rampart.”
“You. Wouldn’t. Dare.”
“I surely wouldn’t. But then…I might not be able to help myself.”
“No!” She gasped and clutched at him as he took a wavering step toward the pathway’s open side. “Wait!”
“Aye, dear? You’ve something to say to me?” His eyes gleamed expectantly down.
Hers blazed frightened fury back. “I don’t think you really want to hear what I have to say to you,” she hissed like a cornered cat.
“I’d better.” He relaxed his hold a notch and took another step.
“No!— Yes!” Tabitha shrieked over the pounding in her ears.
“Which is it, aye or nay? Make up your mind, lassie. My arms are getting tired.”
He moved right to the edge.
She clung frantically to him, fighting down dizziness and frustrated rage. This was so unfair! So unbelievable! So MacAllister .
“All right! Y-yes,” she finally managed to choke out, though how she was able to squeeze the words past that suffocating lump in her throat, she had no idea.
“Yes, what ?” His voice sounded like the business end of a saber.
“Yes, I…I’ll m-marry you,” she half sobbed.
“Louder. I want to hear you say: I promise to be your wife, Alan MacAllister.” A powerful pair of arms slipped their hold just enough to make her gasp and clutch at him again.
The crisp, post-storm air blew against them, fanning Tabitha’s hair out over the courtyard like a blond banner, but doing nothing to cool the scorch of angry mortification.
Oh, what difference does it make? Engagements have been broken before now. It’s not like I’ll ever go through with it.
Drawing a deep, trembling breath, she discreetly crossed two fingers behind his back and repeated with as much volume as she could muster, “I promise to be your w-wife, Alan MacAllister.”
He pulled her securely against his chest and stepped away from the edge. “And I promise to be your husband, Tabitha Tilda. Did you hear that, Uncle Angus?” he called.
“Aye, lad, we all did!” the big man’s voice boomed back. “Why dinna you kiss the bonny bride?”
Alan glanced at the bonny bride’s murderous expression. He flinched. “Um…later.” Grinning a bit sheepishly, he carried her down the stairway to those waiting below. Whose waiting did not include waiting for a kiss.
Roaring felicitations in Scots Gaelic, Angus snatched Tabitha up into a rib-crunching bear hug and planted a resounding, hairy smack on each flushed cheek before turning her over to the next in line.
“I…I’m not sure what to say.” Zachary Earnshaw gazed down at her with a curious mixture of bemusement and concern. “You’re rather young for this, and marriage isn’t like a math equation, Tabitha. There are no tried and true formulas you can follow to make it come out correctly. Are you certain you know what you’re doing?”
I know I’m not going to marry any overbearing, over-muscled, insane Scottish Comanche.
Tabitha met the worry in his gaze with iron resolve in her own. “Quite certain!”
Zachary’s expression relaxed into a relieved smile. He leaned forward and kissed her on the forehead. “Then you have my full blessing, child.” The smile went a trifle wry. “Though I doubt Matilda would have approved.” Chuckling to himself, he turned and headed back to the generator tower, a slight crookedness in his gait the only evidence that he still carried several annoying ounces of shrapnel from the Civil War.
“Aunt Matilda would have had a cow .” Tabitha slapped the creases out of her velvet skirt while pretending it was Alan.
Suddenly she stiffened.
“You must be loosing your touch, Mr. Elliott. I heard you approach.” She pivoted about to confront him.
“I thought it would surprise you more this time if I didn’t appear out of nowhere.” He stared at her, an inscrutable look in his smoky gray eyes. “I’m afraid you’ve put your foot in it, Miss Jeffries. Or, should I say, Lady MacAllister?”
“Hah, it’s only an
“You. Wouldn’t. Dare.”
“I surely wouldn’t. But then…I might not be able to help myself.”
“No!” She gasped and clutched at him as he took a wavering step toward the pathway’s open side. “Wait!”
“Aye, dear? You’ve something to say to me?” His eyes gleamed expectantly down.
Hers blazed frightened fury back. “I don’t think you really want to hear what I have to say to you,” she hissed like a cornered cat.
“I’d better.” He relaxed his hold a notch and took another step.
“No!— Yes!” Tabitha shrieked over the pounding in her ears.
“Which is it, aye or nay? Make up your mind, lassie. My arms are getting tired.”
He moved right to the edge.
She clung frantically to him, fighting down dizziness and frustrated rage. This was so unfair! So unbelievable! So MacAllister .
“All right! Y-yes,” she finally managed to choke out, though how she was able to squeeze the words past that suffocating lump in her throat, she had no idea.
“Yes, what ?” His voice sounded like the business end of a saber.
“Yes, I…I’ll m-marry you,” she half sobbed.
“Louder. I want to hear you say: I promise to be your wife, Alan MacAllister.” A powerful pair of arms slipped their hold just enough to make her gasp and clutch at him again.
The crisp, post-storm air blew against them, fanning Tabitha’s hair out over the courtyard like a blond banner, but doing nothing to cool the scorch of angry mortification.
Oh, what difference does it make? Engagements have been broken before now. It’s not like I’ll ever go through with it.
Drawing a deep, trembling breath, she discreetly crossed two fingers behind his back and repeated with as much volume as she could muster, “I promise to be your w-wife, Alan MacAllister.”
He pulled her securely against his chest and stepped away from the edge. “And I promise to be your husband, Tabitha Tilda. Did you hear that, Uncle Angus?” he called.
“Aye, lad, we all did!” the big man’s voice boomed back. “Why dinna you kiss the bonny bride?”
Alan glanced at the bonny bride’s murderous expression. He flinched. “Um…later.” Grinning a bit sheepishly, he carried her down the stairway to those waiting below. Whose waiting did not include waiting for a kiss.
Roaring felicitations in Scots Gaelic, Angus snatched Tabitha up into a rib-crunching bear hug and planted a resounding, hairy smack on each flushed cheek before turning her over to the next in line.
“I…I’m not sure what to say.” Zachary Earnshaw gazed down at her with a curious mixture of bemusement and concern. “You’re rather young for this, and marriage isn’t like a math equation, Tabitha. There are no tried and true formulas you can follow to make it come out correctly. Are you certain you know what you’re doing?”
I know I’m not going to marry any overbearing, over-muscled, insane Scottish Comanche.
Tabitha met the worry in his gaze with iron resolve in her own. “Quite certain!”
Zachary’s expression relaxed into a relieved smile. He leaned forward and kissed her on the forehead. “Then you have my full blessing, child.” The smile went a trifle wry. “Though I doubt Matilda would have approved.” Chuckling to himself, he turned and headed back to the generator tower, a slight crookedness in his gait the only evidence that he still carried several annoying ounces of shrapnel from the Civil War.
“Aunt Matilda would have had a cow .” Tabitha slapped the creases out of her velvet skirt while pretending it was Alan.
Suddenly she stiffened.
“You must be loosing your touch, Mr. Elliott. I heard you approach.” She pivoted about to confront him.
“I thought it would surprise you more this time if I didn’t appear out of nowhere.” He stared at her, an inscrutable look in his smoky gray eyes. “I’m afraid you’ve put your foot in it, Miss Jeffries. Or, should I say, Lady MacAllister?”
“Hah, it’s only an
Similar Books
