Page 85 of Laird of Secrets
“Sit, please,” he said. “We must talk.”
“Would you like tea? Or ale, or whisky?”
“Nothing. Please sit, Fiona.” He touched her elbow. “I have something to say.”
“Say it, then,” she said, standing, ignoring the chair he had pulled out for her.
Several days had gone by and she had heard no word from him, despite their night together. She had felt hurt at the silence. Now that he was here, the tension emanating from him made her nervous. She lifted her chin, mustered dignity, expecting to hear his regret, apology, and renewed suggestion to leave the glen.
Whatever he was about to say, she could endure it. Perhaps she did not belong here after all—but her yearning heart told her otherwise. Love is not the reason to stay, she reminded herself, if it is not returned.
“I owe you something,” he said.
“No explanation is necessary,” she said stiffly.
Sighing, he indicated again that she should sit. When she did, he placed a chair beside her, and leaned forward in silence, taking her hand in his. For a moment he stroked her hand with his thumb. Fiona could not seem to look at him.
“I owe you something. Marriage,” he said simply. “I have disgraced you.”
Surprised, she stared at him. “You did not disgrace me. I wanted what happened. I thought you did too. Marriage is not owed me,” she said. “I suppose I should leave the glen soon. But I would like to finish teaching first.”
“Fiona—”
“I will always remember that evening with great—fondness and thankfulness. It is true,” she said, as he began to protest. “I do not need a marriage proposal.”
He kept her hand in his and did not look at her. “When I was a lad,” he said, while he seemed to study their joined hands, “my father taught me the way of making the fairy brew, which is somewhat different than the usual. He said that the lairds of Kinloch must keep the process secret, sharing it only with close kin.”
Fiona listened, waited, not sure of the track of his thoughts. Dougal entwined his fingers in hers, sending delicious shivers through her. She closed her eyes against the longing, aware she might never feel such tenderness again. She did not want an obligation of marriage. She wanted love. She did not want a wealthy Highland nobleman, as her grandmother dictated. She wanted Kinloch—and could not explain adequately to him why she must refuse.
“My father never told his brothers, my uncles, the recipe of the fairy whisky. I have shared a little of the process over the years. Not all,” he said, “but I wanted them to know, as it was better to work together. Now I find it burning in me to tell you the recipe. The truth. Not this moment,” he said, “but someday I want you to know. And I want—” He stopped, turned her hand in his.
She leaned closer. “What?”
“You asked me once what I truly wanted. I know exactly what I want, now.” He glanced at her, eyes green and sincere. “You.”
“Me,” she repeated, heart pounding faster.
“One day, I hope we will bring our children to the place in the glen where my father brought me when he showed me the secret of the fairy whisky of Kinloch.”
“Oh,” she whispered. “Oh!” She had no words for the moment. This was not what she had expected to hear. Yet it was what she yearned to hear from him, that he wanted a future with her, wanted her to stay in the glen. Her heart filled with love just then, soft and expansive and hopeful, love for him and all that he had to share—the glen, its secrets and fairy legends, kinship with those he loved, all that was deeply important to him. But she could not find the words to accept. First, she owed him honesty.
He studied their entwined fingers. “It is not obligation that brings me here,” he murmured, “but love. And so I will leave the decision to you.” He let go of her hand and stood.
Fiona caught her breath, wanting desperately to jump up, loop her arms around his neck, return the joy he offered her. Yet she sat still, fisting the hand that felt lonely now that his fingers had withdrawn. “There is something I must tell you.” It had to be said. She could hardly meet his eyes.
“I know you have secrets, Fiona. I know some reason beyond teaching brought you here. But if it does not concern me or my glen, you need not tell me.”
She reached for the notebook and opened it, revealing the drawings of the fairy. “I have been trying to get this just so. It is drawn from memory.”
“She is beautiful,” Dougal said.
“But it is not quite right. I have not truly captured her,” she said. “Dougal, I do have obligations of my own. Promises I am expected to keep.”
“What promises?”
“My grandmother’s will contains specific conditions that my brothers and I must meet if we are to inherit. I am bound by those conditions unless I break my word and my bond with my brothers.”
“That is not an easy thing to do, then.” He watched her, waited.
