Just One Kiss (36 page)

“Daphne?” Edward frowned as his wife refused to meet his gaze. 

“We should
go back downstairs
,” she blurted, pushing against Edward’s chest, but not managing to move him.

“We
should stay here
.
”

Daphne refused to look at him.
Edward licked his lips uncertainly, and whispered the words Daphne thought that she would never hear.

“I
love you too.”

Daphne gasped, and tried to struggle
away
, but he refused to let her go.  He kept her held tightly atop his chest.  Daphne didn’t know if she could believe her ears, and if she
could
believe them, then could she
trust
them?  She forced herself to lift her eyes to her husband’s fa
ce however, to try and gauge his honesty
.  Edward
looked
sincere.  He looked like he was holding his breath.  He appeared to be waiting on
pins and needles for her response,
but Daphne had been hurt too deeply in the past to trust appearances.

“You don’t have to say that, you know,” she said slowly.  She thought that she was coming to know Edward well enough to know that he wouldn’t have made such a declaration with the intention of hurting her.  He would think that it was what she wanted to hear.  And in so very many ways it
was
, but she
needed to know that he meant it, really, and truly, and forever.

“Daphne,” Edward sighed, reaching to brush her damp hair from off of her face.  “I love you,” he repeated, perhaps hoping that if he said it enough times then she would have to believe him.  “Why would I say it, if I didn’t mean it?” he demanded gently.

“To get me to stay?” Daphne murmured hesitantly.  She was chewing her lip uncertainly, and frowned at the sudden look of triumph that flashed across Edward’s face.

“Ah, but why would I
want
you
to
stay if I didn’t love you?” he argued passionately. 

Daphne opened her mouth to point out that there might be any number of reasons.  Hadn’t he told her that he had come back for an heir, after all?  And most of the married couples in England were not in love, but there was something in Edward’s tone that made her pause.  He cer
tainly could have declared his “love”
a lot sooner if it was part of his plan- either to convince her to stay, or to convince her that he wasn’t a lost cause- but Edward h
adn’t.  He had waited until now.

“Y
ou didn’t used to love me,” Daphne whispered sadly,
burrowing
her head
into Edward’s shoulder. She felt him release a heavy breath.

“You mean when I… left you?” he asked awkwardly.  Daphne gave her head a silent, stilted nod, fighting to hold back her tears.  “I thought that we’d established I was an idiot then?” he murmured. 

“But you didn’t love me,” Daphne sniffed, again trying to pull away, and again she was thwarted.  “If you had loved me then you never would have left me.”  She heard Edward swear again, this time under his breath, choosing an expletive that Daphne had never even heard before.

“I’ve fallen in love with you, Daphne,” he
said firmly
.  “With the strong, amazing, beautiful woman you are,” Edward declared.  “I don’t think that there is another woman in England- or on the continent- or in the whole world that I co
uld ever love even half as much. If
you aren’t ready to believe me, that’s all right,” he said difficulty, pressing a kiss against the crown of Daphne’s head.  “Because I’m not going to stop- not ever.”

THE END

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Clan MacRae and Clan Cameron had been locked in a bitter feud since before Lachlan MacRae could remember, since before his father could remember, since before his father’s father could remember, and so it went on, back down the branches of the family tree so far back in fact that no one alive was quite sure what had started it all in the first place.  This didn’t do anything to lessen the hatred or stem the killings. 

MacRae children were brought up to despise the Camerons; to loathe them as if they were the very lowest of the low.  Fed on the sour milk of hatred from the time they were babies in arms, it quickly became ingrained.  It festered in their blood, taking so deep a hold on them and becoming such an integral part of them that it was impossible to purge.  Lachlan supposed the reverse was also true, which was one of the many reasons why he thought Graem’s idea was ludicrous.

Lachlan sighed deeply and stared down the road ahead. He kept his bay gelding moving at an even pace.  There was no need to hurry.  He might be under strict instructions from Graem, his laird, to convey his “olive branch” but that didn’t mean, under any circumstances, that he was going to rush towards Castle Cameron. 

At least, that’s what he’d told himself. However, when Lachlan rounded the next bend in the road a rather surprising sight met his eyes.

A woman sat on the roadside miserably prodding her ankle while a grey mare beside her ripped up clumps of grass to eat.  When she heard the clatter of the approaching horse and rider she looked up with a fearful start. 

She was uncommonly pretty.  Lachlan admitted to himself that she would probably be beautiful if she didn’t look such a sorry state.  As it was, it appeared that her long auburn curls had suffered a drenching in the last rain shower. They hung in a tangled mess about her shoulders.   Her clothes were in similar state of disarray.  Wet and muddied, Lachlan could hardly decipher their original color.

He rode until he reached the woman and then stopped.  “You look like you’re in something of a fix, lass,” he said kindly, and then dismounted.  When he looked at the woman again she had a small dagger clasped in her hand. It was pointed directly at him although she remained on the bank.

“Don’t come any closer!  If you touch me I’ll- I’ll”

She stopped speaking, and looked highly affronted when Lachlan burst into a fit of laughter.

