Extended Epilogues

 
July, Keppoch Castle, Lochaber, fifteen years earlier

Ach, dinnae be such a baby, Agnes, I’m only gonnae show it tae ye! What are ye runnin’ away fer, ye wee goose?” Duncan said, laughing as he chased his little sister along the narrow fringe of gravelly sand at the edge of Loch Machie, with a long silvery eel dangling from his hand.

The four friends were spending the warm July day at the loch, amusing themselves on one of their frequent outings while their parents were otherwise engaged. Eileen and Conrad’s father, Evander Mackintosh, war leader of their clan, was talking politics with Agnes and Duncan’s father, his old friend, the Laird James MacDonald. Their respective mothers, Lady May and Lady Fiona, also great friends, were spending the day shopping in the nearby Lochaber. Their off-spring were at liberty to do as they pleased, and it usually involved a lot of teasing and pranks.

Eileen was sitting on a large rock at the water’s edge, fishing for crayfish with a hook tied to a bit of string baited with bread. Furious at seeing her younger friend terrorized, she yelled at Duncan, “Leave her be, ye beast! Duncan, ye ken she hates eels. Ye’re scarin’ her!”

“I’m nae gonnae dae anythin’ with it, just show it tae her, ’tis all,” Duncan claimed, laughing uproariously.

“Ye liar, ye said ye were gonnae put it down me neck!” Agnes shouted back at him, running as fast as her legs little ten-year-old legs would carry her, close to tears.

Eileen huffed and jumped from the rock to the sand, to run after Duncan, eager to defend Agnes. “Leave her be, I say!”

Duncan took no notice but continued pursuing his terrified little sister along the narrow fringe of beach, waving the unfortunate eel. “I was jokin’. If ye stop runnin’, I promise tae nae put it down yer back. Just have a look at it, will ye,” he yelled after her.

“I dinnae believe ye!” Agnes cried. She let out a shrill shriek of panic as he caught up with he and grabbed her arm, dangling the writhing creature over her head.

“Nay, nay! Get it away from me, Duncan! I hate ye, get off of me” Agnes screamed, cringing away from the slimy muscular fish as it brushed against her hair, squirming and gasping for air.

“Get it away from me, ye pig!” She shrank away, desperately batting at the eel with one small hand, repulsed by it, while the other bunched up the neckline of her shift, for she was scared he really would put it down her back.

“Ugh, ’tis all slimy and cold. Think how it’ll wriggle when I put it down yer neck,” Duncan crowed, holding the eel high and pulling at the neck of her shift.

Agnes exploded with panic, screaming non-stop at the top of her voice, kicking at him to get away. Suddenly, there was a thud, a loud “Oof!”, and Duncan and the eel were gone.

With a sideways peep, Agnes saw her brother stumbling backwards into the water, still clutching the eel. He fell backwards and landed with a splash on his backside. The eel flew from his hand and, with a flash of silver, slipped away.

“I hope it bites yer bum!” she shouted at him vengefully through her sniffles.

A tall shadow fell over her, blocking out the sun, and she felt someone crouch down at her side.

“Are ye all right, Agnes,” asked the deep voice kindly. Hearing it, the panic and fear began to recede like an outgoing tide. A strong, sun-tanned arm went around her shoulders comfortingly. She looked up into a pair of eyes that were bluer than the sky above and a smile that made her feel warm inside.

“Aye, I’m all right now, Conrad. Thank ye fer savin’ me,” she murmured, dropping her eyes, suddenly feeling shy. Sniffing, she surreptitiously wiped her nose with the back of her hand, embarrassed at her babyish behavior in front of him. At fourteen, he seemed so grownup. He was her hero.

Eileen skidded to a halt and crashed down onto the sand next to them, panting. “He’s a menace, that braither of yers,” she puffed.

“Aye, he is,” Agnes agreed.

“Grand. Come on, up ye get.” Conrad’s large hand reached down. She placed hers in it, liking the safe feeling it gave her when it closed around hers. He pulled her easily to her feet, and Eileen got up and helped her brush off her petticoat.

