Emma Jensen - Entwined (36 page)
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"Isobel, I was wrong and I am sorry."
"Cuist!"
She kissed his chin. "I've forgotten."
"Mmm.
Why do I not believe you?"
"Because you're a naturally suspicious, unsocial creature."
"Oh, is that the reason?" Nathan tightened his grip on her and grimaced.
Only one of his fingers was broken, the physician had said as he set it, but Nathan was not certain he believed that, either. "What if I promise to change?"
"Into what?
Nar leigeadh Dia!
God forbid. One magical transformation ought to be plenty for a man in his life."
"I would agree. Now, tell me how much you adore me again. In English."
"Nathan."
"Oh, very well. My turn. Once upon a time, a man went astray onto the land of a poor, cursed beast. In what he considered fair recompense, the fellow handed over his daughter, a sharp-tongued, iron-fisted Scottish wench—"
"Nathan!"
Laughing, he told her precisely what she wanted to hear, using plain English words. And then no words at all.
EPILOGUE
Faire fire, faire fire,
Thou art not the beast of burden.
Faire fire, faire fire,
Thou art the man of dreaming.
My treasure and my delight,
By theft I won thee,
In the dead of night,
Without glimmer, without light.
Faire fire.
—Lullaby of the MacLeoid
May 1812
Nathan could not find his wife. While this was a common occurrence during their time in London, it frustrated him to no end in the country.
Grumbling as he navigated the slick steps behind the house, he wondered why, with eighty-six rooms to choose from inside, she inevitably turned up in the garden.
She was there, on the bench below his grandmother's roses. Her red hair blazed at him as he approached, a fiery beacon that warmed him more with each step. As always, his frown turned into a smile. By the time he reached her, he was grinning like an idiot. Isobel had that effect on him.
She looked up to find him looming over her. Oh, but he was a bonnie fellow, she thought, all bright eyes and smile. She wondered if the sight of him would ever cease to set her heart thumping. She suspected it never would.
"Out to enjoy the fresh air, are you?" she asked.
With ease born of much practice, he lowered himself to sit beside her. "I am out," he answered with a resigned sigh, "because I wish to be with my wife and she does not seem to realize how bloody cold it still is."
"Oh, nonsense." She took one of his hands and rubbed it between hers. "
'Tis spring and I like being among the roses."
Nathan turned to view the wall. Not that he could see any more than he could a year before, but he damn well knew there wasn't so much as a bud in sight. He had seen the blooms, though, the red and ivory glory of summer. As a belated wedding gift to Isobel, he had taken a flower from each plant and had it gilded. The pair rested now, forever entwined, beside their bed.
Paper rustled. "Writing to Margaret again? She has only been back on Skye for a fortnight."
"Aye, I've much to tell her."
Nathan grinned. "Since last week? Your letters, my dear, are keeping the mail coaches running."
"Well, I thought she should know Gabriel is on his way to Scotland."
"Mmm. Forewarned is forearmed."
"Cuist!
She'll find him as delightful as I do."
"Perhaps. I must say, Isobel, you are being rather blithe about the concept of Gabriel getting near your sister. He has a poor history and poorer reputation with women who find him charming. If I were you, I would be horrified by the prospect of their meeting."
"Shame on you, speaking of your friend so." Isobel shook her head in amusement. "Besides, Gabriel and Maggie... No, I cannot see it. Oil and water."
"Some would say the same of us, love."
"Ridiculous. We're fire and..."
"Dry twigs?" he offered, grinning.
"Well, 'tisn't what I might have chosen, but it suits."
Yes, flame and kindling they were, Isobel thought. One at its best with the other. Isobel sighed in contentment and snuggled closer to Nathan. "I've decided you're good for me,
Sasunnach."
"After only ten months? Careful you don't rush into a statement you'll regret." He caught her hand as she smacked his shoulder. "Tell your sister how good I am for you, if you would. I still don't think she trusts me not to savage you."
"Oh, Maggie likes you well enough. She'll like you all the more when she hears she's to be an auntie."
Awed still, Nathan slid his hand under Isobel's cloak to rest against her stomach. It humbled him to think part of him was growing there. Each night since she had told him—six times now—he pressed his lips to her still-flat abdomen and murmured,
"Tha gradh agam ort,"
to his child. Isobel giggled at the brush of his day's growth of whiskers and laughed harder still at his pronunciation. When done insulting him, she would kiss him with sweet passion and deepest love, then reassure him that seven months was ample time to get a wee Gaelic phrase right.
As long as she said the words several times a day, was his response, and he repeated them back, he thought he could have it mastered—oh, in sixty years or so.
"So, about Margaret and Rievaulx..."
"Och,
Nathan, will you stop with that!"
"I should think you'd be happy to see my wildly romantic nature running amok."
"Oh, to be sure, but not at my sister's expense." Isobel hummed thoughtfully. "My wildly romantic nature points to Trevor as the next one to lose his heart."
"St. Wulfstan? The man hasn't got a heart."
"So you say. I would venture to disagree."
Nathan grinned. "Care to make a wager on it, madam?"
"I would indeed. What are the stakes?" It was Isobel's turn to laugh as Nathan whispered his reply into her ear. "I accept, though it seems a shame to wait until I win."
"Bold words, my love, especially since it will be my victory."
"Perhaps we ought to go make certain it's a worthy wager. I'd be vastly disappointed to find my winnings aren't as grand as I'd thought."
Nathan's eyes sparked. "I agree completely." He gauged the distance to the house. "I think I should carry you inside immediately so we can find out."
"Ah, I think not, lad." Isobel laughed and batted at his hands. "I think we should walk."
"Will you at least hold my hand?"
"Of course," she said, and twined her fingers with his.
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