“I intend to tup you, Deirdre. Often. So, say aye, and that you’ll marry me. Right now. Please, dearling. I canna wait much longer.” “How often is often?” she asked, breathless and shattered. “As often as you’ll have me.” “Aye, I’ll marry you, Gavin MacKinnon, with our son there by our sides.” A happy sigh went up from their onlookers, and she even heard a sniffle or two. “Now that, lads, is a marriage proposal. Somebody get the priest!” Gregor yelled.