Conrad, arms akimbo, walked down to the water’s edge and shouted at her brother, who had by now clambered to his feet and was standing in the loch, squeezing the water from his hair. “Pick on someone eyer own size, Duncan. I told ye before, dinnae scare her like that. She’s only wee.”

“Aye, she’s a wee baby,” Duncan said, sloshing out of the water onto the sand. “She’s scared of everything,” he added, glancing at his sister with boyish disdain.

“Agnes is only ten. ’Tis nae fair tae torment her like that. If ye keep on, she’ll be too scared tae come out with us,” Conrad pointed out. The imaginary halo Agnes had already placed around his head shone even brighter.

“Ach, it was only a bit of fun, I wasnae really gonnae put it down her back,” Duncan protested.

“If ’tis fun ye want, then then why dinnae try puttin’ an eel down me back?” Conrad taunted him with a challenging grin.

“Wait ’til I catch another one and I bloody well will,” Duncan declared, hurling himself at his friend. Eileen and Agnes stood and watched while the boys fell to the ground and rolled round, wrestling, punching each other, and laughing as they so often did.

“Stupid boys,” Eileen pronounced derisively. “Come on, Agnes, let’s go and eat some more of that cake.” The girls held hands and walked back down the strand, to the blanket spread out there, which contained the remainder of their picnic luncheon.

“Conrad’s nae stupid, he’s kind,” Agnes said, brushing her long dark hair aside as her friend handed her a lump of yellow seedcake. “He rescued me.” She bit into the cake with relish.

Eileen chuckled as she set about her cake. “They’re both just as bad at times. Ye ken how they love teasin’ us. That’s the trouble with older braithers. All boys really,” she added wisely. “That’s why I’m never gonnae get married.”

“I think I’d like tae get married one day,” Agnes said, secretly eyeing Duncan as he pummeled her brother. No boy was more handsome than him in her eyes, with his strong build and golden hair. She thought of him as a fairy-tale prince, the sort in books that rescued captive princesses and then fell in love with them.

I hate bein’ ten, she thought. If I was fourteen, then Conrad might fall in love with me, and we’d get betrothed, and when we’re grownup, we’d get married. It was a frequent fantasy of hers, one she would never tell a soul, not even Eileen.

The boys finished their fighting and came to join them, friends again. They plopped down onto the blanket beside their sisters.

“I’m sorry about the eel, Agnes,” Duncan apologized. “I was only teasin’ ye. I didnae think ye’d be so scared.” He ruffled her hair affectionately, and she could not help but smile. She adored her big brother, even if he did tease her. He looked after her as well, and she looked up to him.

“I wasnae scared. I was only pretendin’” Agnes said, not wanting to seem babyish in front of her hero. Embarrassingly, they all laughed at her obvious fib.

“Well, I felt sorry fer the poor eel,” Eileen, raising another laugh. Agnes was very grateful to her friend for the distraction.

With harmony restored, they ate some more of their picnic. Then, to make it up to Agnes, Duncan suggested a game of tag, one of her favorites. When at last they packed up their things and began the walk back to the castle, they had not gone very far when an argument broke out between Duncan and Eileen about who was the fastest runner.

“How can ye be faster than me? Ye’re too small,” Duncan told her. At almost fifteen, he was as tall and strong as their father. He and Conrad had been training with weapons from an early age, and it showed. She and Eileen loved to go and watch them spar together. Eileen, on the other hand, was a mere eleven.

“I may be small, but I’m very fast. Are ye scared too race me in case I beat ye?” Eileen taunted Duncan, never one to back down from a challenge.

Conrad laughed. “Aye, he wouldnae live it down tae be beaten by a lassie,” he said.

Naturally, it ended in a race. While Duncan and Eileen sprinted off over the fields, Agnes and Conrad ambled along slowly side by side. Agnes was perfectly content with the situation.

“It’s been a grand day out, eh, Agnes? I love spending the day down on the beach when we come and visit ye,” he said, looking down at her from a great height.

