Riding astride was much easier when one wore trousers.

“I do not know that I will ever wish to go back to wearing a kirtle,” Alana confessed. “This is much more comfortable. I can understand why you wear them.”

“I do not think I would make a fetching sight in a kirtle,” Fergus snorted from in front of her.

“Do not give yourself too little credit,” she laughed, and the others laughed along with her.

It was easier to join in their jesting without the sense of a noose tightening around her neck.

She enjoyed the scenery as well. They had followed the Irish Sea on leaving England rather than following the road which would lead them to Lockerbie. They were far west of Stewart lands by the time they reached Solway Firth, which they’d followed north along the River Nith.

She’d never seen so much of the world, had never witnessed fishermen bringing in their day’s catch. Had never seen so many people, heard so many voices raised in so many varying dialects from all around the kingdoms.

All the while, the men had taken turns stopping in at the occasional tavern and inn they’d passed on the way to listen for word of her escape. Nothing had come of it yet.

They tended to sleep during the day and ride at night for the sake of avoiding notice whenever possible. Alana had grown accustomed to the night air, which grew cooler with each passing evening, and had come to look forward to the beauty of dawn as it encroached, spreading across the sky and the land beneath it.

“It truly is beautiful,” she sighed one morning while the group rode further north. Ben Lomond stretched up toward the sky, well head of them, its glorious peaks blending in with the early morning mist which hung about them. At its base was Loch Lomond, as blue as the sky above it. The wooded areas about the base of the mountain had begun to trade their green leaves for red, orange and gold.

It took her breath away.

“Aye, that it is, lass.” The two of them rode somewhat behind the others, and there were moments in which it seemed as though only they were on the road. No one else.

She was merely being fanciful. Rodric and Quinn were in the middle of a good-natured argument over the cloth Quinn had acquired for the making of a new tunic, while Fergus laughed until it seemed as though he might be sick.

She had grown fond of all of them, not merely for the fact that they had gone out of their way to rescue her. Gone was the assumption that they were merely rough, unseemly Highlanders. She enjoyed speaking with them, listening to their stories. Each of them had lived a rich, interesting life.

Including Brice.

“The trousers suit you well, then?” he asked in a softer voice than before, for her ears only.

“Aye, a bit large,” she grinned, double-checking the rope they’d used as a belt to cinch in the waist. Brice was considerably larger than she, after all. “But serviceable.”

It had become increasingly clear that, cloak or no cloak, she could not continue wearing the silk gown any longer. It sat in her pack, folded carefully in spite of the way it had been ruined.

Since then, she had taken to wearing the extra garments the men had packed for themselves. Modesty was something she could ill-afford at that point, though she’d still suffered a slight pang of embarrassment at first.

She looked out over the countryside, the early morning light casting everything in a soft, golden glow. “How much longer do ye think it will be until we reach the River Nevis?”

“Three days, perhaps four,” he estimated. “If the weather holds out.”

What then? She did not dare ask for fear that he would remind her of the need to part ways.

They had not spoken of it—like as not because she was afraid to bring it up. She did not wish to hear for a fact that they would go about their lives on their own.

There had been several moments over the course of their journey back through Scotland that she’d been certain of his intentions. A look, a pause, a soft word. Something to give her hope. But nothing had come of it but more of the same. Camaraderie, mostly.

That was not what she wanted. Being his friend was not enough.

Perhaps she had been granted enough favors by the Lord and his angels. She had escaped an unhappy marriage. She was no longer beholden to a heartless father. She might have died in the forest twice over but had not, thanks to her rescuers.

What more could Heaven possibly allow her?

She decided as they rode on toward Ben Lomond that she would find a way to be happy with her lot in life, whatever it might be. The men had spoken of a need for a woman’s help in the Anderson household.

Perhaps she might be suited to the task, if Padraig Anderson would only be patient with her at first.

“What are ye thinking, lass?” Brice asked, his voice soft.

Would that he were speaking words of love in that soft tone.

“Oh, many things,” she said, waving a hand as though it meant little. “Wondering what will become of the rest of my life. Nothing too important.”

He snorted. “Nay, nothing requiring much concern.”

“I do not believe I ever gave enough consideration to what I would do for the rest of my life,” she admitted. “I assumed I would marry, most likely someone chosen for me. Not someone so dreadful, of course.”

“Of course.”

“And yet, I never gave thought to the rest of it. Where I would go, what sort of life I would lead. I always considered myself… I know not how to explain it. Above certain things. Above being told what to do by a man, above being pushed around or treated as though I were a mere possession. How foolish of me.”

