Geralt lost it. At the sight of Yennefer, breathtaking as ever, her raven cascades lit by the sunset, her shoulders bared and smooth, her luscious lips laughing with their workers, and her small adroit hands playing fucking Gwent, he just lost it. All thoughts of the plan, the ring, and the speech flew from his mind.
He needed to make this woman his wife, right now.
Geralt dismounted and closed the distance to the gathering of workers, many of whom noticed him and welcomed him home heartily. Yen, her back to him, upon hearing his name being spoken, whipped around and stood to meet him in an embrace that left him no doubt as to how much she had missed him. She started to say something, maybe his name, maybe something else, but he couldn't hear her words, could only hear the blood rushing in his ears. She looked at him in concern for a moment, her hands lightly squeezing his.
Then he dropped to one knee.