted in blind fear.”
“Are ye saying you’re no’ frightened anymore?” Somber gray eyes studied her. Still he didn’t touch her.
Marina was now close enough to take his hand. She licked dry lips and met a gaze that asked for everything she had to give. Was she brave enough to answer yes? “I’m saying that I might suffer a few collywobbles, Mackinnon. But I’m ready to entrust my future to you.”
“Tell me, then.”
She raised his hand to her lips and kissed the knuckles. His grip tightened, and she wondered if he’d haul her up against him then, but he remained quiet and watchful.
“Complete surrender?”
He nodded without smiling. “Complete surrender.”
She gulped in a shuddering breath and tangled her fingers in his, drawing strength from the warm certainty of his touch. “First, let me say that I love you more than I can ever say. I didn’t tell you that this afternoon, or not in the way I should have. I’ve never been in love before either. I had no idea…”
“How love sweeps everything else before its path?”
“Exactly. It’s like you’re part of me.” She mustered another smile. “No wonder I wanted to run a mile.”
He didn’t smile back. “Do you still?”
“No.” Again with more emphasis, “No. It would be like trying to escape my soul.” Then in a low voice, she went on, “You’re everything to me, Fergus. The sun in my sky.”
His eyes darkened. “Marina…”
Her free hand made a shaky gesture. “I’m afraid you’re stuck with me.”
“I’ll take that.” His grip tightened to the edge of pain. “I’ll take you.”
This smile was a little more secure, although emotion still clogged her throat. Her voice cracked when she spoke. “And I’ll take you. As my husband, and the father of my children. I’ll take this extraordinary place you live in and make it my home. I’ll paint it in every season. I’ll show you sides of Achnasheen not even you have seen before. I’ll live with you in your castle, and we’ll grow old together, and your strength will feed my strength, and nothing will ever divide us.” She paused and took a tremulous breath. “Now, do you understand what I’m asking for?”
When he raised his head, the candlelight caught the rich red of his hair. Triumph and joy shone in his silver eyes. So much joy that her breath jammed in her chest and she felt dizzy.
The rare, unconstrained smile lit his face to brilliance. How she’d always loved that smile. “I understand, and I accept, my beloved.”
“Fergus…” she whispered, folding forward as her knees gave out. With the stumble, her Venetian cloak slipped to the floor. “Kiss me.”
At last, at last, he wrenched her up against his body and swooped down to capture her lips with his. She sighed in relief and lash
ed her arms around him, crushing him into her.
Heat flared and passion ignited, but beneath the powerful physical reaction, there was love, steadfast and eternal.
“I love you, lassie,” he murmured against her lips.
Before she could respond with an avowal of her own, he lifted her and carried her the few steps to the ancient four-poster bed in the corner.
* * *
Chapter Twenty-Four
* * *
The abrupt change from despair to elation left Fergus reeling. When he’d come upstairs, he’d wondered if this one last roll of the dice would win him the prize. Now he struggled to comprehend that everything he’d dreamed of having was within reach.
The lassie he loved. The life he relished. The chance of creating a family with this exceptional woman.
Fergus stepped back from the bed and ripped off his shirt and kilt with clumsy hands. Marina rose far enough to tug that alluringly prim white nightdress over her head, leaving her lavish cascade of hair to tumble over her breasts and shoulders. When she lay back against the pillows, he sank down to bury his face in the warm fall of silky hair. He breathed deep, drawing in her essence. Lilies and love and Marina.
This willful lassie was his at last. He could hardly believe it.
“Don’t make me wait, tesoro.” With a tender gesture that made his blood pulse heavy and sweet, she ran her hands down his back. “I came so close to losing you.”
“Never.” Through her wealth of hair, he kissed her neck and delighted in her shivery response. “It took me my whole life to find you. I wasnae going to let ye go for the sake of a small geographical disagreement.”
“I can’t tell you what it meant when you said you’d come to Italy.” Marina arched up until her breasts brushed his chest and sighed when his hands trailed down her flanks to settle on her hips. “Now I know you really love me.”
The Laird's Willful Lass (The Likely Lairds Book 1) Page 22
