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‘He kept watch for most of the night and is asleep now,’ Wallace said.
‘Did you sleep well my lady?’ Lainie asked.
‘Yes,’ Marion answered, ‘Is there anything I can do to help?’
‘Well, you can eat some porridge and get your strength up,’ Lainie smiled.
‘No really, please let me help with something. I will feel quite useless otherwise.’
‘I could show you how to pluck a fowl and roast it…and make bannocks,’ Lainie offered, ‘With what the laird is planning to do…you never know when those skills will come in useful.
‘I would love to learn how to make that delicious broth I ate last night. It revived me, it did.’
Lainie winked and giggled. ‘I have a secret ingredient – ale! It gives it just the right flavor!’
‘It is no wonder I slept so soundly,’ Marion laughed.
When Brice awoke he heard the two women cheerfully conversing as they cooked a meal together for their men. He watched them unnoticed for a while – Marion with her head bent over the spit - which Wallace had rigged up over the fireplace – where a bird was roasting, and Lainie instructing her on the process. Marion turned when she heard Brice’s voice, and he saw that her face was pink from the heat of the fire, and her eyes more animated than he had ever seen them before.
‘Walk outside with me?’ Brice asked Marion as she left the bird to Lainie and joined him.
‘Is it safe?’
‘Yes it is… as long as I am with you,’ Brice said, taking her hand. ‘Besides, I want to show you where you can gather the juiciest berries.’
‘Wait, let me fetch a basket for them,’ Marion said excitedly, running back to Lainie for one. For the next hour she and Brice wandered through the woods behind the cottage – kidnappings, unfortunate marriages and planned revolts seeming distant as they talked and laughed. Brice’s love for his Country was apparent as he regaled Marion with stories of the Highlands and people he had known. It was easy to see how he would make an excellent laird – because his love for his land extended to its people.
‘I haven’t felt this carefree or happy in such a very long time,’ Marion said as they walked back with their baskets filled with berries.
‘I could say the same,’ Brice replied, taking her basket from her and laying it down on a patch of heather, wet from the rain. He placed his basket beside it and took Marion’s hands in his. ‘Marion,’ he said, ‘I know this is not the right time to ask you, but I cannot wait till you are free to do so – will you marry me?’
Marion’s face glowed. ‘I thought that part was already settled Brice, but thank you for asking me. And I would like nothing better than to spend the rest my life by your side.’
He held her with an urgency and desperation that spoke of his need for her, and his impatience to have her for himself. Marion laid her head against Brice’s broad chest. He had a warm, musky smell with delicate overtones of heather and wood smoke. It was a comforting fragrance, far removed from the memory of Bothwell and Arniston House, and Marion was surprised by how much she embraced the simplicity of their prevailing way of life. It had been just a single day but Marion was fast overcoming her bursts of homesickness as she felt herself consumed by Brice’s warmth and love. His lips sought hers and they kissed – the warmth of their lips reflecting the heat of their passion as Marion clung to Brice and he to her. Brice was fighting for control as he allowed his hand to briefly caress one of Marion’s rounded breasts, even as his tongue trailed fire over the side of her neck and throat. She reached for his free hand, guiding it to her other breast, as his body sprang to life and hers ached to be discovered.
‘Brice!’ Marion moaned, arching her pelvis against his kilt, her body awakened by his arousal.
‘No! No, no, no!’ Brice groaned agonisedly, bringing his head down to kiss her breasts through the fabric of her gown.
‘Oh my Brice,’ Marion said, her voice thick and husky with passion, ‘I have not wanted anything more than I want you to take me right now. I belong to you. I belong with you.’
