Finally, she was willing to talk. “What kind of possibilities?”
“The pig.”
He reached the desk and settled into his chair, the oak between them, and raised his brows. “The pig, what?”
“I want a pig. A young one.”
He frowned. “Ye want the Hero Pig of the Oliphants? The one the butcher--?”
She was already shaking her head. “No’ Hero. But I’ve decided on the full menu. As delicious as my fried chicken is, ‘tis just no’ viable to sacrifice that many animals to feed the clan. I want to slaughter a pig for the celebration, but I’ll make the Oliphant, and the rest of yer family of course, my chicken—”
“Let me get this straight,” he interrupted, a little incredulous. “Ye came here to talk about the menu?”
“Aye, were ye no’ paying attention?” She shifted and frowned down at her slate. “I hope yer da doesnae mind two separate main dishes—will ye ask him for me? We’ll have the sweets he likes, according to my mother, and I’ll make my berry tarts.”
Kiergan’s favorite. Alistair’s too, now that he thought about it. “Lara—”
“Is that acceptable?” Finally, she looked up and met his eyes. “I assumed ye dinnae care what kind of side dishes we come up with?”
“Aye— I mean, nay, I trust ye.” He repeated the next words because he liked the way they sounded, “I trust ye.”
Do ye trust me?
Aye, and he’d given up control at her bidding. And blessed St. Elzear, but it had felt good!
“Good.” She nodded. “Now, we have the help arranged, and my mother has already pulled some of the auld banners out of storage to clean which will be hung in the great hall. Apparently, there’s one yer grandmother commissioned when yer da was born, and we thought would be appropriate.”
He waved his hand dismissively, aware that most of the planning was taken care of. “Lara, ‘tis all fine.”
“Then I’ll leave ye to yer work.”
She made to stand, but he slammed his palm against the desk, and barked, “No’ yet!”
She froze, neither sitting back down nor leaving, so he pushed his luck.
“Come here, Lara.”
A flicker of irritation crossed her face before she sighed and finished standing. He hid his smile, acknowledging she didn’t find giving up control quite as freeing as he did.
“Aye, milord?” she muttered, as she moved around the side of the desk.
He waited until she was within his reach, then grabbed her hand and pulled her toward him. She might’ve stiffened at first, but when he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into his lap, she relaxed against him, draping one arm around his shoulders.
“Did I hurt ye last night?” he murmured against her hair, inhaling its flowery fragrance.
“Nay,” she whispered.
He placed one finger under her chin and tilted it up so he could look into those delightfully changeable eyes. “I dinnae care for this shy side of ye,” he confessed.
“I dinnae either.”
He had to grin at how disgruntled she seemed.
“I’ll no’ let ye leave until we discuss what happened last night, Lara.”
“I’d rather talk about this morning, how ye left without saying goodbye. As if ye were ashamed to be caught in my bed!”
He blinked. “Is that what ye thought? Nay.” He shook his head, then dropped his hand to hers, twining his fingers through them. “Nay, I left because I dinnae want others to assume the worst of ye.”
“What would they assume?” She shrugged. “That I’d found my pleasure with a bonny man?” Her fingers toyed with the hair at the base of his neck, but her tone wasn’t as nonchalant as she might’ve thought. “There’s nae harm in that. My mother’s apparently been doing it for years.”
He thought of the secret glances her mother shared with his father and wondered.
But that was Moira. Lara was… Well, Lara was different.
She was his.
“I dinnae want to be just a bonny man ye find pleasure with, Lara.”
She might have been with other men before him, but in that moment, he knew the truth: He wanted to be her last. Her only.
Her husband.
“Marry me,” he blurted, and she went rigid on his lap.
“What!”
“Marry me,” he repeated slower, thinking it through himself. “Ye ken I need a wife, by my father’s decree. My chances of becoming laird are fast diminishing, and I need to marry soon in order to father a child. Ye could, even now, be carrying my son, Lara.”
Her hand pulled free of his and dropped to her stomach. She was staring at the hearth behind him, her mouth open in shock.
“Please, Lara. Marry me.”
She shook her head as she slid off his lap. “Nay.”
Marry me.
Those were words she’d only dreamed of hearing from the lips she’d longed to kiss. Alistair had asked her to marry him, and her heart had leapt at the offer. After last night, why would she not accept?
Because he was asking for the wrong reasons.
“Nay?” he repeated her, as she stood and nervously brushed her palms down her kirtle. “Why no’?”
Hoping mayhap he’d understand, she asked him, “Why should I, Alistair? Why do ye want to marry me?”
His mouth dropped open, as if shocked she didn’t understand. He shook his head as he stood, forcing her to back up or risk touching him again. Risk feeling that warmth between them.
“Why do I want—” He finally said, then shook his head again. “Because of last night! Because ye could be—”
“Pregnant, aye.” Lara’s hands rested over her stomach. She was a smart lass, but right now she couldn’t seem to concentrate on the days of the month, to even consider if that was a possibility. Nay, not with him standing so close. “Ye said that.”
“Then ye have to see why I want to marry ye. To provide for ye.” His hand snaked out and grabbed one of hers, tugging it toward his lips. “I dinnae care who ye’ve been with afore me, Lara. I ken
