"Where is Roderick?" she asked suddenly.
"Won't set foot in Scotland," Duncan answered promptly, then clamped his lips shut.
"Well," she said. "I suppose there are lines a man cannot cross."
She looked at Duncan, who currently stared down at his scarred hands and felt the memories of when she'd known him in life and in death layer themselves over each other until she realized that she knew him more thoroughly than anyone else, even Thomas. She knew his skills, knew of his learning, knew of the sacrifice of his own life that Thomas might save hers. And it occurred to her, in a blinding flash, that were she to have the choice of a father, it would have been this man.
For he had loved her.
And Malcolm MacLeod certainly had not.
As for how it had all come about—him being her sire in truth and not Malcolm—perhaps that was better saved for another time. Now, there were more pressing matters to be seen to.
She looked at Thomas to find him regarding her with a gentle expression. "Well?" she asked briskly. "There's my sire, and I'm proud to call him such. Be about your business."
Duncan looked up in surprise, and his eyes grew quite bright, as if they were filled with tears.
Thomas's eyes were just as suspiciously bright. Then he blinked and turned to Duncan. He spoke in Gaelic.
"Duncan MacLeod, I've known you in two lifetimes, and you've known me. You know I love your daughter, that I would give my life for her, that I would raise my sword in her defense. I will care for her as if for myself, put her comfort before my own, give her children, and see her sheltered. I ask you to give her to me."
Duncan cleared his throat. "I do know ye, Thomas McKinnon, and trust ye with my life. I trust ye with my daughter's life, as well, for ye've risked yers to save her. She's yers, if she'll have ye."
Thomas turned back to her. She felt him take her hand and watched as he slipped a ring onto her finger.
"Iolanthe MacLeod, will you have me?"
She hesitated. "I have no dowry."
"You call that garrison of Highlanders no dowry?" he asked with a smile.
"I don't know that they'll pledge to you," she admitted.
"They're your men, Io," he said with a gentle smile. "I wouldn't ask them to be anything else."
There was a shuffling sound from the kitchen. "We'll pledge to him," one brave voice called.
"We will not," argued another. "I'm a MacLeod! I'll not place my hand in a McKinnon's!"
"He's a MacLeod as well, ye fool."
"Is he now?"
There was a bit of low grumbling.
"Aye, through his mother, that's right."
"Well," said another voice, "half of us could pledge to him and the other half pledge to her."
"We've already all pledged to her, and I'll not take back me oath!"
"Nay, we'll find others to come be his men." That voice spoke more strongly. "We're Herself's men, Thomas McKinnon. And ye'll answer to us if ye don't treat our lady proper!"
"Beggin' yer pardon, laird Thomas," added another.
Iolanthe looked at Thomas. "I could bid them—"
"No," he said with a shake of his head, then he smiled at her. "Iolanthe, what I really want is you, not your men, not your castle, and not your piper."
"Though he is a fine one."
"He is. But that's not what I want. I want you. I want you to want me. Will you?"
She put her hands in his, looked him in the eye, and spoke her oath of fealty.
It seemed the thing to do.
And it made several tears roll down his cheek, which she supposed couldn't be a bad thing.
"Well," said a resigned voice from the kitchen, "we're his in the end, it seems. Never thought I'd serve a McKinnon, but there it is."
"She seems to love him. There's something in that."
Iolanthe laughed and put her arms around Thomas's neck. "Look what you've bound to yourself. Me and my ghosts and bogles."
"It's worth it," Thomas said, pulling her off the couch and into his arms. "It's more than worth it."
Iolanthe closed her eyes as he kissed her. She realized that she'd spent the whole of her life dreaming of this moment, hoping beyond hope that this man would come for her and make her his.
And then she found that ruminating over those happy memories was simply more than she could do and concentrate on his mouth at the same time. Who would have thought that a mere kiss would undo her so thoroughly?
And then she found herself immensely grateful that he had such a tight hold on her, for when he began to kiss her more intensely, she felt as if her entire world had begun to spin. All she could feel was his mouth on hers, his hands in her hair, his finely fashioned form pressed up against hers.
It was bliss.
And then a male throat or two cleared themselves.
Iolanthe came to herself to find that she was on her knees being embraced by Thomas who was also on his knees and that they had quite a large group of spectators. Thomas looked at the garrison, who had seemingly found its way into the great room.
"Privacy?" he suggested.
"Aye," one man said.
"Assuredly so, my laird," said another.
"After ye've wed with her," stated another, the largest of the lot, whose hand caressed the hilt of his sword lovingly.
Iolanthe found herself deposited back onto the couch without haste, but with a goodly bit of reluctance. She ran her hand self-consciously over her hair and felt Duncan's gaze boring into the side of her head. She hazarded a glance his way.
"Aye?" she asked hesitantly. "Father?"
He scowled at her. "Such sweet words will not drive me from here.
