Violet’s lips curved, and he felt his heart… fluttering?
No, his heart had dropped to the ground the moment he uttered those words. He watched the thing beating at his feet as a carcass would, deaf to the outside world and immobile against his wishes.
Violet brought him back from the spell when she shook him. “What are you thinking about?”
She must have been talking for a while. Still, her smile remained unfettered. Even though he had not heard her, he assumed everything said must have been positive.
He instantly felt a burst of elation.
It was real; he was marrying her. He would get to make her his wife, to make her his and only his.
He leaned in and took her hands. “Ye wish to marry me?”
“How many times do I have to agree?”
“You swear nae to change yer mind?”
She nodded enthusiastically.
“Then ye daenae mind if I officially announce our engagement right here?”
Her eyes scanned the room. “I doubt you could get this crowd to stay still for that.”
“If I have yer permission, I can do anything.”
She looked over the crowd again. Doubt was overturned with a challenge, and now she seemed more excited about him quieting the crowd than their engagement.
If she wanted a show, a show she would get.
Ruaridh rose and gave a signal to the head minstrel. He alerted the band, and the members played a skewed tune that turned the room towards them, then he clapped to capture their attention.He cast a cocky glance at Violet as the room instantly fell quiet. She looked impressed.
“I thank ye all for showing up today. Ye came when I called, and ye stayed for meat and wine.”
The room erupted in cheers, and the men lifted their tankards in the air.
“Today, me daughter placed the winner’s oak on me head and crowned me victor once more… as expected. Tonight, I shall honor ye all with one more surprise.” He looked down at Violet and stretched out his hand. “Miss Violet Wilkinson, daughter of Sir Horace Wilkinson, has accepted me proposal and agreed to become me wife!”
The room exploded in cheers and applause, drowning out the rest of his speech, but he did not mind, for Violet threw her arms around his neck and pressed her lips to his.
Outside Keira’s chambers, the maid was met with Ruaridh’s solid chest. He reached out a hand and steadied the blankets that had blocked him from view, but he could not save the bronze pot that had clanked heavily onto the floor.
“Forgive me, me Laird.” She relinquished the blankets to him and forced him to wait while she chased the rolling pot.
“Is me daughter awake?”
She bundled the sheets underneath her arm, then threw the rest that forced his arms into a clothing line over her shoulder with a slow, casual speed. “Wide awake and brighter than a candle.”
“I suspected as much,” he muttered.
It’d been over an hour since the banquet ended, the banquet Keira had been forbidden from attending. She should have retired hours ago, immediately after supper, but if there was anything he knew about his daughter, it was that she was not very biddable.
Her door was ajar, so she should be aware of his presence. If he were lucky, she would have become a sweet angel who showed him enough courtesy to blow out her candles and feign sleep.
He rapped his knuckles against the door, remembering a time when he didn’t have to knock, then poked his head through the gap. The incorrigible girl was staring at him with wide eyes and a grin.
He sighed. “Shouldnae ye be asleep?”
She was perfectly tucked in, except for the creases that had formed, presumably from sitting.
