The Perfect Fit

by Cait London

  Amid Eispeth’s colorful rose bouquet, Silver’s smile grew. Nick was so predictable; he was making his move, and she intended to enjoy every moment—unless he tried to keep himself from her. That wouldn’t do. Silver frowned slightly. Nick was just contrary enough, wicked enough, to want all the perfect trimmings of their relationship, Well, he could think again, because she wasn’t waiting, not now, now that she had her life settled and was huning a new one. Nick didn’t stand a chance. She didn’t intend to wait for the slow courtship he’d begun so romantically this morning.

  Silver stroked a pink dewy petal thoughtfully. She’d worked for an entire week at Mamie’s, exhausting long hours to clear the way for her relationship with Nick. The promotion for Pal-Iadin’s Silver’s Signature Line wouldn’t need her for a time—or him. And now, Nick was within her grasp, such a lovely man to grasp and hold on to—

  Elspeth came to stand beside Silver as her parents and John drove into the Petrovna ranch yard. “You’ve settled it, then. What runs between your parents and yourself and your brother,” Elspeth noted quietly.

  “I have,” Fighting tears, Silver walked from the weaving room to meet her parents and John. Jasmine would always be with them, but now with Nick’s help, they realized that she could only be herself, not Jasmine.

  Her mother was crying, tears were in her father’s eyes and John had locked himself into a fierce expression that said he fought revealing his emotions. They hugged each other and Silver’s mother quietly passed a box to Elspeth, who nodded.

  In the meadow, Duncan and Sybil and their children, all packed into a covered buggy, came toward the house, sheep and cattle scurrying from the path. Calum and Talia, Lacy and Birk, Fiora and Joel, Rafe and Demi and all their children arrived at once, either on horseback or in wagons. As the children hopped to the ground, dressed in Tallchief kilts; the adults hustled them into tartans, straightening them. Long-legged, tall Westerners dressed in kilts hurried to do their wives’ biding, carrying dishes into the house. Elspeth hurried to pass a basket filled with woven flower wreaths around to them. “It’s a family day,” she explained breathlessly and reached out to nab a child who had just snatched an extra flower coronet for the dog.

  As Nick rode closer, Elspeth stuck a small basket into Megan’s chubby hands. “Be off with you. Give your dad and the other men one flower each. Give your uncles a kiss, too, Meggie. And Silver’s mother and father and John.”

  “I didn’t know today was a gathering-of-the-clan day, Elspeth,” Silver said quietly, as the child skipped away. She sensed from the sparkle in Elspeth’s eyes that something merry and secret was afoot.

  “Aye, the Tallchiefs are stirring, and you’re one of us now, your mother and father and brother, too,” Elspeth stated firmly, “You feel that stirring, yourself, don’t you? And look over there. Who do you suppose that is?”

  Silver glanced at the cowboy driving the small herd of mottled Appaloosas toward the Tallchiefs. She looked again, staring, and placed her hand over her racing heart.

  There in the mid-August sun, Nick rode Montoya, sitting very straight and stern in his dress white shirt, a Tallchief tartan and kilt. “He’s wearing his red suspenders, and he knows how I can’t resist them—Oh, my, he has lovely knees,” Silver heard herself exclaim.

  “That he does. We claimed him for our own the moment we saw him. He gives so much to others and never thinks of what he needs...until you. He needs you very much, Silver.... Joel and Rafe pushed the kilt upon him, making him suffer with them. They’re quite fond of their younger brother and worried about him. You know as well as I do,” Elspeth whispered quietly, a hand on Silver’s shoulder, “that he’s not waiting. Since you’ve come to us, your senses are getting stronger and you’ve let yourself begin to feel when you’d closed them out before. Nick has come for you, Silver, and you’d better hurry. Your bridal shift and tartan are waiting—”

  But Silver’s feet were locked to the earth. “Those horses are meant to be—”

  “Aye, the bridal price. They’ll be kept at Nick’s ranch, if you agree. Nick wanted you to have everything that your heritage entitles you to. He’s a romantic, you see. And once he’s found the woman he loves, he’s decided to move fast. It’s an instinctive thing with men... and when done right and in love, the claiming is beautiful. You sense it as well as I do, or perhaps you might scent it.”

