Her Highland Fling by Jennifer McQuiston Page A

seconds to earn the trust she had so willingly placed in his hands.
    He pulled from her, finishing the last few strokes himself.
    And then he collapsed, pulling her so tightly against his chest he was probably bound to crush her. But she didn’t protest, only burrowed deeper with a melting sigh of contentment.
    He pulled the edges of the plaid around them, shielding her against the night’s cool air. Her breathing slowed, and at the sign of her recovery, he kissed her fair shoulder, knowing the moment of reckoning was here.
    “I love you, lass.”
    She stiffened. “You d-don’t mean that.” Her voice sounded muffled against his chest. “We hardly know each other.”
    “I do, Pen. I would marry you tonight if you would but have me. And we could, too. The blacksmith is just beyond Main Street.”
    He could feel her start to shake, but was it with emotion or regret?
    “MacKenzie,” she said, her voice small and uncertain.
    “William,” he nearly growled.
    “I’ve a j-job in London. An assignment to complete.” She pulled away from him, her hands pressed flat against his chest. “You’ve known that from the start.”
    “I ken you’ve a job to do. I can respect that.” And if his plans for Moraig were to be realized, he needed her to return. He swallowed, an idea swimming drunkenly in his mind. He could not imagine living anywhere but Moraig, but neither could he imagine living without her. “I could come with you to London. I would make you a good husband, Pen.”
    “I d-don’t need a husband,” she protested, sitting up now and fishing about in the dark for her clothes. Her voice sounded on the verge of panic.
    He shook his head. “I dinna say you needed a husband, lass.” He hesitated, knowing it came down to this. “The question is, do you want one?”
    In the darkness, her face seemed very pale and unsure. “I . . . I d-don’t know.” She stood up and clasped her gown against her front, but it couldn’t hide the way she was trembling. “I would make a t-terrible c-countess.” She cringed. “My stammer means I would b-be judged. You would be judged. You d-deserve someone normal.”
    “I disagree. You would make a brilliant countess.” He shook his head. “And if I’d wanted someone normal, I wouldn’t have kissed you to start.”
    “I kissed you first,” she said miserably.
    “Not tonight.” He tried to smile. “I don’t want normal, Pen. I want brilliant. And you are that and more.” He was ready to kiss her again, to prove to her they belonged together.
    But now she was throwing a hand to one side, gesturing toward the loch. “C-can’t you see? This isn’t about me , MacKenzie. I c-can’t see you living in London. You might as well try to put your water cattle in the Serpentine. It would kill you. Kill your spirit, the thing that makes you who you are. You belong here . In Scotland. Surrounded by p-people you know and love.” She shook her head, as if it was all too obvious. “You belong in Moraig.”
    His heart felt heavier than the damn caber. “I belong with you, lass.”
    She jerked her gown over her head. “You don’t understand.” She drew a deep breath and then faced him. “I don’t want you to c-come to London.”
    Her eyes glittered through the darkness. He felt as though she could see right through him but yet couldn’t see a thing in front of her. He was suddenly very aware of his own nudity. It hadn’t mattered when she’d been staring at him in want, but now that she was rejecting him, he felt a burning need to cover himself.
    He spent an inordinate amount of time arranging his plaid. In his heart, he agreed with her—to a point. As the heir to the Earl of Kilmartie, his rightful place was here, in Moraig. Moreover, he didn’t want to leave the Highlands. He loved this country, had never been more miserable than the four years he’d spent at Cambridge.
    But he’d meant it when he said he loved her. Following her to London was a sacrifice he was