“Say it again,” he urged her, squeezing her gently.
“I am,” she said with a contented sigh, “I am the MacKinnon’s bride.”
“That ye are,” he assured her. “And I’ll ne’er let ye regret it for the rest o’ your days. I’ll make ye happy, Page. I pledge to ye my love and my loyalty, and I wed thee here in the name of God.”
Loyalty, she could well believe. “Love?” she asked him. “Truly?”
He turned her about to face him. “Dinna ye doubt it, lass.” Grasping her arms, he shook her gently. “I love ye fiercely, truly, and gladly!” And then he kissed her upon the bridge of the nose.
“And I love you,” Page confessed. “I love you fiercely, truly, and gladly, too.” And she did, without fear or reservation.
He lifted her up without warning, and tossed her over his shoulders.
Page squealed in surprise. “What are you doing?” she demanded in feigned outrage.
“I’m takin’ ye home, lass... afore ye change your mind.”
She laughed.
“Anyway, I’m a savage Scot,” he reminded her. “We dinna want to be disappointin’ your da.”
Page laughed with scandalized delight.
“First,” he declared, “you’re gain’ to be seein’ to my son—assure him that ye live—and then I’m going to take ye to my bed... make ye sing me a sweet lullai bye.”
And that he did.
And that she did.