“Aye, so dae I. ’Tis a shame ye’re goin’ back tae Moy Hall with yer parents tomorrow. I wish ye and Eileen could live here with me and Duncan. It would be so much fun.”

He chuckled, his eyes sparking. “That would be grand. But I think me faither plans tae finish his clan business with yers tonight. Ma says we’re all gonnae have a big dinner together after that.”

“I ken, and me and Eileen are allowed tae stay up late,” Agnes said, feeling tired and wondering if she would be able to stay awake that long. The long day at the beach, all the fun and games, and the hot sun were taking their toll. She did not want to miss a moment of Conrad’s company and definitely did not want to fall asleep in front of him like a baby. It would be too embarrassing.

Maybe it was thinking about it that made her want to yawn. Even though she tried to stifle it, Conrad noticed. She was mortified.

“Are ye tired, Agnes?”

“Nay, I’m fine,” she insisted.

He gave one of his lazy grins, his eyes crinkling at the corners in a nice, kind way. “Ye wee fibber. Aye, ye are.” He stopped suddenly, so she stopped too.

“Come on and hop up on me back, I’ll give ye a piggy-back ride the rest of the way home. We dinnae want ye fallin’ asleep at dinner tonight, eh, and missin’ the fun?” he said, adjusting the cloth bag containing the picnic things so she could climb on his back.

So, Agnes found herself riding on Conrad’s broad back the rest of the way back to the castle, her legs wrapped around his waist and her arms curled around his neck, with his blond hair tickling her nose.

She felt like a princess. And in her childish heart Conrad was her prince.

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September, Moy Hall, five years later…

“’Tis wonderful tae have the family all together like this. They’re quite an impressive bunch,” Agnes said, squeezing Conrad’s arm in hers as they strolled across the grass.

“Aye, I suppose they are, but they have a tendency tae have very noisy bairns,” he pretended to grumble, eliciting laughter from Agnes. She was looking out over the lawn at their family, all gathered together, in the gardens of Moy Hall.

It was a balmy September day, and gentle music from a harpist floated on the air, along with the excited shouts and laughter of children coming from somewhere out of sight. The Mackintosh clan had come in numbers to celebrate Roisin’s tenth birthday, two generations of them, Conrad’s cousins and their parents, his aunts and uncles.

On a flag-stoned area to the side of the lawn stood a long table loaded with the remains of a lavish birthday tea, all manner of drink, plus the remains of a large, iced birthday cake. Lounging around the table, drinking and chatting were her parents, Duncan, Eileen, Evander and May, and two of Conrad’s uncles.

Seated on one side of the table was his cousin Kathleen and her husband Blaine, along with their daughter Anabel. Kathleen, the daughter of Conrad’s uncle Bran and his wife Illyssa, was a stunning, auburn-haired beauty, rather wild in nature, and a renowned horsewoman. Her long auburn tresses mingled with Blaine’s dark, unruly locks as they leaned together, sipping wine, talking and laughing with Conrad’s other cousin the more restrained Diana.

Agnes liked Diana, a maverick, who was interested in the healing arts despite her noble position. She was serious, practical, and kind, and adored by her enigmatic husband Lorne, a man of few words who was obviously smitten with his wife and right now cuddling their baby son Diarmaid.

Not far from them, canoodling shamelessly, was Conrad’s striking cousin Kieran. Rather like Conrad, with his blonde hair and stormy-grey, Kieran was imperative to look at and charismatic. Yet he seemed to have found his match in the beautiful, spirited Alina. They watched their twins, Nathaniel and Eloise, running around and teasing each other like only a brother and sister could.

Their parents were present too. Alec, Laird of Clan Mackintosh was leaning a mighty arm on the table, his long blond hair tied back from his face, a slightly older version of Evander. Also there was Bran, Alec and Evander’s brother and the clan’s advisor. They were large, powerful, good-looking men, as were all the Mackintosh men, it seemed to Agnes. Their respective wives, Kira and Ilyssa, had taken off their shoes and were dancing on the grass nearby to the harp music, giggling and looking rather tipsy.

