Tempted by the Border Captain. Blythe Gifford
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back to see his face.
His heart, now so near she could feel the beat of it.
And of her own.
“Yes,” she said, disguising the shake in her voice with annoyance. “You are most certainly too tall.” She stepped back. “That cannot be fixed.”
“Most women are not so short as you,” he answered. “Perhaps I could wed a taller woman.”
She fought an unwelcome twinge of regret. Let him wed who he would. She cared not. “No,” she said. “I can do nothing. Rien.”
He grabbed her hand, still within easy reach of his long arms. “You would force me to live my life alone?”
“Why not?” she said, fighting tears for Oliver. “I will live my own life so.”
She bit her lip. Too late to take back the words.
Jamie forced himself not to smile. He was not too late, then. Whoever the man she longed for was, he was no longer in her life.
“You mock me, Mary. You’re a wee thing, it’s true, and you’ve a bit of a tongue on you, but I’m sure some man will have you.”
She snatched her hand away. “And some witless fool of a woman might have you.”
But you are the one I want, Mary.
Aye, the memory of his sweet Mary’s smile had stayed with him through all the days and miles since he’d seen her last. Now, as if he had waked from a dream, he knew why.
Because he was going to marry the woman.
She’d run away from him once. He’d not lose her again.
She smiled, and he saw again the dimple on her right cheek. He had dreamed of that dimple for years. He would kiss her there first, and then….
Patience. Patience. “It seems,” he said, glad his voice did not fail him, “that I must find a woman who fits me as I am. Clearly she must be taller than you, wee thing.”
A small pout popped onto her lip. He kept his inner smile hidden. Aye, a bit of jealousy would be good for the lass.
Jamie was not by nature a patient man, and he could tell he would need every stitch of his patience to coax Mary into his arms.
“Come. Show me,” he began. “Without your cap, your head comes up to…” He put a hand atop her head, knocking her headpiece askew.
“Stop!” She reached for it and her fingers hit his hand instead.
He squeezed them, then, just as quickly, let them go and swept off the cap altogether. “I must not be fooled by a hat.”
She snatched it away, straightened her shoulders, and lifted her chin. “Tis a French hood, not a hat.”
He was gaining the upper hand. Good. “Now, what about your feet?”
She looked down, but neither of them could see what lay beneath her skirt. “My feet?”
“Your hat might lift your head, but so might your shoes.”
She lifted her skirt and pointed her toe. “My shoes are as flat as any woman’s.”
He swallowed, ignoring the glimpse of her ankle and the thought of exploring higher. “Then let’s see what height a woman must be if she is to match a man as tall as I.”
Before she could protest, he grabbed an empty bucket and overturned it. “Stand on this.”
She stamped her foot. “You mock me because I am sae wee.”
“And you mock me because I am so long!” He tried to look offended. “I ask for your help and all you do is complain of things I cannot change.” Without a pause, he grabbed her about the waist and put her atop the bucket. “Now. Could I kiss a woman who is this tall?”
He leaned closer. Her lips were almost within his reach. Just an inch more and…
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