He listened with a concentration nobody else had ever devoted to her. It was daunting and flattering in equal measure. “Tell me how ye felt.”
A shiver rippled through her, as she recalled the passionate heat of his lips. “Shaky, and…needy, and weak in the knees, and dizzy.”
A grunt of amusement escaped him. “That doesnae sound too good.”
“Actually it was lovely.” She couldn’t help smiling. “The loveliest thing that’s ever happened to me.”
She had a sudden memory of Marina’s expression as she’d talked about making love to her husband. Her friend had meant more than kisses. The look in her eyes had made Fiona envy her, even if she didn’t know precisely what she was envying.
“I’m glad.” Diarmid looked relieved. “I was so afraid of hurting ye. You’ve been hurt too often.”
She regarded him in horror. “Of course you didn’t hurt me. I liked it.”
Her cheeks were hot again. She’d blushed more in these last hours than she ever had in her life. Something about the purposeful light in her husband’s eyes told her that before the night was done, more blushes were forecast.
“Even the last bit?”
“Even the last bit.” When she saw he remained dubious, she struggled for words to explain something beyond words’ power. Her voice lowered, and she twined her hands in her lap. “I liked that you gave me everything you had.”
“I certainly did that,” he said drily.
“I made that happen, Diarmid.” Her cheeks had heated to the point where they threatened to turn to flame. “For once, I wasn’t the mere recipient of your charity.”
He flinched as if she’d hit him. “That’s no’ fair.”
“You know, it really is. It’s humiliating to take, take, take, with no choice but to accept your generosity, and no way to repay you.”
He looked troubled. “I’m no’ keeping a ledger, Fiona.”
“I am.”
“That’s nae way for us to go on.” He looked displeased and unhappy. “Will ye keep this up for the next fifty years? Every time I give you a new dress or a new bonnet, will ye feel obliged to martyr yourself to me?”
“No, of course not. I imagine as time goes on, we’ll settle into a more equitable relationship.” Her voice shook with the force of her feelings. “But I can’t spend the rest of my life feeling like I owe you a debt I can never repay.”
“I’m no’ asking ye to,” he said with barely concealed frustration. “Anything I do for ye, I do willingly.”
“And what I do for you, I do willingly,” she said with a trace of heat. He needed to understand this or they had no chance of finding their way together. “Over the last ten yea
rs, I’ve had every ounce of power stolen from me. I couldn’t say who I married. I couldn’t decide where I lived. I couldn’t even control what happened to my child. Allow me the privilege of choosing what I share with you.”
Diarmid sighed and ran a hand through his ruffled dark hair. He looked breathtaking, sprawled in the oak chair and wrapped in his rich red dressing gown. “It would be churlish to object.”
“It would.” His acceptance stuck a pin in the bubble of her self-righteousness. “Even if what we do together never goes beyond what just happened, you made me feel more fulfilled than I ever have before.” Her lips turned down. “So I suppose I’m still grateful to you.”
“I dinna want ye feeling like you owe me anything, Fiona. That will only poison our life together.” His expression turned somber. “You speak as if I think of ye as feeble and weak, a clinging vine. That couldnae be further from the truth.”
She gave a gasp of surprise. “Don’t you?”
“Hell, no. I cannae think of anyone I respect more. Ye broke away from the Grants, you faced every peril to save your daughter. You stuck to your purpose, even though it meant lying and stealing and taking any chance ye could.”
“That wasn’t courage. I was desperate.”
“It was courage.”
Her guilt at the way she’d repaid his kindness at Invertavey remained. “Are you saying you forgive me?”
“Of course I do.” He looked shocked. “I forgave ye as soon as I learned the truth.”