“What letter?”
“The letter I wrote to you.”
“You wrote to me?”
“Yes.”
He was silent for a moment. “You wrote to me,” he repeated softly, as if he needed to hear it again.
“Yes. Isn’t that why you’ve come? You got my letter, and you’ve traveled very fast to get here?”
“We did travel as fast as we could, but there was no letter from you before we left.”
Now it was Fiona’s turn to be briefly silent. “So . . . you came without hearing from me.”
“Aye.”
“Ah.” She took this in, as might a parched land receive the sweet benediction of rain. Then: “You said ‘we.’”
“Duff and I.”
“Duff. Excellent. I’m so glad you had a traveling companion.”
“He insisted on coming with me.”
“Isobel will, I think, be very glad to see him.”
“I hope so. He hopes so. What did you say in your letter?”
Fiona looked into those eyes, all amber and citrine, that were fixed so straitly upon her. “I asked if we could try again.”
“Ah. May I tell you why I’m here?”
“Yes. Please.”
Alasdair smiled. At last he smiled. And at once she felt an answering smile upon her own face as he said:
“Why, I’ve come to woo you, lass.”
Fiona hoped she wouldn’t explode, melt, dissolve into a dew, from the joy that was filling her to the brim. A gust of wind tried to blow her over, but she wouldn’t let it. Slowly, unhurriedly, she walked over to meet him at the fence. “What do you mean, woo me?”
“You and I, Fiona Douglass, are starting over,” he said. “If you’ll have me.”
“Yes,” she replied instantly. “Yes, Alasdair Penhallow, I’ll have you.”
His face—his dear, beloved, familiar face—lit up. He looked so happy that even though she hadn’t thought she could possibly feel more joyful, she did. Don’t explode, she warned herself. Today is the first day of the rest of your life.
“Fiona.”
“Yes, Alasdair?”
“Must I kiss you with this fence between us?”
“Nothing more between us, I say.”
“I agree.” He put one hand on the top rail, vaulted over the fence, and stood before her, the hem of his dark greatcoat rippling in the wind.
“You may get sheep dung on your boots.”
“Think you I care about that?”
No, he wouldn’t care. Of course he wouldn’t care. Fiona lifted her face invitingly. Alasdair stepped close and gently set his big hands on her shoulders.
“You,” he said softly, “are so very, very beautiful,” and then his lips were on hers, and he was kissing her, in exactly the way a man might kiss a woman for the very first time, as if each sensation was new and wonderful, as if the taste of her was the most delicious thing in the universe and he was hungry, so hungry, but he didn’t want to rush through the meal. He kissed her as if he never wanted to stop.
It was only when a strange sensation of being intently watched came upon Fiona that she finally drew back a little. She turned her head.
Said: “Dear me.”
And laughed.
The entire flock of sheep had drifted near and together they had the rapt air of an audience at the theater for whom an enthralling performance was being enacted. But not, Fiona thought, Romeo and Juliet. Rather, a play in which the lovers are to live happily ever after.
Alasdair was laughing, too.
Then he turned to her and said, “I almost forgot.”
“Forgot what?”
He reached into an inside pocket of his greatcoat. “To woo a maiden properly, gifts must be tendered.”
“I like gifts as much as the next person, but they’re really not necessary.”
“Don’t subvert the wooing process.”
“I’ll try not to.”
“Good girl. Here.” He gave her a small, tightly stoppered jar. In it was a thick golden substance. “This is from Monty. It’s —”
“Honey!” she exclaimed. “From our hives?”
“Aye. From our hives. You and Monty have worked miracles.” Smiling, he reached into his pocket again. “And this is from Sheila.”
It was a sampler, not entirely clean, but clearly the product of concerted effort. Around the edges had been embroidered a simple, pretty floral pattern, which framed these words in black thread:
thy wood is a lamp unto my foot.
“It’s lovely. Absolutely lovely.” Ignoring the misspellings, with great tenderness Fiona folded the grubby square of linen and put it, and the precious jar of honey, into a pocket of her pelisse. “What wonderful gifts. Did the whole clan know you were coming here?”