  Silver sniffed delicately, finding herself drenched in a shower of sunlight and rose petals. A bagpipe melody curled around her heart. “He loves me? When did he tell you?”

  “It’s in his eyes every time he looks at you.”

  “I knew he was up to something. He was too innocent and docile. This morning he agreed to everything I said. I couldn’t forage one thing out of him—He’ll pay for this,” Silver whispered shakily, rocked by the emotions slamming into her.

  Elspeth laughed aloud. “And he’ll enjoy every minute. Nick’s life until he met you has been far too dull.”

  Fear tore through Silver as the Tallchief men came to stand around Silver’s father and brother, preparing to accept the bridal price, the lovely horses. “I can’t give him anything. I have nothing to give—I won’t many him now.”

  “You’ve given him more than you realize. He’s found dreams and magic, and his heart is opened. He never thought that life’s beauty would come to him, and now he’s got you. Along the way, you’ll think of something else to give him. But if you’re not marrying him, you’ll have to tell him by yourself and quickly. Meanwhile—ah! Here comes the minister in that lovely black suney—and look over there, Mamie’s rig has fringes and, my, that black sequined gown will be perfect for the wedding. There’s something we’ve made, the Tallchief women, especially for you. It’s inside.”

  The bridal shift was new, a doeskin replica of Una’s, decorated in sky blue beads and softened by fringes. Elspeth’s hand settled on Silver’s waist. “We wanted you to have something new...just for you, apart from anyone else, but with the best of the past Tallchief weddings. You can wear Una’s, if you like, but this is just for you.”

  Silver skimmed her hand down the shift, treasuring it. She knew that Elspeth and the rest knew what losing Jasmine had done to her life. “You made this for me.”

  “Just for you.”

  “I can’t make this easy for Nick, you know,” Silver stated as the other Tallchief women came into the bedroom, wearing their tartans and kilts. Their expressions were soft, filled dreams and love and hopes for her.

  Silver sniffed delicately, fighting tears. “You all smell so nice, and you’re mine,” she whispered.

  “We’ve always been and will be. You have an impatient man waiting for you, Silver. You can have your father refuse the bridal price. You can refuse Nick,” Sybil said quietly.

  “And let a man like that, with knees like that and wearing red suspenders above his kilt, get away? He plays the bagpipe, you know. Oh, no. He’s not getting away from me.” Silver grinned at Elspeth. “Is there a way to the roof?”

  “There’s a ladder in the bam,” Elspeth, said, and her look met Sybil’s. “I’m certain two tall men could manage to secretly bring it around to the back, going by way of the hedge.”

  Sybil nodded and hurried outside. Minutes later, Nick had dismounted and had asked for Silver’s hand in a way that recognized her heritage. Her father accepted the horses, though they would be Silver’s.

  Nick inhaled slowly and glanced at the Petrovna porch where Silver—if she wanted to manry him—should be waiting. She wasn’t He locked his hands behind him and rocked on his heels. One more minute and he’d—Oh, no, he wouldn’t Silver had to make the choice, though he was pushing her. He braced himself for her refusal and damned himself for his need to claim her, to tether her formally, bond her to him. He pushed his hand through his hair and realized it was trembling.

  A nudge from Joel and one from Rafe caused Nick to follow their stares—up on the wood shingles of the house, Silver stood, a huge bouquet of roses in her arms.<
br />
  Nick backed up two steps to see better, already in terror that she would fall, that she would break that lovely neck. “Get a ladder, someone,” he said quietly, not taking his gaze from Silver’s. “Silver, don’t move. I’m coming up.”

  “You go up that ladder and your backside will show,” Joel stated with a grin, glancing meaningfully down at Nick’s kilt.

  Nick studied Silver, hair gleaming blue-black in the August sunlight, beautiful and proud in the fringed doeskin shift that denoted her heritage, the legends that had kept the Tallchiefs safe. His cool logic went sliding into the sunlight, and he felt like one big glow from head to brogan. “What do you want from me?” he asked finally, bracing his hands on his hips, his legs apart.

  She met his question with a demand, calling down to him. “Was I worth only five horses?”

  “I’d give one or two more.” He’d give his soul, his life.

  “Where is the cradle? You meant it for me, didn’t you?”

