Page 83 of Laird of Twilight

“Aye. What else?”

He exhaled. Eventually, this must be said. Honesty was important for both of them if they were to continue together. “My grandmother set the condition that in order to inherit, I must find a Highland bride. To be specific, a fairy bride.”

“A fairy bride,” she repeated. She crossed her arms. Tilted her head.

“Otherwise there will be little inheritance. But she set an impossible condition.”

“Did she.” She watched him. “And then you met me.”

“Elspeth, listen. It was not that way, but—”

“You knew this all along, yet kept silent!” She nearly hissed that.

“We both have our secrets.”

Chapter 19

Her temper fumed. Her breath heaved as she glared up at him. “Secrets! I may not have told you everything, but I have never deceived you!”

“Nor have I you.” She tried to push him again, but he gripped her wrist, drew her close. She allowed that, though she trembled with anger, confusion, a sense of betrayal. When he touched her, she could scarcely think. He cupped her cheek, capturing her attention.

“Knowing this, and needing a fairy bride, or whatever you think that is,” she said in a clipped and angry tone, “you listened to me go on about fairies. And then asked me to marry you.”

“And would again. That evening compromised you, and if you remember, you were the one wanted that. Asked for it, as I recall.”

“I thought you offered marriage out of obligation. Now I see it was because you wanted your inheritance. How convenient for you that I came by that night!”

“I asked because I wanted to marry you.” His voice was low, firm. When she huffed in anger and turned to leave, he took her arms, turned her, set her back against the wall behind the door. “And I still do.”

“Because I have some tie to the fairies that is unbelievable but very timely.”

“I admit it was part of my thinking.”

“Why did you not tell me?” And why, she suddenly realized, had her own intuitive senses not told her? She was befuddled with love for him. That was why.

“No explanation seemed necessary at the time. I would not know a fairy from a fishwife. And you repeatedly refused my offer.”

“I had good reason to refuse. More than I thought.” She turned her head away.

“And I had my reasons for asking.” He whispered that, standing so close that Elspeth angled her head away, feeling he might kiss her, afraid she would relent.

“Elspeth.” He touched his nose to hers, questing, and his lips grazed her cheek. She sighed, her hand curling against his shoulder, her knees weakening. Then she toughened and pushed him away, stepping back.

“Stop. There are people in the next room,” she said.

“Let them come in, then. They will witness my proposal.” He reached out again, but when she stood still, his hand dropped. She nearly relented again, but stood fast against it.

“I cannot trust you now,” she whispered.

“Fair enough. I understand. But know this, Elspeth. I would trust you with my very life. And I am in love with you.” He sighed, ran fingers through his hair. “This has all been so quick, but I am sure of that. I love you. It seems like magic, happening so quickly. And yet I am certain—whether or not you believe me.”

Her breath caught.Love makes its own magic.She remembered, then, the motto of the MacCarrans. She wanted to tell him so, step into his arms. Both her grandfather and Cousin Margaret had urged her to love him, accept him. “It was all very quick, aye. And I feel—the same. I am sure of it. But—” she drew a breath—“There is something I must tell you.”

“More secrets? Go on, then.” His voice thrummed low.

“My mother was a fairy,” she said, and nearly held her breath. “An actual fairy, you see. Not fancy, or imagination—or a wish. She was born of the fairy ilk.”

“Good God,” he said.