“Well, it’s good to know he has a conscience,” Ian observed dryly.
“He’ll have more than a conscience when I’m through with him,” she flashed back, her temper rising. She would have scrambled to her feet and gone in search of him, except Ian rolled her over on top of him and held her still.
“Lyssa, listen to me. Fiona and Janet are on the ship and they’re safe. And you and I must hurry if we are to catch up with them.” He sat up so that her legs cradled his ribs. He kissed her nose. “So are you coming, Lyssa? Are you ready for an adventure the likes of which you will never have again?”
“You want me to go with you?” she repeated dumbly, scarcely believing her good fortune.
“I told you I wouldn’t leave without you,” he said somberly. “I would never leave you behind.”
And he kissed her. Fully, completely, thoroughly.
He drew back. “You’re crying?”
Lyssa put her arms around his neck, buried her face in his shoulder, and sobbed. She needed at least a good minute of this before she confessed, “I didn’t know if I could live without ever kissing you again. I felt as if something inside of me was broken and would never be repaired. And now, here you are and you feel so good and smell so good and kiss so—”
Ian kissed her again, gently, brushing her curls back from her face. When the kiss broke off, he whispered, “I want to kiss you like that every morning and every night for the rest of our lives.”
She could have melted right on the spot.
However, Ian had other plans. “Quick, let’s get going, because if your father finds me here, we’ll both be done up.”
He didn’t have to tell her twice. She scrambled to her feet and started changing into a simple day dress. “What I need are breeches,” she said, her head in her wardrobe as she fetched her well-broken shoes. “If I had breeches, I could climb, I could ride.”
“You’d be a Mistress of Running Away,” he agreed.
“I’m serious.”
He held up his hands. “I don’t doubt one word you’ve said. I’ve learned my lesson.”
She stopped in the act of putting her foot in her shoe. “I love you,” she said fiercely.
Pride shone in his eyes. “And I love you. Now come, let’s hurry.”
“Can I take anything else?”
“Whatever you think we can carry down the tree.”
Lyssa pulled up short. “We’re going to climb down the tree? On the branch your weight just broke?”
“I don’t have another plan,” he admitted candidly. “Between packing my sisters and the children and getting them and the horses on the ship, I’ve been a bit busy.”
In two steps she stood before him. She gave him a hard buss on the mouth. “I’m pleased you could think of me.”
“I could think of little else,” he answered, and her heart soared. Ian was here and all would be right in the world. They would make it out this night. Anything was possible.
Lyssa stuffed three dresses in a small portmanteau, grabbed her hairbrush, a length of ribbon, tooth powder, and scented soap and she was ready to go—until her eye fell on the book her father had given earlier. It was a slender volume and would not take up much room.
“Another book, Lyssa?” he asked quietly.
“My father gave it to me to start my new collection.”
“I hope it isn’t Homer’sOdyssey.” Ian took the book from her hand and opened it to the title page. “Byron. I should have known.” He closed the book and handed it back to her.
“Oh, but you should read this poem,” she said and would have reopened the book to share it with him, except for his common sense.
“Lyssa, we can read on the ship. In fact, we can do a good number of interesting things on the ship—like invent our own poetry.”
For a second, the images his suggestion conjured caught her spellbound, until he prompted, “Pack the book, Lyssa.”
