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Mr. Grant broke into a relieved smile, then reached over and gave Morag a kiss on the lips. “Congratulations on your forthcoming marriage, my dear.”
Morag chuckled. “Thank you, Mr. Grant, but I haven’t yet agreed to it.”
He looked at her with an amused, wise expression in his eyes. “Call me James, please.”
“Thank you, James.”
Happily lolling on the bed against Duggan’s side, Morag looked at the two of them and sighed. Her menfolk were safe, and they wanted to bond with her for more than this moment and this day. “Aye,” she said to Duggan, “I think I will have you as my husband.”
Duggan shook his head. “You are headstrong, but I seem to like that.”
“So it appears,” she retorted.
When they both attempted to rain kisses on her at once, Morag bore it stoically, for deep down she considered herself the luckiest girl in Fife.