“You’ll what, lass?” he chuckled, taking a step towards her.  “Ah, I mean you no harm,” he assured her in the same tone he used sooth skittish horses.

“A likely story!  You’re wearing the MacRae tartan!” she said accusingly, waving the dagger in the direction of Lachlan’s plaid.

Lachlan glanced down absently.  “Aye,” he agreed.  “That’s true enough.”  He rubbed a hand over his short beard.  “And I assume from that reaction you’re a Cameron?”

“I am,” she said, hefting her chin with an arrogance that Lachlan would have struck away had she been a man.  “Muira Cameron.”

“Muira Cameron?” Lachlan repeated softly.  “Well, Miss Muira, I repeat my original observation. You seem to be in something of a fix.”

“I’m- fine,” Muira replied, wholly unconvincingly.  “I
don’t
need help from MacRae at any rate!” she added more forcibly.

Lachlan frowned harshly.  It would be easy enough to leave the troublesome wench, but he didn’t like to think who might come across her out here alone. She certainly didn’t seem to be going anywhere on her own.   Her mare was lame, and Muira herself seemed to have suffered some injury to her ankle.

“I’ll just leave you here to wait for your escort then, shall I?” he stated carefully.  “You did have an escort, didn’t you, lass?” he pressed.  Now that he was closer he could see, in spite of their current sorry state that her clothes were those of a lady. He couldn’t understand what she would be doing out on the highroad on her own.

“Yes,” Muira said after a lengthy pause.  “I- lost him.  My horse bolted and I-”

“
Don’t
-” Lachlan interrupted harshly, “-lie to me.  If you don’t want to tell me the truth that’s your business, but I cannot abide liars,” he growled. He advanced on Muira until he was close enough to pluck the dagger out of her unresisting hand. 

Her eyes were wide and terrified. They locked onto his face.  Lachlan was just trying to discern their color when Muira gasped: “What are you going to do to me?”

After a moment’s silence of his own, Lachlan replied.  “Take you with me to Castle Cameron.”  It was really the only thing that he
could
do with the woman.  He kept the dagger, but moved back slightly. Scaring this poor Cameron girl senseless certainly wouldn’t help Graem’s plan for peace.

“Castle Cameron?” Muira repeated.  Her eyes widened a fraction, and took on an uneasy expression that Lachlan found remarkably strange. 
Surely a Cameron would want to be taken home to her laird’s seat?
 
Where else could she be going on her own?
  “I don’t-” she began, but then seemed to think better of it.  “You can’t take me to the castle, MacRae,” she said instead. A haughty tone crept into her voice, grating on Lachlan’s nerves.

“I can’t?”

“You’re a
MacRae
,” Muira said, as though he was a simpleton for not realizing what this meant.  She licked her lips hesitantly.  “But- but maybe you could help me reach the Black Bull?” she asked quietly.

“You’re a woman, and you obviously have no idea what’s going on between our clans, do you?” Lachlan snorted, earning a fierce glare from the lady.  “I will most certainly
not
take you to a tavern and abandon you there.  You
must
have friends at Castle Cameron.”

“Yes, of course,” Muira admitted, although she sounded extremely reluctant to do so.  She lowered her eyes and nodded weakly.  “I do, but-” The sentence trailed off unfinished.  “Thank you, MacRae.”

Lachlan stared at her, wrong footed by this humble display.  “Well now, there’s no need to be getting all upset about it,” he said gruffly. 

Suddenly eager for an activity, he wandered over to Muira’s horse and picked up each of the mare’s hooves to examine them.  He cleaned out some grit and stone from under the horseshoes, but the animal was still far too lame to bear any weight.

“They’ll be no riding her back to the castle,” Lachlan announced, more to break the silence than anything else.  Muira glanced at him.  She was still sat on the damp grass, looking decidedly sorry for herself.

“I know,” she sighed.  “I was walking her- back- when I tripped and sprained my ankle.  I was just sitting here catching my breath-”

“When I came along?” Lachlan finished helpfully, flashing Muira a brilliant smile.  He chuckled at the color that rose to her cheeks. “Well, no matter.  You’ll just have to ride Fiadhaich,” he shrugged.

“Who?” Muira asked uncertainly. Her eyes alighted on the great bay brute of a horse that Lachlan had been riding.

“He’s as gentle as a kitten.  Aren’t you Fiad?” Lachlan said cheerfully. He thumped Fiadhaich soundly on the rear.  The horse gave a loud whinny and stomped at the ground.

“You know, my ankle’s not-”

“I should probably take a look at that ankle of yours actually,” Lachlan mused, “Just to check that you haven’t done any serious damage.”

Muira shook her head and smoothed her skirts down over her foot.  “I really don’t think-!” she began modestly, but Lachlan had already knelt down on the grass and was gently, but intently, prying her fingers away from her leg.

Muira’s boot was already off.  Lachlan noticed that the leather was thick and barely worn, supporting his opinion that this girl was wellborn.  He wondered if rescuing the damsel would earn him any favors with the Cameron Laird?  He wondered if he cared.  It was Graem who was in such a rush to reach a peace between their two clans before he died.