“Ach, they look so pretty, eh, Conrad, like flowers in their beautiful dresses,” Agnes observed, smiling and waving at them. They waved back merrily, both looking a little worse for wear. She liked them both enormously. Kira was funny and bold, while Illyssa was terribly mischievous and always dreaming up pranks to play on the men.

“Agnes, Conrad, come and join us,” Ilyssa called to them, waving them over.

“Aye, come and have a wee dance,” Kira said and hiccoughed. “Och, pardon me, ’tis that new wine from France ye’ve been plyin’ us with, Conrad. ’Tis a little too moorish if ye ken what I mean. I’m a wee bit tipsy, I think.” As if to prove it, she spun around and bumped into Illyssa, sending them both into paroxysms of laughter.

“Disgustin’ display of drunkenness,” Conrad complained. “I’m nae letting me wife consort with the likes of ye two. What sort of an example are ye setting fer the young folk?”

“A bad one, I hope,” Ilyssa said laughingly. “They should grow up learnin’ how tae have a little fun. What is this wine ye’ve given us, Conrad? I declare, it’s gone straight tae me head. I think I’ll have another wee glass of the stuff.”

“’Tis a new import from the region of Champagne in France. I’m interested tae hear what ye all think of it, seein’ as ’tis our new family venture,” Conrad replied before flicking his eyes at the servant manning the drinks and holding up four fingers. The man nodded and hurried to pour.

“Well, I love it,” Kira said. “It makes me wantae dance.”

The fresh champagne arrived and the four stood chatting for a few minutes. Another of Conrad’s cousins, Lavinia, a delicate but feisty blue-eyed beauty, and her husband Ian, Laird MacBean came to join them with their son Archibald. The MacBean’s and the Mackintoshes had long been allies and friends, and growing up, Conrad had spent a lot of time with Ian. Conrad and Agnes continued the stroll, taking their wine with them.

Not far away, Conrad’s beautiful Aunt Catreena, known as the ice maiden because of her stunning Nordic looks, was dancing in a clinch with her husband, Illyssa’s brother Tad, Laird MacBean. Tad’s large frame and fearsome dark looks were the perfect contrast to the slender Catreena’s icy, blondeness, which concealed a warm, generous heart. She and Illyssa were best friends, and she often laughingly complained that Illyssa led her astray and got her into trouble.

At that moment, the excited shrieks of what sounded like a horde of children grew suddenly louder, and they burst out onto the lawn from some shrubbery. There were nine children in all, with the birthday girl being the eldest at ten. Going on twenty, Conrad often teased her. They adored each other and of all their three children, she most resembled her father. Their youngest, little Rhiannon, was only two. She was having nap back at the castle under Saoirse’s watchful eye.

At the head of the explosion of children was Conrad’s Uncle Dunn, sporting a wide grin and carrying on his broad shoulders Agnes’ and Conrad’s three-year-old son, Sullivan, named after his great-great grandfather.

Dunn was the clan’s chief scout and, though quite scary to look at, was full of fun. Whenever the family got together, he was always the one organizing the games that kept the children entertained. They loved him and as far as they were concerned any party without him was a disappointment.

Now, he came trotting over the grass, holding onto Sullivan’s fat little legs, while the lad shouted and laughed merrily. “Gee up, horsey,” he cried happily, tugging on his uncle’s ears.

Dunn saw them and made an agonized face, as if fearing their son would pull his ears right off, which set them both giggling.

The tribe of high-spirited children scattered over the lawn, noisily engrossed in their games, or rushed to the tea table to top up on treats or lemonade. Their parents smiled on them indulgently, perhaps under the benign influence of the champagne they had all being drinking.

Coming at a more leisurely pace behind the others was Elayne, Dunn’s lovely young wife. At seven months pregnant with their second child, she was glowing. Like Dunn, she adored children. “I cannae wait tae have a whole tribe of them,” she was fond of saying. And Dunn would always make them laugh by saying he was going as fast as he could but would be happy to step up production if it pleased her.

