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"But—"

"If he refused, it would have made for bitterness between us and the Maxwells, maybe even come to war. So he accepted. And so should you, Deirdre. 'Tis what was agreed upon when you wed Brodie."

"I don't want it," Deirdre said tightly. "I don't want anything of theirs."

Her face had taken on the strained look it always wore when Brodie's name was mentioned. Alistair sighed, almost wishing he had left this for another day. He couldn't have done that, though. Deirdre had the right to know she was a wealthy woman now. But if he had thought the knowledge would please her, he'd been very much mistaken.

"But you think we should keep it," she said. "Why? What do you intend to do with it?"

"'Tis for you to say."

"Really?" she asked coolly. "Then I shall give it to Maeve."

"A fine idea," Alistair said. Relieved to have the matter settled, he slipped his arm around her.

"You don't mind?"

"Why should I?" he said, bending to kiss her neck.

"Have you forgotten that as of tomorrow, by law, what is mine is yours?"

"Oh, so that's it, is it?" He squeezed her close against him. "Take Maxwell's gold and give it to Maeve—or throw it down the well for all I care. 'Tis yours, and I want no part of it. What is ours will belong to both of us together." He hesitated, then looked her in the eye. "Deirdre, I am not Brodie Maxwell."

She looked away, her face reddening. "I know that."

"No, ye don't. Not really."

He drew her against his chest and she wrapped her arms around him, burying her face in his shoulder. "That's all right, love," he said, rubbing her tight shoulders, letting his hands drift down her back. "I don't expect ye to trust me all at once. I know it will take time."

"I do trust you," she said, her voice muffled against his shoulder. "I do."

"One thing at a time," he murmured. "That's the way. I canna promise we'll never disagree, but I do promise we'll sort it out together." He felt her body soften as she relaxed against him. "It will all be well. You'll see. So long as we're together."

"Oh, I do love you, Alistair," she said, her arms tightening around him.

He smiled. "Whisht, I know that. Why else would ye agree to stay in Scotland, when ye have told me so often what a wretched place it is!"

"Not so wretched now," she said. "I've grown—quite fond of it lately."

"We'll go to Donegal next spring," he said, unwinding her braid. "I promise. You can show me every inch of it. We'll stay as long as ye like—"

"We mustn't stay too long." She raised her head and gave him a brilliant smile. "Jemmy cannot do without you now."

"Hmph."

"'Tis true! You know it is. Earlier, at the oath-taking, when he raised you up and set you just beside him—oh, Alistair, I was so proud! And so was Maeve! The way they all cheered..."

Alistair felt the heat rise to his face. That had been a fine moment, him and Malcolm on either side of Jemmy, seated in the laird's great chair. As Alistair stepped into place, the shouts of approval had echoed to the rafters. He remembered Malcolm's flashing smile, Jemmy looking up at him, a momentary uncertainty passing quickly across his face.

Alistair had seized a goblet and held it high. "To the laird!" he cried, "Long may he rule!"

Then the shouts rang out again as he drank and dropped to one knee, offering the goblet to Jemmy.

"Thank you," Jemmy said, taking it from his hand. When their eyes met, any doubts either of them might have had vanished for all time. As Alistair straightened and stepped to one side, hand laid on the hilt of his sword, he had no regrets. They were both exactly where they belonged.

But sweet as it had been, the finest part had come when he looked up into the gallery to see Deirdre leaning on the railing with Maeve beside her, knowing that tomorrow they would truly be a family.

He looked at Deirdre now and felt the breath catch in his throat. She was so beautiful tonight, her eyes glowing and her cheeks stained with fresh color. My faerie lady, he thought. My love.