Page 70 of Married to the Ruthless Highlander
She peered up at him, a shy smile on her lips. “Where are ye takin’ me? I hope ye’re nae plannin’ to get rid of me before the weddin’.”
“Ye should read less,” he drawled, secretly amused by the drier side of her humor. “It’s addled yer mind.”
“Me mind is just fine, thank ye very much.” Her smile widened, her pace slowing as if she wanted to feel the touch of his hand more keenly.
A short while later, after following an overgrown trail that clearly had not been used by anything other than wildlife since the last time Doughall ventured there, he saw the border of that secret domain. Quickly, he stepped in front of Freya, blocking her view of it.
“Close yer eyes,” he said. “And be very quiet.”
“I dinnae ken if I can do both,” she replied, trying to peek around him.
He caught hold of her chin. “As if I’d let ye stumble, lass.”
Squinting slightly as if she still was not convinced, she took a deep breath and closed her eyes. He waved his hand in front of her slowly, but he got no reaction. Satisfied that she could not see anything, he took hold of her hands and began to walk backward, his gaze fixed on her pensive face, leading her to his favorite spot in all the world.
“Can I open me eyes now?” she asked in a quiet voice.
“Ye can open them when I say ye can,” he replied, glancing back over his shoulder to see how far he had left to go.
His eyes widened, his heart soaring in a way it had not done since he was a boy, looking upon the secret meadow. He had assumed that the season would have claimed all of the blooms by now, but it appeared that the wildflower meadow had known hewas coming, putting on a late display of color and beauty for the couple.
Michaelmas daisies in snowy white, vivid pink, and pastel purple greeted his eyes, alongside sunflowers that should have wilted at least a month ago, orange and red crocuses with their hardy, almost waxy petals, and swathes of heather interspersed with plump thistles. But that was not all. Not to be outdone by the flora, the creatures of the meadow had decided to put on a display too.
“Open yer eyes,” he said breathlessly, moving Freya ahead of him.
He heard, rather than saw, her open her eyes. A gasp escaped her lips, her hand flying to her mouth in what he hoped was delighted surprise. Taking a half-step forward to get a better look at her face, he was rewarded by an expression so humbling, so incredible, that his chest swelled with pride.
Freya looked around the meadow in utter awe, her golden-brown eyes reflecting the ethereal glimmer of seemingly endless fireflies, creating their own night sky in that very meadow. They were a sea of constellations, twinkling within reach.
“What… is this?” she gasped, her voice catching. “It looks like… magic.”
“Nae magic, just fireflies,” he replied, though he could not deny that they made a person believe a little more in otherworldly things.
She took off running, spreading her arms wide. Doughall almost shouted after her, ready to scold her for chasing away the fireflies, but they did not move, continuing their exquisite light display for their eyes only.
In truth, they seemed to glow brighter, burning with the vibrations of her infectious enthusiasm as she stopped in the center of the meadow. Where the heather grew thickest, avoiding the more delicate wildflowers, she began to spin in dizzying circles, her laughter rising to the stars above.
Her earlier disappointment was nowhere to be found, but the same could not be said for Doughall’s desire to smile. He could not suppress the impulse any longer, his lips curling into a grin as he watched her revel in the beauty of this secret place.
I’ve never seen ye more lovely…
He could have happily stayed there for hours, just watching her spin, hearing her laugh, letting her giddiness sweep away the heaviness of the past twenty-one years. She was like medicine, relaxing every tense muscle, soothing every ache, the lightness of her unburdening him, taking the weight off his weary shoulders for a while.
Suddenly, she was running back to him, her red hair flying behind her, her eyes as bright as the fireflies that continued to dance in the increasing darkness. He was so unprepared for the impact of her slamming into him and throwing her arms around his neck that he almost stumbled backward, his arms quickly slipping around her to balance himself as much as to hold her.
In his tight embrace, she raised her gaze to his, her eyebrows rising a little as if surprised.
Slowly, she traced her fingertips up the back of his neck and along his jaw, coming to the still-smiling curve of his lips. As if she had never seen a smile before, she touched his mouth in a tender caress, tickling the sensitive skin as she observed it with intense curiosity.
“Ye can teaseandye can smile,” she murmured, transfixed. “Ye must be wrong, Doughall—thisismagic.”
He rolled his eyes. “If ye’re goin’ to make a jest of it, I’ll stop.”
“Nay!” she yelped. “Nay, please dinnae. I wasnae jestin’, I promise. Please, keep smilin’—I like it so very much.”
If he was being honest with himself, he could not have wiped the smile off his face even if he had mustered every ounce of discipline he possessed. For one thing, he did not want to. This meadow had gone to such effort to put on a pretty display, it was only right that he offered it the joy it deserved in return.
“Thank ye,” she breathed, lightly stroking the corner of his mouth. “Thank ye for bringin’ me here… and for protectin’ me. Forgive me for nae showin’ me gratitude when ye deserved it. It was… unfair of me, considerin’ all ye have done. Trust me, I feel that gratitude now. In abundance. Thank ye. Truly, thank ye.”
