Page 93 of Sweet Home Highlander
“Nae,” he said.
“Ye’ll dance with me,” Makenna announced in a breathless rush, arriving in a swirl of satin skirts. He tried to decline, but she was already pulling him with considerable enthusiasm to the floor for the next set. Hurriedly, he handed a footman his empty glass. “Ye know the steps, dunnae ye? ’Tis an English country dance.”
“I learned the same as ye, lass.”
It was not a dance conducive to conversation, so Niall concentrated on the steps, smiling as they came together and then twirled apart, changed partners, and repeated the sequence. It was entertaining, particularly to watch Hamish, who’d also been pulled into the dance, bumbling the steps beside them, and Niall was enjoying himself. On one of the quarter turns, suddenly, something prickled against the back of his neck. An instinctive awareness that filled him from head to toe—one reminiscent of danger, or what felt like danger, at least. His eyes flicked to the entrance and his breath deserted him at the woman who had just entered the ballroom.
Aisla.
The sight of her nearly knocked him to his knees. As it was, he went stock still. The other dancers nearly twirled into him, while others took extra steps to avoid a collision. He was blind to all but her. She stood at the top of the staircase like a vision in sapphire satin, her shoulders poised and her face as exquisitely beautiful as he remembered. A rope of diamonds twisted into her lustrous golden hair, a blush riding high on those proud cheekbones. She looked stunning and fierce. His Venus.
Why was shehereand not in England? Or was he conjuring her as he had a thousand times since the day she’d left?
“Good God, man,” Hamish said into his ear, breaking the trance that had snared him. “Isnae that yer lady wife…I mean, yer woman…er, yer mistress.”
He shot the man a glare. “Shut up, MacLeod.”
Makenna turned to see what had caught his attention and also stumbled to a halt. Other dancers collided when the music came to an ungraceful pause.
“Oh, my,” she whispered.
But Niall didn’t hear her. The music restarted as he moved slowly toward the staircase, his eyes fastened on Aisla, as though if he blinked, she might disappear. Was she some mirage conjured up by his desperate imagination? He closed his eyes for a painful second and reopened them. She was still standing there, only now she was looking at him. He could feel the heat in that coppery gaze as it met his full on, without regret and without shame…without artifice and with complete ownership, echoing the chant his heart had taken up.
Mine. Mine. Mine.
A smile lit her lips as she leaned over to the majordomo. He cleared his throat, his face tinting with color, though he wore a wide smile that matched hers. “Lady Aisla Montgomery,” he intoned. “But soon to be Maclaren again, if she has anything to say about it.”
He could hear the gasps behind him, along with the spreading whispers. One, he was sure, had been his mother’s. But Niall didn’t care.Shehad come.
She had come back for him.
Aisla held his gaze with every step she descended until she stood at the bottom of the marble staircase, one riser above him, putting them on eye level. He couldn’t breathe.
“Apparently, I lost a wager, and I’m here to pay my debts,” she said with a tremulous smile.
Niall was aware of all the attention. People still plowed into each other on the ballroom floor, craning their necks to get a better look, and those close by, stared unabashedly. But he only had eyes for her. Every instinct in him wanted to reach out and gather her into his arms. To hold her and never let go. But he waited, his heart in his throat, the rest of the world falling away until it was only them.
Her smile rose to her eyes, making the amber flecks in them glow with an inner light. “I’ve thought about what I would say when I saw you, and it always comes down to this: I love you, Niall Maclaren, I always have. We might have made a mess of it the first time, and we might not have been married on paper, but in my heart, I’m your wife. And I belong here, with you.”
It felt like he was floating on air. His hand lifted to touch her cheek and she leaned into the caress, uncaring of anyone but him. “Are ye proposing, Lady Aisla?”
“That depends, my love,” she whispered. “Are you accepting?”
“Aye, I think so.”
“In that case…” Then she stunned him by stepping down and sinking into a deep, elegant curtsy worthy of royalty. “Niall Stuart Maclaren, will you be my husband?”
If the world had exploded around him right at that moment, he would not have noticed. Every bit of his being was focused on the woman kneeling before him and asking for his hand. He laughed and joined her on bended knee, cupping his hand around her slender neck. “Only if ye do me the honor of becoming my wife.”
He snatched the answer from her lips with his mouth, only dimly aware of the thunderous sound of cheering and raucous catcalls in the ballroom. A delicious blush covered his bride-to-be as they rose arm in arm to face a half-scandalized assembly. He met Ronan’s approving eyes, and his mother’s teary ones. Makenna, too, was dabbing at her eyes with a lace handkerchief.
“She said yes,” he announced, hauling her against him with a wicked grin. “Again.”
“For the last time!” Hamish bellowed. “For the love of God.”
Everyone laughed, but Niall agreed wholeheartedly. This time, he had no intention of ever letting her go.
…
