It was nearly dawn when Callum and Meggie brought Gillian to the dungeon. Gillian rushed across to him and curled her hands around his where he gripped the bars. She looked at him silently, her heart in her eyes. She didn’t need to say a word—he could read her love for him, her joy that he’d come, in her eyes. He squeezed her hands.

Callum stood close behind her, his arms folded over his broad chest as he regarded John coolly. “Gilly said ye’d come. I didn’t believe it.”

“Thank you for your help,” John said, but the Highlander held up his hand.

“Nay, don’t thank me. I haven’t decided if I’m glad ye’re here or not yet. I’m Donal MacLeod’s man, and I’m here to protect Gillian. I’ll not be letting ye out of my sight or opening this door.”

Gillian stood silently, her hair a copper flame in the light of the pine torch that hung on the wall. She sent a pleading glance to Meggie, and Meggie took Callum’s arm, drew him back a few steps. She winked at John.

“You came,” Gillian whispered. He drew her fingers between the bars, kissed them. Desire flared in her eyes, and she bit her bottom lip, and the familiar gesture drove him wild.

“There’s going to be a contest,” Gillian said.

“I know.” The scent of her surrounded him, even here in the damp dungeon with bars between them.

“Papa has insisted on setting the challenges himself,” Gillian said. “He’ll choose the ones the Scots can win.”

“We could—assist—you,” Meggie said. “Find a way to—“

Callum made a low sound of disapproval in his throat, and Meggie glared at him. “Not you. As Gillian’s sisters—we are willing—nay, determined—to see that Gillian gets her heart’s desire D’you understand, John?”

John let go of Gillian and frowned. “Aye, I do—you expect me to cheat.”

“John would never cheat,” Gillian said quickly. “He’s a man of honor.” He looked at her and she smiled. “I told you that I know you, John Erly.”

He met the love in her eyes, the utter certainty that he’d win. It made him feel like he could move mountains, wrestle bears, or swim across the sea and back, if that was the challenge set for him.

“But these are Highland contests, not English ones,” Meggie insisted. “Papa will ask the impossible. You want to win, don’t you? No one would know . . .”

John felt anger flare. “I’d know, Meggie.”

Callum gave a grunt of approval.

“What if the MacKenzie wins, or Robertson?” Meggie asked. “You’re honor bound to wed the winner, Gilly.”

“Aye,” Gillian said softly. “So John must win.” He read determination in her green eyes. “You will, won’t you?”

“What’s the first challenge?” John asked, touching her cheek. Her skin was so soft . . .

“We don’t know yet. The laird will announce it tomorrow,” Callum said.

“Papa’s thinking,” Meggie said, pacing the floor outside the cell anxiously. “As much as we want you to win, he’s determined to see you lose.”

Callum laughed. “If Donal MacLeod, or any man alive, can outplot ye and your sisters, I’d be very surprised. Still, a Sassenach against Scots . . .” He sighed and shook his head.

Gillian looked at Callum and her sister. “I’d like a few minutes alone with John,” she said firmly.

Callum’s smile faded and he bristled. “Alone?”

“There are solid iron bars between us.”

Meggie grabbed his arm. “Have a heart, Callum. We’ll stroll along this gloomy corridor to the end and talk about the weather.”

Callum let Meggie drag him away, but he frowned at John over his shoulder as he went. “We’ll be within earshot,” he warned.

Gillian leaned up on her toes and kissed him between the iron bars. He wrapped his arms around her, held her as close as he was able with the metal between them, and breathed her in.

“You came,” she said, kissing him over and over. “You came.”

“Aye,” he said, and sighed. “I was a fool to wait so long.”

“Your past doesn’t matter to me, John. And the future is ours.”

He felt a surge of love fill him. If he belonged nowhere else, he belonged with her. “I love you.” He kissed her and silently damned the bars that separated them. “Gillian—is there a possibility that you might be . . . that I . . . we—” He dropped his eyes to her belly.