  “I did. You’ve been busy.” Nick swallowed painfully. He’d wanted to give her the cradle that waited in the bridal tepee and make light of his dreams—so as not to frighten her away.

  “Don’t think you can hide your dreams from me, Nicholas Palladin. I can smell them pouring off you, even from here. You’ll play the bagpipes for me again?” she asked, and Nick glared at his brothers who had begun to snicker—until the Nick plication of their wives’ elbows in their ribs stopped them.

  Nick met Silver’s gaze and nodded. “I will. You’ll have what you want and need from me. I give it gladly.”

  “I know who I am and what I want, and sometimes I’ll want to give to you. You’ll have to allow for that, and accept nicely.”

  Nick nodded. He understood; Silver wanted him to know that she had left the past behind.

  “I think you are the loveliest man I know.”

  “Does that mean yes?” Nick’s heart pounded as he waited for her answer. “Is that a yes?” he demanded again, anxious for the answer he needed. He eyed the trellis against the house, followed it up to the rain gutter and—

  “I wouldn’t,” Joel murmured, putting his hand on Nick’s shoulder.

  “She’s agile and fast. She’ll be gone before you can catch her,” Rafe added quietly. “And she’s lighter.”

  “I’ll get her, all right—”

  “Can you smell dreams, Nick?” Silver called down to him, grinning as she threw open her arms.

  Without thinking, Nick threw open his. “I do, my fair lady.”

  In a lithe movement, the fringes flying around her, Silver leaped off the porch into his arms. Nick reeled back two steps with the force of her body, holding her tightly. His brothers braced him, pushed him to stand upright with Silver in his arms. A slender fingertip, scented of roses and dreams, stopped his reprimand. She grinned up at him. “Aye, I do.”

  Fearing that he had caught her too tightly, Nick forced his hands to relax. The woman he wanted was here in his arms, and he couldn’t believe it. He kissed the finger that had just eased back the wave across his forehead and traced his scowl. “I know I’m pushing, and this is unexpected, but—”

  “Aye, that you are and now, you’ll have to stand and fight—or at least marry me.” Silver placed her head on his shoulder for just a moment to comfort him, and then leaped lightly to the ground. She stood on tiptoe to kiss him, and when he reached for her, she stepped back, fringes dancing and promises in her silvery gaze.

  Minutes later, the bouquet of roses and lavender grasped tightly in her hands, the Tallchief tartan draped across the replica of Una’s treasured shift, Silver walked slowly toward Nick.

  His green eyes ripped down the bridal shift, then back up to her face. With the summer wind gently twining in his waves, Nick was scented of dreams, smooth, predictable notes, then leaping, exciting ones. He stretched out his hand as she came nearer, the Tallchiefs’ lining the way. Mamie had looped her arms through Joel’s and Rafe’s, their wives curled to their other sides.

  Silver pulled in the scents, hoarding them. Love, trust, delight, wistful bits of wives and husbands remembering their own weddings.

  When Nick drew her close, he bent to kiss her lips lightly. “The words are here, in my heart,” he whispered unevenly, drawing her hand to his heart, “but for now—”

  He placed a small silver mirror within her hand, turning it to her. The handle was exquisite, tiny flowers and vines curling around it and the frame for the mirror. It was heavy enough to last for centuries, and fitted perfectly into Silver’s hand. The sunlight hit it and blinded her, then she saw herself, hair gleaming blue-black, silvery eyes soft and rimmed with damp, spiked black lashes. She saw a woman who had been thoroughly loved in the night, her cheeks still flushed, and a woman who had listened to a man playing the bagpipes in the morning mist. She saw a woman on her wedding day, her love standing behind her and her future spreading before her. The girl was gone; the shadows were gone.

  “This is who I see,” Nick said softly against her cheek. “You. The woman I love.”

  She turned to him and caught the shimmering dampness in his meadow green gaze as a rush of scents and dreams curled up from the bouquet between them.

  The bridal tepee behind him, Nick shoved his hands into his jeans back pockets and stood behind the woman he had just married. Her scent carried to him, sorted from the lush grass and pine surrounding Tallchief Lake. With her Tallchief tartan draped around a newer shirt, made by the Tallchief women, Silver stood in the moon-kissed night staring out at the dark lake. Nick tugged his hand from his pocket and shoved it through his hair. Words, lovely words, were locked inside him, words he wanted to give to Silver, to make her understand how he felt.