Holding Elayne’s hand was Roisin herself, in her new, white, broderie-Anglaise party dress, of which she was mightily proud. Today, she had insisted on Soairse doing her hair in a plaited crown, like Mary Queen of Scots, she said. She was a very happy girl, because that morning, she had been presented her very own pony, a little piebald mare she had immediately christened Patches.

“Och, she looks quite the wee lady, eh, Conrad?” Agnes said proudly, waving at her daughter.

“Aye, she daes, but I’d prefer it if she stayed at ten. Ten is old enough. I dinnae want her tae grow up. I wantae keep me sweet Little Flower sweet fer as long as I can.”

“Och, ye great soft thing,” Agnes said affectionately, pulling him down to kiss his lips. “But aye, ’tis sad that they grow up so quick,” Agnes said wistfully. “I suppose there’s only one solution tae that problem.”

“Oh, aye? What’s that then?” Conrad asked.

“Why, keep on havin’ more of them, of course.” She gave him a smile that said she had a secret.

His eyes widened. “Nay,” he said, halting them on the spot.

“Aye.”

He gave a great whoop and seized her around the waist, lifting her off her feet and whirling her about until she begged him to stop because it was making her dizzy. Carefully he placed her on her feet. She grabbed at his arm, her head spinning.

“When’s it gonnae arrive?” he asked, putting his arm around her shoulders to steady her, pulling her close as they resumed the walk.

“Around Hogmanay, the healer thinks,” she replied, thrilled by his reaction.

They reached a stone bench in an alcove cut into the high box hedge. It was a suntrap, so they decided to sit down. Conrad crossed his legs and put his arm around Agnes. She leaned against him happily, her hand resting on his thigh.

“So, what d’ye think of this wine?” he asked, holding the crystal glass up to the light and admiring the pale golden liquid. He had recently formed a business importing the wine from the Champagne region of France, in exchange for the single malt whisky he produced in the distillery he had constructed in the castle. It was proving most profitable.

“’Tis delicious but it goes tae me head real quick. It makes me feel quite… frisky,” Agnes confessed with a twinkle in her eye.

Conrad quirked his brows. “Daes it now? That’s very interestin’. I may havetae dae some further research intae that aspect of it.”

“I’m sure ye will,” she replied. They sat quietly for a few moments, bathed in mutual contentment, sipping their champagne and looking out over the happy children and the entire Mackintosh clan. Agnes was enormously proud of her family. She loved being a part of it. And so did Roisin, for she had so many cousins to play with and was never lonely.

“Aye, the Mackintoshes are quite an impressive lot,” she mused.

“Aye, nae a bad bunch, I suppose,” Conrad agreed with a nod. “But personally, I find a certain MacDonald more tae me taste.”

“Oh? Who d’ye mean?” she asked coquettishly.

In response, he bent down and pressed his lips to her decolletage, sucking on the skin gently and grazing it with his teeth.

“Oooh,” Agnes tittered excitedly. “I’m feelin’ even more frisky now.”

He shook his head. “Woman, curb yersel’. This is nae the place and time. We’re at our daughter’s birthday party. Much as I’d like tae drag ye behind a bush and ravish ye, it wouldnae be proper.”

“Well, we’re nae the only ones. Look at Bran and Illyssa.”

Conrad looked and burst out laughing. His uncle was in a clinch with his wife and was slowly dancing her into some flowering bushes, obviously with nefarious intentions.

“And the others are nae much better,” Agnes pointed out. And indeed she was right, for all the elder Mackintoshes were dancing now. Alec and Kira were welded together and kissing, Tad was spinning Catreena about under his arm. As they watched, she fell into his arms, and he peppered her neck with small kisses. Even Dunn and Elayne, who were sitting with the children, were mooning at each other.

Conrad held up his glass again and examined the champagne. “It certainly daes see tae have an effect,” he said ponderingly. “Drink up, wifey.” He swallowed the last of his wine and stood up, putting the glass on the bench and then giving Agnes his hand. She followed suit and placed her glass next to his on the bench.

“Where are we goin’?” she asked as he steered them down a little path through the box hedge, away from the party area.

“Foe a wee walk. Somewhere quiet. Somewhere where I can show ye how much I love ye in private.”

