The sun shone through the high windows of the kirk, catching dust mites in its rays and heating the Sunday service. Aileen stifled a yawn as her gaze roamed over the congregation. She’d intended to sweep her eyes past Conall—of course, ’twas happenstance that she’d even looked in his direction at all—but at just the right time, he glanced over his shoulder, catching her eye. He gave a wink, and she smiled reflexively, heat spreading over her cheeks.
She snapped her gaze away, certain the entire congregation had seen the exchange, and returned to watching the minister.
Dores poked an elbow in to her ribs. She’d seen the wink.
Aileen poked her back, schooling her expression and looking piously toward the minister’s pulpit. Her face continued to burn as she tried to concentrate on the sermon. Had Conall looked her way on purpose? Or was he just becoming distracted in the hot building?
More than a week had passed since Aileen had returned to her home. She’d kept busy with the hives and her regular household duties and had only seen Conall a few times in passing. He didn’t seem to be avoiding her—he was happy enough to stop for a moment and engage in small talk—but she felt there was something different between them. And ’twasn’t difficult to identify exactly what.
The kiss.
Though it had lasted only the briefest second, she’d thought of little else since that morning at the apiary. ’Twas the first time a man had kissed her. And it had been every bit as magical as she’d imagined. His lips were warm and soft—she hadn’t realized a man’s lips would be soft. He’d smelled nice, and in spite of his size, his touch had been tender. She’d felt a nervous fluttering inside her ribs that made her breath hitch and her knees tremble. Even now the memory was enough to set her heart racing.
She supposed it hadn’t been the same for Conall. He’d acted polite but a bit distant toward her since, and the thought that the kiss had disappointed him made her feel like hiding away from him.
Had her laughter about his fear o’ the bees been more than his manly pride could take? She worried she’d ruined everything. But the village was small, and she couldn’t avoid him forever. Besides, she was a woman grown not a silly young girl with romantic dreams. If he could act unaffected, so could she.
The congregation rose, startling her as they began to sing. Aileen hadn’t realized the sermon had ended. She stood quickly, joining in the hymn. Without even looking, she could feel Dores’s smirk. She glanced down at Jamie and realized she’d not had to remind him once to pay attention. It seemed he was more well behaved during the service than she’d been.
Once the meeting ended and the wooden doors were opened, letting in a breeze of delicious cool air, Aileen followed Jamie out of the pew, stepping into the aisle and not glancing back once to see if Conall was approaching. In spite of her impulse to hurry away, she took her time.’Twouldn’t do to rush home, not when the other villagers remained behind visiting of a Sunday afternoon. She stopped to thank Mr. Graham for his sermon and moved on to join Dores and Mrs. Ross in the kirkyard.
Instead of finding his friends, Jamie remained beside her, making her wonder if he was hungry and eager to get home to eat. He seemed quieter than usual. She turned toward him, pulling on a glove. “We’ll not remain long if ye’d rather—”
Her words were cut off when the other glove was snatched from her hand. Turning, she saw Dores, grinning wickedly, brows moving up and down. She held the glove in one hand, her index finger raised in front of her mouth.
Mrs. Ross stood beside her, lips pulled to the side in an attempt to restrain her smile. Both women’s expressions were so obviously conspiring that a feeling of dread settled over Aileen.
“And what mischief are the two o’ ye plannin’?” she hissed.
Instead of answering, Dores grabbed on to Aileen’s arm and pulled her across the kirkyard. Mrs. Ross walked on the other side, making an observation about the warm weather that was much louder than necessary. The two women conducted Aileen along, speaking casually—though in a strange, forced manner—and excusing themselves as they passed through a group of people visiting with the minister. They stopped beside the cemetery wall.
“What on earth was that?” Aileen asked. She pulled away her arms and turned to make sure Jamie was still beside her. “Have the two o’ ye lost yer—”
A voice sounded behind her. One she recognized all too well: Conall Stewart’s. “I believe ye dropped this, Mrs. Campbell.” He held out the glove toward Dores.
Aileen’s mouth opened, but she was speechless. Did the two women truly conspire to drop her glove, hoping Conall would retrieve it? She needed to give the superstitious meddlers a talkin’ to.
“Oh no, ’tisn’t mine.” Dores’s eyes were wide in feigned innocence. “Does this glove belong to you, Mrs. Leslie?”
“Aye.” Aileen reached for the glove, but Conall pulled it away.
