“Are you asking if I’m threatened by the prospect?”

After a moment, she nodded. “Some men would not take it well.”

Bowen threw back his head and laughed. “Lass, I wouldn’t care if you were the queen of bloody England. As long as I have you as my wife, I care not if you are pauper or laird. You’re a fierce and courageous lass. I cannot think of a better laird for your people when ’tis time for your father to pass on the mantle of leadership. If you think I’ll stand back and sulk because my manhood is threatened, you’re wrong. I’ll allow you to take me into our chamber from time to time, so that you can show me that I’m still useful in some capacity.”

Genevieve burst into laughter and hugged him fiercely, because otherwise she would cry. Not because she was unhappy but because joy crowded every inch of her heart and soul. She was about to burst with it.

“I love you, Bowen Montgomery. I love you so very much, and that will never change, even when we’re old and gray. I thank God for you every single day, and that you came and lifted me from the depths of despair. You showed me how it can be with a man who loves me, and you’ve shined light on the darkest shadows of my memories.”

He stroked her hair, tucking the wayward strands behind her ears. “We’ll make new memories, lass. Every day for the rest of our lives. And when we’re old we can recount the tale of how a lass overcame insurmountable odds and became one of the fiercest lairds in all of Scotland.”