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It was a perfect friendship. Frances Catherine had finally found someone who wanted to listen to what she had to say, and Judith had finally found someone who wanted to talk to her.
I’ve given Frances Catherine my word, and I mean to keep it. God’s truth, Iain, I’d walk through the fires of Hell for my wife.”
“Let me know, Iain.” “Let you know what?” “If you’re going to keep her or not.” “And if I’m not?” “Then I am.”
“I specifically remember we both promised never to drink from any man’s goblet of wine. From the looks of you, Frances Catherine, I’m thinking you broke your word.”
Iain’s heart hammered like a drumbeat, and he was so amazed by his absolute surrender to her, he couldn’t move.
She rolled with him. His eyes were closed. “Iain, did I please you?” He grinned. It wasn’t enough. She needed to hear the words. He opened his eyes, found her staring down at him. She looked worried. “How can you doubt you pleased me?” he asked. He didn’t give her time to come up with a reason. He wrapped his arms around her, lifted her to rest on top of him, and kissed her soundly. “If you had pleased me any more, you would have killed me. Satisfied now?” She closed her eyes and tucked her head under his chin. Aye, she was very satisfied.
“I would have broken my promise for a daughter,” her father shouted. “Oh, yes, I would have gone back into England for you.”
“Do you honestly believe I would marry a Maclean if I didn’t love her?” Laird Maclean let out a snort of laughter. “Welcome to the family, son.”
“Don’t you dare weep,” he commanded. “You’ve broken my heart.” “I’ll fix it later.”
“You and I belong to each other, Judith. Nothing else matters. Remember that.”
He couldn’t imagine why she loved him. It was a miracle, that. He sure as hell didn’t feel worthy. He almost smiled, for worthy or not, her heart belonged to him . . . and he would never let her go. Never.
“You’ve shown me you can give your friend your complete trust. I want the same, Judith. You’ve told me you trust me. Yet if you trusted me with all your heart, completely, you would accept without question that when I tell you I love you, I mean it. Only then will your uncertainty, your fear, your hurt go away.”
One whisper, added to a thousand others, becomes a roar of discontent,
Men were far more delicate to deal with than women were, she thought to herself. Their pride made the most reasonable solutions difficult.
