The Saint (Highland Guard #5)(113)

“Of course not. They will be lucky to have you.” He reached down and cupped her chin, tilting her face to his. His hands were warm and strong, but his touch elicited not a flicker of … anything.

“I’ve not given up, Muriel. I intend to spend the next few days until you leave trying to persuade you to change your mind.”

She recognized the look in his eyes and for a moment she thought he was going to kiss her. But apparently he thought better of it, and she was saved from having to pull away.

He dropped her chin. “Bonne nuit, Muriel.”

“Good night,” she said, opening the door and slipping inside. She leaned her back against the closed door, relieved—grateful to be alone again.

But she wasn’t alone.

Out of the corner of her eye she caught the flicker of a shadow in the candlelight. She startled—gasped—until she recognized him.

Panic was smothered by joy. A traitorous joy. Her heart actually leapt until she yanked it down again and forced it back in its cold, hard shell.

“What are you doing here, Will? Who let you—”

She stopped. Of course, the cobbler had let him in. Who would refuse the Earl of Sutherland anything he asked? Except for her. And even she wanted to accept his devil’s bargain. Every night she tortured herself with memories. Would it really be so bad? They would be together, and—

She stopped herself. It would be horrible. She would end up hating herself as much as she hated him.

“Who was that man?” He stepped out of the shadows. Her heart twanged. He looked terrible. As if he hadn’t slept or eaten in days. As if the past weeks had ravaged him as much as they had her. “What is he to you?” he demanded.

She bristled at his tone. It reminded her of what he was. The imperious earl. The man who would not be denied.

She expected anger. She expected him to grab her, force her to answer him. She didn’t expect him to slump, rake his fingers through his disheveled hair, and look at her as if she’d just told him his best friend had died. “God, tell me I’m not too late.”

What was he talking about? “Too late for what?”

“Too late to convince you to come back with me.”

She stiffened, her body taking fierce umbrage at his words.

Seeing her reaction, he swore. “God’s blood, I’m doing a horrible job of this.” He dragged his fingers through his hair again. She felt a twinge of concern, never having seen him look so unsure of himself, before she forced it back. “You’re making me nervous standing.” Will, nervous? Muriel’s eyes widened. Dear Lord, what was wrong with him? He motioned to a chair beside the unlighted brazier. “Would you please sit down?”

As she was feeling a little unsteady herself, she didn’t hesitate to comply. She watched in confusion as he paced the room a few times before stopping to face her again. “I can’t lose you, Muriel. You are the best thing that’s ever happened to me. You are the most important person in the world to me. I love you.”

Was he trying to torture her? No matter how beautiful his words, she could not let herself listen to them. But the ice around her heart wanted to crack.

“What is it that you want, Will?” She looked into his eyes, but it was a mistake. She felt the pull and shifted her head sharply away. She knew what he wanted. In a cool voice, she added, “Please say what you have to say and go.”

She startled again when he dropped down to his knees before her. Taking her hand in his, he forced her to look at him. “I can do my duty or marry you.” He paused. “Or I can do both.”

She stilled, not daring to breathe. Clamping down her heart to prevent it from lurching. “What are you talking about, Will?”

“I don’t need an heir, I already have one.”

What did he mean? Did he have a bastard—?

“My brother,” he said, perhaps guessing the direction of her thoughts. “Kenneth is my heir and there is no reason he cannot be a permanent one. He will have children. And if he doesn’t, Helen will.” He made a face. “Though I sure as hell hope Munro can persuade her to marry him. It’ll be a cold day in Hades before I see a MacKay—” He stopped, giving her a rueful smile. “We can discuss that later. What I’m trying to say is that I want you to come home with me. I want you to be my wife.”

No clamp could prevent her heart from lurching this time. She stared at him wordlessly. Was this some kind of cruel trick? Could he really mean it?

He squeezed her hand, reading her uncertainty. “Please, Muriel, I know you have every reason to hate me. What I did was unconscionable. More so because I love you. I should never have forced you to come back, never have forced you to—” He stopped, shame washing over him.

Was this really happening? Was the great Earl of Sutherland kneeling before her, asking her to marry him?

“Lust is not what I want from you—well, not all I want. If I ever made it seem like that, I’m sorry. I love you. I want you by my side, not just in the bedchamber but in my life. I know I don’t deserve it, but I’m asking you anyway.” He drew a deep breath. “Please forgive me and do me the great honor of becoming my wife.”

Muriel had been fighting fierce waves of emotion for the duration of his impassioned speech. He’d said no more than a few tender words to her for as long as she’d known him; to have so many at once was rather overwhelming. As much as she wanted to latch on to his words, the pain he’d caused her the past months had made her cautious. “What of the king? I thought you were to marry his sister.”