“Not foolish.”

“It was when I had no better plan to follow. I did not consider what I might do instead.”

“Ah. I see what you mean.” He fell silent for a moment, the two of them riding with nothing but the sound of hooves hitting soil between them.

This was the time. If he were ever going to tell her he loved her, that he intended to make her his own, this was when he would have to say it. There would be no better chance.

She watched him from the corner of her eye. What was he thinking? Why was it so difficult for two people who’d once easily spoken their minds to one another to get to the heart of the matter?

When he offered nothing in return, she finally decided she’d had enough. “Whoa, there,” she murmured, pulling on the reins.

He looked over his shoulder in surprise. “What made you stop?”

“You. You did.” She shook her head, laughing at herself. “I’ve been a fool. Afraid to speak my mind since leaving England because I felt I owed it to ye. I would no longer argue or be disagreeable as you once accused.”

He frowned. “I do not understand ye, lass.”

“I am not surprised,” she smirked. “What I’m trying to say is, what do ye want from me? Do ye want me to be yours or do ye not, Brice MacDougal?”

He sputtered, his face going as red as a beet. “You’ve got a tongue on ye, Alana Stewart,” he managed to choke out.

“Aye, so you’ve told me. What is it, then? Do ye want me, or shall I find a way to earn a living elsewhere? I know I’ll never find another man, so that is not something I can consider.”

“Why can ye not?” he countered.

She rolled her eyes. “Because I only want one man.” She pointed to him, jabbing her finger in his direction. “Is it not clear to ye yet? Have ye not seen it? I’ve done everything I can aside from speaking the words plainly, and all that’s stopped me from that was the fear that ye did not feel the same. I cannot understand ye at all. Why would ye go to all the trouble to rescue me time and again if ye did not at least care for me?”

“Why, indeed?” he asked.

“Well, then? What are ye waiting for? The sky to fall on ye? I love ye, Brice MacDougal, and if ye do not feel the same, now is the time to tell me so.”

The words came out in a rush, before she could stop herself, and once they had been spoken, she would’ve liked to crawl into a hole and never come out. How could she be so brash, so bold?

This was not the way she had imagined things at all. Disappointment weighed on her heart, while tears welled up in her eyes.

He sat still, straight, as though he needed to absorb all she’d said. Och, what did he think of her? She had shown him the sharp side of her tongue many times, but never to such a degree.

“Thank ye for putting it plainly, lass,” he said, nodding slowly. “I see I took too long. I didna wish to make ye wonder or fret.”

“You are still causing me to wonder and fret,” she pointed out, wishing she could strangle him.

“I’ll put it plainly, then.” He swung his right leg over the saddle, dismounting smoothly before reaching for her. She placed her hands on his shoulders, allowing him to lift her and place her on the ground.

He took her face in his hands, thumbs stroking her cheeks, a slow smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I do love ye and wish for you to be my wife.”

She let out the breath she only just then discovered she’d been holding. “Truly?”

“Truly,” he nodded. “I didna know how to say it, or when would be best. I thought perhaps I ought to wait until we reached the Anderson home, but now I see that was folly. Forgive me.”

“There is nothing to forgive,” she assured him, smiling through the tears which had begun to fall in earnest.

He loved her. Of all the strange, unpredictable turns her life could have taken, this was one she would never have imagined in a million guesses.

For she never knew such complete joy was possible.

“You will marry me, then?” he asked.

“Yes, I will.”

His hands dropped to her shoulders, so he might pull her closer, his lips finally meeting hers as she had dreamed they would.

His kiss was just as sweet as she had hoped—sweeter, even, because there was love behind it. Love, and the promise of a life together. She was certain her heart would burst.

“You’ve finally done it, then?” Rodric called out from where he and the others had stopped. “It took ye long enough!”

“You’re one to talk,” Brice grumbled, wrapping Alana in a warm embrace.

“Welcome to our family,” Rodric smiled with genuine affection. “I know Padraig will be glad to have ye, and woe to any who think they can do ye harm.”

They would spend the winter in the Anderson house, then, and work to build a life together as Caitlin and Rodric had. If the two of them could be happy, there was no reason Alana could not be happy with her husband.

“Thank ye,” she whispered, reaching up on tiptoe to kiss him again.

“For what?”

There was so much to thank him for. So many ways in which he had changed her life. He’d shown her love, shown her there were men who would stand up for those in need of friendship or protection. He had spared her a life of misery, of heartache.

She would spend the rest of her life thanking him for that and so much more.

There was only one simple way to express it. “For saving me.”