She blushed like a June rose. “Oh, that. No. No. I’m—not . . .”

He shut his eyes, half relieved, half disappointed. He stroked her hair, kissed her forehead.

“Is that why you came, why you faced my father?” she asked.

“No. I came for you. But the possibility made me realize how much I love you, how much I want to marry you, live with you, have children with you—now or someday. I can’t imagine my life without you in it.”

She put her hand against her flat belly. “I almost wish—” She met his eyes. “But there will be time for that. For—” He saw fear cross her face, though she hid it quickly. “When you win. When we win.”

He squeezed her hands. “Meggie said the contest was your idea, love. You did it for us, to give us a chance, to show your father who I am.”

“Aye.”

“I will win, Gilly,” he promised.

“I know.” She shut her eyes. He shook her slightly until she looked at him again. “Don’t give up on me, Gillian.”

“Never,” she said. “You are my choice—and I am yours.”

But there was no time to say more. Callum and Meggie were coming back, Meggie was chattering loudly, and Callum’s crisp footfalls were an unspoken rebuke.

John felt his heart climb into his throat. If he didn’t win—he pushed the thought away. He’d almost given her away once. He wouldn’t do it again.

This time, he knew.

She was his.

“Callum, you’d best take Gillian back before her father sees she’s missing and fears the worst.”

Callum came forward and took Gillian’s arm. He met John’s eyes. “Good luck, Englishman.”

Meggie smiled at him. “Just win,” she whispered.

But Gillian said nothing at all. She just looked at him, confident, knowing he would, trusting him completely.

John watched them climb the stairs, heard the door at the top close, and there was only silence.

* * *

Donal was still pacing the floor as the sky began to lighten.

He’d have to announce the contest today, before the lairds began to fear he intended to show the Sassenach’s suit preference over their own. Surely they noticed Gillian’s smile, her happiness at the Englishman’s arrival. He rolled up his sleeves. And they’d seen his own disapproval of the man.

The contest was a fine idea, but what should the first challenge be? Something manly and difficult, something no Englishman could ever hope to succeed at. Something Scottish . . .

His thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door.

Donal looked up as Meggie entered. She smiled and kissed his cheek.

“You’re up early,” he said, glancing out the window at the morning star, shining bright in the dawn sky.

“I just wanted to bid you good morning, Papa,” she said sweetly, her smile as wide as the glen.

He gave her a stern glare. “I assume ye lost the draw, then.”

She batted her lashes. “What draw is that, Papa?”

“The one where ye and your sisters drew bits of straw to see which of ye would come and convince me to let the Englishman win.”

Her eyes slid sideways. “We’d never do such a thing, Papa. We trust your judgment.”

“Do ye now? And if I said I intended to force the Sassenach to leave this glen today, what—”

“Oh, Papa, you wouldn’t! You promised Gilly he could take part in the contest, try to be reasona—” She shut her mouth with a snap when she realized he’d fooled her.

“Trust me, do ye? Ye haven’t come to bid me good morning since ye were seven and liked to go fishing in the loch with your stepmother.”

Her lips rippled. “I came to tell you . . . well, to say . . .” She raised her chin and fixed him with a forthright blue gaze. “English John was at Carraig Brigh when I was there with Fia, before she wed Dair. He’s a good man, Papa. I just wanted to remind you of that. John rescued Dair from an English prison, brought him home. He helped Fia and me to escape, when they would have killed her.” She shuddered and bit her lip. “We wouldn’t have made it without his help. He put his life in peril for us. I hope you’ll be fair, Papa.”

Another debt he owed the man. “I am always fair,” he said sharply. “And this doesn’t concern ye, Maighread MacLeod—unless ye want to marry him yourself?”

She looked horrified. “Me? Nay. He’s Gillian’s!”

He put his hand on her back and gently moved her toward the door. “Not yet he’s not,” he said, and pushed her into the hall and shut the door before she could argue.