Page 67 of The Scot is Hers
“Oh.” Giselle closed the distance between them, wrapping her arms around his waist and laying her head against his chest. “I’m so sorry. That must have been awful.”
Alec let out a shuddering breath, the emotions within him fighting for power. But having her there, the comfort she provided, seemed to anchor him in reality. To give him strength. He enfolded her against him, tightening his hold as he realized how much he’d almost lost by going to that field. Joshua had fired early, and the move had failed. Cost him his life. But Alec also was aware that if the gun had not fired, his enemy meant to kill him.
“I tried to negotiate with him. Offered him a way out several times, in fact,” Alec said with a shake of his head. “He wanted no part.”
“Ye did what ye could, and Fate took care of the rest.”
Was it Fate that a man should die by his own hand? Alec couldn’t decide on an answer, only that he was glad he wasn’t dead.
“It was ye or him, and he wanted to make sure it was ye. Where did ye aim your weapon, Alec?” She leaned back a little, gazing into his eyes.
“His shoulder.”
“Ye see? Ye did no’ aim to kill him. Can ye say the same for where Sir Joshua aimed?”
Alec shook his head, picturing turning around, raising his weapon, taking sight. He was fairly certain Keith’s weapon was pointed at him. Knew for certain he fired before Alec had even thought to put his finger on the trigger. “I can no’ say, but he made it clear his aim would be lethal.”
“And still, ye aimed for his shoulder.”
Alec nodded, “Mhmm.”
“His death is tragic, aye,” she soothed, “but ye offered mercy in the end to a man who would never have given ye the same courtesy. Do no’ allow him to have power over ye even in death.”
Her words struck him with their honesty and the sense they made. He was giving Keith too much power over him. A guilt that would slowly eat away at him when he’d not even been the man to shoot him.
Alec nodded, pressing his forehead to hers. “Thank ye, lass.” He closed his eyes, breathing in her scent. “I’m sorry I did no’ wake ye.”
“There’s no need to apologize. ’Tis over, and we’ll never be in this situation again, aye? No more dueling?”
He smiled softly, sadly almost, except being here in her arms gave him the warmth and comfort he needed. “No more dueling.”
“Also, we need to talk about the book choice ye left on the nightstand.Romeo and Juliet, really? A tragedy about star-crossed lovers who kill themselves?” Giselle chuckled.
“I admit that was a poor choice. But asking ye to be my wife, that was no’. I love ye, Giselle. With all my heart.” He thought admitting the truth to her would be terrifying. But it wasn’t. If anything, it made him feel lighter, happier.
“I love ye, too, my Beast of Errol.”
Alec grinned. “I used to think ye meant to be offensive with that.”
“I never did.” She smiled up at him and touched the scar on his face. “Ye’re my beastie.”
He kissed her then, showing her how much of a wild, feral beast he could be.
* * *
Alec’s kiss was ardent,demanding, and everything Giselle needed and wanted at that moment. The fear she’d felt before he’d walked through the doors of Slains—right before she herself had been ready to rush out—flooded into relief that now allowed itself out of her body in trembling waves.
She clung to him, unable to let go, unable to stand on her own if she tried.
He’d not been killed. Their future together was assured.
And he’d said he loved her. The moment the words had left him, she’d been powerless to hold back her own. She loved him so much. More than even mere words could express. When she thought she’d have to live her life without him, it had been a torment to draw breath.
Alec lifted her in the air, walking back until her spine hit the books on the shelves. His lips abandoned hers to kiss her neck, her collarbone, feathering down her chest to the swells of her breasts.
He was frantic almost in his touches, his kisses. Needing and wanting to be everywhere at once, and she felt the same way. He was alive, and this life, their future, needed to be celebrated. She ran her hands in his hair, over the muscles bunching in his back, lower to his arse—which she’d not been bold enough to grip before, and now she did—needing him closer, and closer still, until she felt he might be a part of her body.
“I do no’ know how I got so lucky to have ye as mine,” he said, gently capturing a nipple he’d freed between his teeth and teasing it with his tongue. “But I am a damned happy man.”