“Show me?” she asked, her pulse starting to race.

“Aye. We Mackintosh men are nae always so good with words. But were very good at action.”

“Conrad, the way ye’re talkin’, I’m thinkin’ that ye’re feelin’ frisky as well,” she said playfully, looking up at him with an adoring smile. “’Tis that French champagne I tell ye!”

“Nay. ’tis ye, Agnes, me beautiful wife. Mo Ròisín. I love ye so much, and ye’ve given me a happiness I never dreamed could be mine. I want tae show ye me appreciation.”

“Och, I love ye with all me heart too, me darlin’ man, forever and ever.”

“Grand, I’ll never get tired of hearin’ ye say that.”

She screamed with laughter as he suddenly scooped her up in his arms and carried her off down the pathways, in search of that quiet place where they could show each other the deep enduring love they shared.

The End.

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Two months later, Castle Lennox

Davina squeezed Edin’s hands, her grip firm and warm. “Ye ready, lass?”

Edin took in a slow breath, willing herself to nod, but fear and hesitation curled in her chest like a serpent.

There was no turning back now. The hall was filled, the torches casting a golden glow against the stone walls, the scent of fresh heather mingling with the faint aroma of burning wax. The murmur of guests settled into an expectant hush. This was it.

“Ye’ll dae just fine,” Davina assured her, her tone gentle yet insistent. “Now go on, before he thinks ye’ve changed yer mind.”

Edin huffed out a breath that was almost a laugh. “I think I’d like tae see him sweat a bit longer.”

Davina chuckled, but then she stepped back, her presence slipping away like a final tether to hesitation. And then Edin was alone. Not truly literally. Not with the scrutiny of every eye upon her, nor with the shadow of her own doubts still lingering.

She took a single step forward. Then another.

The aisle stretched ahead of her, feeling impossibly long. Each step sounded too loud, echoing in her ears. It felt so far.

She had never imagined herself there — not like that. Love was not something she had been raised to expect, nor marriage something she had thought she would ever have. A life within the Triad had always meant solitude, independence.

Yet now, here she was, walking towards a man who had shattered all of that, who had forced her to see beyond the walls she had built.

A man who had fought for her.

Her gaze flickered over the sea of faces; some familiar, some not. And she could not help but think of Finley’s family. How they had resisted at first, how they had questioned and doubted. But he had stood before them, unwavering, unyielding, as he always was. And in the end, they had accepted it. Perhaps not with open arms, but they had understood.

Still, she wondered. Would she always be the outsider? Would she belong? The whispers of doubt clawed at her, but then—

She saw him.

Finley stood at the altar, waiting. And when her eyes met his, the world stilled. He was smiling, that lopsided grin that always made her heart do foolish things. It was not just a smile — it was a promise, a vow even before the words were spoken. He was looking at her as though she was the only thing in the world that mattered, as though she had never given him a reason to doubt, never made him wait, never questioned her own worth.

A warmth unfurled in her chest, spreading like the first touch of dawn. The hesitation faded, replaced by something steadier, something stronger. Aye, she had been afraid. But there was no fear now. There was only him.

The rest of the walk passed in an instant. One moment she was afraid she’d never reach him; the next, she was standing before him, his hands taking hers, warm and sure. And she knew, without a doubt, that there was nowhere else she would rather be.

The vows came next, yet the words held a significance far greater than them.

“I vow tae stand by ye, tae fight fer ye, tae love ye as long as breath remains in me,” Finley said, his voice rough with emotion. “From this day forth, I am yers, Edin. Always.”

Her throat tightened. There was no script, no perfect words she had prepared. Only this, only the truth in her heart. “I never thought I’d find a place where I belonged, but ye’ve given me that. Ye’ve given me a home, Finley. And I vow tae stand by ye, tae love ye, and tae choose ye every day fer as long as I live.”

A hush settled over the hall that spoke of something sacred, unbreakable.

And then, before the priest could even finish declaring them wed, Finley’s hands cradled her face, and he kissed her.

