“So,” she greeted her husband. “Are they up to scratch?”
He pulled a face. “They’ll do.”
Bree inclined her head, halting before him. “I remember you saying something similar to me … on the eve we met. Do you remember?”
“Aye,” he murmured, grimacing once more. “I was an arse.”
She smirked. “You were … but fortunately, you’ve grown on me.”
He caught her by the arm and drew her close. “What … like a wart?”
She grinned. She felt playful today, with the spring sun on her face and a blue sky overhead. The winter had been long and bitter, although easier to bear as a Marav. Life was good, and she was enjoying teasing her husband. “Aye … but one I’m fond of.”
He snorted. “Fond? Now you make me sound like your grandmother.”
Bree threw back her head and laughed, the noise echoing off stone.
In response, he muttered another curse and tugged her close.
They had an audience—for Lara and Mirren hadn’t yet gone indoors, and members of the Fort Guard milled around them—but she didn’t care.
Cailean’s expression softened then, tenderness igniting in the depths of his eyes. “Gods, I love you, woman,” he said huskily. “So much it terrifies me.”
Her breathing hitched. Such words didn’t slip easily off his tongue, yet her heart fluttered whenever they did. “It scares me too,” she whispered back. “But here we are, facing our fears … and holding fast.”
His gaze grew limpid. “Always.” And with that, his mouth descended upon hers for a searing kiss.