  He jammed his hand back into his pocket and waited for her either to come into the bridal tepee as his wife or to mount Montoya and ride off. It was a damned pushy thing to do, ramrodding a woman like Silver into marriage before she escaped his clutches. He closed his eyes and remembered how she looked, silvery eyes shimmering with tears, her face turned up to his, promising her vows with his. She’d settled the past and had begun mending the distance with her parents, but would she give herself to a future with Nick?

  Nick wiped away the unfamiliar dampness on his lashes. Her leap from the porch roof had panicked him and later, Silver had been too quiet. Without a word and with a blush rising in her cheeks, she’d allowed him to place her behind Montoya’s saddle, and he’d swung up in front of her. His lungs had almost burst with holding air as he’d waited for her arms to come around him. They had softly, firmly, and when her cheek rested against his back, Nick had allowed himself to release his breath.

  Well. There was that pinch on his rear to let him know that she wasn’t exactly happy...that she thought he was high-handed.

  He hadn’t expected her shyness, those quick curious glances when she thought he wasn’t looking nor the furious blushes when he’d shown her the bridal tepee waiting near the lake. He hadn’t expected her silence, the methodical way she ate the picnic dinner and drank the champagne. He’d expected—What had he expected? Happiness? From a woman he’d shoved into marriage in front of her relatives?

  When she’d taken her vows, Silver’s voice had been firm, her gaze clear and soft upon him. She hadn’t let go of Elizabeth’s mirror from the moment he’d given it to her. In those two lonely weeks, he’d dived again into the cave and found the small silver mirror. Pried from its grave, the metal, enhanced with flowers and vines, had come to life instantly, and Nick had replaced the mirror. Would Silver hurl the mirror into the lake with her new wedding ring?

  “You want to know if I’m going to throw my rings into the lake again, don’t you, Nick?” she asked so quietly that the frogs chirping along the waterline almost drowned her words. “It crossed my mind. But then you might throw yours, and I want you reminded of your vows.... You’re afraid I’ll be disappointed in the chest. You fear for me and you want to protect me. You brought it, didn’t you? In case I would want t
o open it?”

  “I did.”

  “I think Elizabeth would like it opened now.”

  In the moonlight, the chest looked tiny and as deadly as a viper. Nick couldn’t bear for Silver’s quest to end in pain. His hands shook as he tried to force the brass bands away from the soft, ancient wood, the lid falling apart. He glanced at Silver, kneeling beside him, her hand on his arm, still clutching Elizabeth’s mirror. She’d hunted for years for the pearls, and if the chest were empty—

  One fierce tug and the bands snapped and the brass studs came free, tumbling into the bits of decomposed litter in the chest. With her fingertip, Silver probed the hard, crusted lumps, and from the mass, lifted a single huge black pearl into the moonlight. “It’s all true then. These are Elizabeth’s pearls.”

  And then, Silver began to cry softly as though a precious part of her had been torn away. “Oh, Nick. It’s finally over,” she whispered against Nick’s shoulder as he lifted her in his arms. “Jasmine can rest. I can let her go....”

  Before dawn, Nick’s hand reached for the woman who had wept softly against him until she slept. She’d held the mirror in her fist, protesting drowsily when he would have taken it away from her. Now, he came quickly awake, searching the dark, empty tepee for her. He’d had the night to fear for his wife and what the dawn would bring; he’d had hours to clean and polish the pearls, stringing them when she finally slept. Then he’d returned to their bed, drawing her against him, needing to protect her, and now his arms were empty.

  Nick gripped the pearls in his fist and pushed out of the tepee. Mist curled around his naked body. The steady sound of a swimmer cutting through the water caused him to scan the lake. He moved toward the shore, and out of the shimmering mist Silver stood in front of him, wrapped in her Tallchief tartan.

  “I know who I am and what I want,” she repeated simply before he could lecture her about the dangers of swimming alone, before he could tug her into the safety of his arms. She dropped the tartan at her feet and stood before him, her long, generous body wrapped in mist. She sniffed delicately. “You’re angry, of course. Your scent has that dark bite.”