To Beguile a Beast (Legend of the Four Soldiers #3)(89)

“I do.” He heard her walk closer. “You can bear anything, Alistair. You already have. I once told Helen that you were the bravest man I’ve ever known. And you are. You’ve had the worst happen to you, and you view life with no illusions. I can’t even imagine the courage it takes for you to live day to day, but I’m asking you now to find an even greater courage.”

He shook his head.

The bed dipped, and he opened his eye to see her kneeling by his bed, her hands clasped before her as if in prayer. “Give her a chance, Alistair. Give your life a chance. Ask her to marry you.”

He rubbed his hand down his face. God, what if she was right? What if he was throwing away a life with Helen out of pure fear? “Very well.”

“Good,” Sophia said briskly, and rose to her feet. “Now get up and get dressed. My carriage is waiting. If we hurry, we can get to Edinburgh by nightfall.”

HELEN WAS SHOPPING on High Street when she heard the scream. It was a beautiful, sunny day, and the street was crowded. She’d decided once they reached Edinburgh to stay for a bit and buy Jamie and Abigail some new clothes. Jamie’s wrists were beginning to stick out from the cuffs of his coat. Her mind was taken up with fabrics and tailors and the scandalous cost of a small boy’s shoes, so she didn’t immediately turn to see what the problem was.

At least not until the second scream.

She looked then and saw several paces away a young pretty woman fainting gracefully into the arms of a startled gentleman in a dashing dark crimson coat. To the side stood Alistair, scowling at the girl, who’d obviously taken dramatic fright at his face.

Alistair looked up and saw her, and for a moment his expression went blank. Then he was making his way through the crowd to her, his gaze never leaving her face.

“It’s Sir Alistair!” Abigail exclaimed, finally seeing him.

Jamie strained at Helen’s hand. “Sir Alistair! Sir Alistair!”

“What are you doing here?” Helen asked when he was in front of them.

Instead of answering, he sank to one knee.

“Oh!” She placed a hand over her heart.

He held out a bunch of sadly wilted wildflowers, scowling at them. “It took longer to get to Edinburgh than I thought it would. Here.”

She took the limp wildflowers, cradling them as if they’d been the finest roses.

He looked up at her, his brown eye steady and focused exclusively on her face. “I said if I ever courted you, I’d bring you wildflowers. Well, I’m courting you now, Helen Carter. I’m a scarred and lonely man, and my castle is a mess, but I hope someday that you’ll consent to be my wife despite all that, because I love you with all my poor battered heart.”

By this time, Abigail was nearly jumping up and down with excitement, and Helen knew tears were in her own eyes.

“Oh, Alistair.”

“You don’t have to answer now.” He cleared his throat. “In fact, I don’t want you to answer yet. I’d like to have the time to properly court you. To show you that I can be a good husband and that I have some faith in the future. Our future.”

Helen shook her head. “No.”

He froze, his gaze fixed on her face. “Helen…”

She reached down and stroked his scarred cheek. “No, I can’t wait that long. I want to be married to you right away. I want to be your wife, Alistair.”

“Thank God,” he breathed, and then he was on his feet.

He pulled her into his arms and gave her a quite improper kiss right there on High Street, in front of God, the gaping crowd, and her children.

And Helen had never been happier.

SIX WEEKS LATER . . .

Helen lay back on the big bed in Alistair’s room—their room now—and stretched luxuriously. She was, as of ten o’clock this morning, officially Lady Munroe.

They’d had a small ceremony with only family and a few friends, but Papa had been able to attend, and Lord and Lady Vale had come, and really they were the only ones who mattered, anyway. She’d noticed that Papa had even gotten a tear in his eye as she’d come out of the little Glenlargo church.

He was their guest now for a week or so and was a floor below in a newly appointed room. Abigail and Jamie were exhausted from the excitement of the day. They were in the nursery a floor above with Meg Campbell, former housemaid, now raised to the exalted rank of nursemaid. Alistair was already talking about hiring a governess for the children. Badger had doubled his size in the last month and a half and was probably asleep in Jamie’s bed, though the dog was supposed to sleep in the kitchens.

“Admiring your new curtains?” Alistair’s rough voice came from the door.

She looked over and smiled at him. He was lounging against the doorframe, one hand held behind his back. “The blue’s so lovely in here, don’t you think?”

“I think,” he said, advancing toward the bed on which she lay, “that what I think has very little influence on the decorating of my castle.”

“Really?” She widened her eyes. “Then no doubt you won’t mind if I have your tower painted puce.”

“I have no idea what color puce is, but it sounds entirely revolting,” he said, and put one knee on the mattress. “Besides, I thought we’d agreed that you might do anything you wished to the rest of the castle as long as you left my tower be.”