“Och, in tha’ case, I’ll be keepin’ it for a bit if ye don’t mind.” He tucked it into his vest pocket then offered her his arm. “Would ye walk with me, Mrs. Leslie? I’ve a matter I’d like to discuss wi’ ye.” His eyes twinkled.
Aileen glanced at the women, seeing by their surprise and confusion that their design had taken a different direction than they’d intended. She didn’t know whether to feel angry or flattered or embarrassed. The situation was so absurd that she was left with an overall bewilderment.
She slipped her hand into the bend of Conall’s arm, and with his other hand, he took ahold of her fingers, reminding her of the day they’d met in the library. Her skin tingled beneath his touch.
“I’ll deliver her home safely,” he said to Jamie then gave the boy a wink.
Jamie grinned then winked in return.
Aileen didn’t understand what was transpiring between the two and started to ask, but Conall led her away before she had a chance.
He led her from the kirkyard and across the road. They passed between buildings and came out on the hill overlooking the waterfront. Beneath, fishing boats bobbed in the water or rested on the shore, idle on the Sabbath.
Conall led Aileen along the top of the hill away from the village. He didn’t seem to be in a hurry, and the pace was leisurely. She wondered if he had a destination in mind or if he simply intended to walk. Would he mention the kiss? What if he planned to apologize for it, telling her ’twas a mistake? She glanced back, wondering if she should make an excuse to leave, but he’d likely offer to escort her home, so ’twouldn’t save her from the inevitable.
They walked in silence nearly as far as the Beltane field and stopped at a grassy spot beneath a flowering crabapple tree. The hill was much higher here, nearly a cliff, and with the clear sky, they could see all the way to the ocean. Seabirds soared over the water, their cries mingling with the crashing of waves. She and Jamie had walked this cliff often in the fall and winter, hoping to spot gray seals—selkies.
Conall stopped walking and turned toward her. “How are ye feeling?”
The question sounded abrupt, and she wasn’t certain if he were asking out of concern or just acting polite. His manner was tense, and she felt a trickle of worry. “I think I am fully mended, sir. Thank ye.”
“I’m glad.” He stepped back, releasing her and clasping his hands behind his back. He scratched beneath his ear then stepped forward again, leading her to the crumbled remains of an ancient wall where he indicated she should sit. He stood before her.
“If ye don’t mind,” he cleared his throat, “I want to ask ye somethin’.”
“Aye, of course.” Her mouth was dry. What could be making him so nervous? Had Jamie done something deservin’ of a reprimand? She didn’t believe so. Not with the way the two had exchanged winks. It had to be the kiss he was thinkin’ to discuss.
He ran a finger around the inside of his collar then dropped his hand. “Aileen Leslie, would ye do me the honor of bein’ my wife?”
“Oh.” She touched fingertips to her lips. He wished to marry her? She’d not expected . . .
Aileen’s mind was a whirl. Fluttering started in her stomach as his words sank in. Marry Conall Stewart? The man who’d saved her life, cared for her son, opened his house to them. He loved her Jamie, brought out the best aspects of the lad. He was gentle and thoughtful, handsome, a hard worker. Conall made her feel safe and happy. He embodied all the qualities she could desire in a husband.
She twisted her fingers together, one gloved hand winding with her bare one. She didn’t dare to look up. Marriage to Conall would be everything she could ask for. But what of him? He was educated; well traveled; and now lived in a grand house with carpets, a book room, and delicate china. What could Aileen possibly offer him?
She knew plenty of women who married with the sole objective of improving their circumstance. So why did the idea make her uneasy?
She laid her palms flat on her legs. Conall obviously liked her company, but did he love her? Would he come to regret marrying her? He was a generous man when it came to caring for those less fortunate. He’d proven it time and again by sending home food and other necessities with Jamie. She’d heard of various generosities he’d performed for members of the village, and he’d bought an entire sheep for the Beltane festival. Was he proposing to her out of a sense of chivalry or philanthropy? Her stomach soured at the thought.
Conall cleared his throat again, and she looked up, realizing she’d remained silent far too long. “Conall, I—”
“I worried ye’d need convincin’.” He knelt in front of her, taking her hand in his. “’Tis difficult for ye to consider, I understand. I ken ye loved someone before—yer first husband—and I’m not meanin’ to diminish that.”
Aileen closed her eyes, the sick feeling in her stomach getting stronger as it was joined by guilt.
“I promise I’ll be a good husband to ye. I don’t mean to replace him. I—”
She tugged on his hand to stop his words. “Nay, ’tisn’t that at all.” She let out a heavy breath and looked at him directly. “Sir, you’ve no need to convince me to accept you. I would love nothin’ more than to marry ye. But I worry yer not considerin’ everything properly. I’ve nothin’ to offer to ye: no dowry, only a small crofter’s cottage, a goat, and some hives.” She felt ashamed admitting it, but to remain silent felt like deception—and not telling the truth pertaining to her widowhood and Jamie’s parentage was already deceiving him enough. But she’d kept the secret for so long, and Jamie’s protection was still her strongest motivation. “Conall, a marriage between us seems to be beneficial to only one party. I’d not be wantin’ ye to regret yer decision one day because ye showed compassion to a poor woman and her son.”
Conall stood. “And is that what ye think this is? Charity?” He removed his hat and pushed his fingers through his hair. “Ye think I’m proposin’ marriage out o’ the goodness o’ my heart?”
“I would hope ’tisn’t the case. But . . .”
Conall sat beside her. “Listen to me, Aileen. I fret about ye in tha’ drafty cottage, I do. When it rains, I worry ye’ll take a chill and yer fever will return. I care about Jamie and hope the two o’ ye have enough food so ye don’t go to sleep hungry. I’ll not apologize for my worryin’, but I’d not marry a woman out of sympathy. No matter how I agonized when she was ill.” He cupped her chin, lifting her face toward him. “I love ye, Aileen. Tha’s the reason I wish to marry ye.” He dropped his hand, his gaze not leaving hers.
He looked vulnerable, eyes soft and brows drawn together, but there was also a determination in the set of his mouth. He’d laid out his feelings, and now the matter was left up to her.
Aileen stood. She stepped around until she stood before him. Conall’s broad shoulders were tense, but he didn’t hunch. He sat straight with a confidence that she admired. He held his hat dangling between his knees and just watched her, waiting.
“Do ye love me truly?”
“I do.”
A jittery feeling spread through her. He was in earnest, and she . . . “I’ll need to be speakin’ with Jamie of course.”
One side of his mouth drew up in a smile. “I spoke to him already. The lad gives his blessing.”
Aileen felt like her chest was expanding as her heart grew light. Every argument she could think of floated away leaving her with a warm contentment. She smiled. “Then, Sergeant Conall Stewart, nothin’ would make me happier than bein’ yer bride.” Once the words left her mouth, their significance grew, taking up the world. Everything would be different from this moment on. But it felt . . . right.
The other side of his mouth rose, and his eyes darkened. “Come here, lass.”
Aileen pulled off her glove, one finger at a time, and let it fall to the ground. She stepped forward until she stood before him. He rested his hands on her hips.
She felt brave and nervous as she brushed her fingers through the curls that fell over his forehead and ears, smoothing his hair. Placing hands on both sides of his face, she tilted his head back, and her thumbs smoothed the lines between his brows. A jagged white scar stood out on his forehead, and she drew a finger over it, wondering if an enemy bayonet had caused it or perhaps he’d simply fallen as a child. The idea of, over time, learning the details about his life gave her a thrill. The whiskers on his cheeks were scratchy on her fingertips as she traced the line of his jaw and touched the cleft of his chin. She drew her finger up the shallow crease and along his lower lip, surprised again by the softness.
Conall made a noise deep in his throat. His hands slid up her back, tipping her forward to press their lips together.
And time stopped. ’Twas exactly how she remembered. Her heart racing, nerves tingling, but this time, the kiss wasn’t a question but an answer. A commitment between the two o’ them. A promise.
When Aileen finally drew back, her legs felt shaky. Her skin was flushed. She stooped down to pick up her glove, but Conall clasped her hand, stopping her. He lifted the glove and stood, pulling her up with him. Taking the other glove from his pocket, he placed the two together and set them in her palm.
His motions seemed meaningful, and she looked up at him, brows furrowed in question.
“I waited to return it to ye until after we’d talked. I didna want ye to think the auld hens’ tricks were the reason behind anythin’ I said today.”
She smiled, looking down as she drew on the gloves.
Conall waited for her to look back up at him. “From now on, trust that everythin’ I do or say is because I love ye. Not out o’ pity or auld women’s manuverin’. Do ye understand?”
Aileen nodded. “Aye.”
Conall touched the back of his fingers to her cheek. “That’s my lass.”