The world erupted into cheers. A roar of approval, of laughter, of celebration. The kiss was soft at first, reverent, but then he pulled her closer, deepening it just enough to remind her of the passion that had always burned between them.

When they parted, his forehead rested against hers for a lingering moment, his breath warm against her skin.

“Ye’re mine now, wife,” he murmured, his voice full of wonder and something deeper. “Truly mine.”

A smile tugged at her lips. “And ye’re mine, husband.”

They barely had time to process the words before they were surrounded. Hands clapped Finley’s back, arms wrapped around Edin in embraces both warm and overwhelming. Laughter rang through the hall as congratulations poured over them like a rushing tide.

“A fine match, lad!” someone called.

“A beautiful bride!”

“Ye best be treating her well, Finley, or ye’ll have us all tae answer tae!”

Finley only laughed, his arm steady around her waist, anchoring her to him. She let herself lean into him, the warmth of his presence chasing away the last lingering shadows of doubt.

For the first time in her life, Edin was not alone.

She had a family now. She had a home.

And she had him.

***

“I’ve somethin’ fer ye,” Finley said, turning to face her.

The room was quiet save for the soft crackling of the fire in the hearth. The celebration carried on downstairs, music and laughter echoing faintly through the stone walls, but here, in the chambers they would now share as husband and wife, the world had shrunk to just the two of them.

Edin stood by the bed, still breathless from the whirlwind of the day. The vows, the kiss, the way Finley had looked at her as though she was the only woman in the world. Her heart had been full; fuller than she ever thought it could be.

Edin quirked a brow. “A surprise?” She smirked, crossing her arms.

She wondered what awaited her beyond this moment. Surely, there were no more surprises left — Finley had already given her more than she could have ever asked for. And yet, something about the way he moved, the quiet sense of purpose in his steps, made her think otherwise. Perhaps marriage had already begun to shift things between them, deepening their bond in ways she had yet to understand. The thought sent warmth blooming across her cheeks, and she bit her lip to suppress a smile.

Her gaze followed Finley as he strode toward a small chest by the bedside. He knelt, lifting the lid, his fingers rummaging through its contents with careful deliberation. Edin’s curiosity sharpened as she watched him, her head tilting slightly.

At last, he found what he was looking for. Straightening, he turned to face her, a brown leather folder in his grasp. There was something almost solemn about the way he held it, as if it carried a great weight. Instead of speaking right away, he took a slow step forward and extended it toward her, his gaze steady and unreadable.

Edin let out a scoff, eyeing the folder with suspicion. “If this is some sort o’ contract or more dull paperwork, husband, I just might start wonderin’ if I’ve made a terrible mistake.”

Finley chuckled, shaking his head. “I promise it’s nae dull. Open it.”

Her fingers hesitated over the worn leather before she took it from him, eyeing it warily. “This is the first gift ye give me as yer wife, and it’s — documents?”

“Just open it, lass.” His voice was softer now, a thread of something deeper woven into it.

The moment she unfolded the first parchment, her chest tightened. Her name was written in elegant script, but beneath it—

MacAlister.

Her chest constricted. She blinked, staring at the name as though it might change if she looked at it long enough. Her hands tightened around the papers as she flipped through them, scanning the words that seemed to blur together. A record of birth. A letter of transfer. A signature, not her own.

“What…” The word barely left her lips. She swallowed hard, her throat dry as sand. “Where—where did ye get this?”

Finley stepped closer, his hand hovering at her arm but not touching, as though sensing she needed space. “From the Triad. It came straight from them.”

She inhaled sharply. “So they kent?” Her voice wavered, disbelief laced with quiet hurt. “They kent all this time an’ said naething?”

He nodded, his expression carefully measured. “Aye. They kent.”

Edin let out a breath that felt like a slow collapse. She looked back at the papers, her mind spinning. The MacAlisters, a noble family. The family who had given her away.

Her heart pounded against her ribs. She had never allowed herself to dwell on it before — on the absence of a past, on the unanswered questions she had locked away. She had been raised by the Triad, had fought for her place, had earned the respect that was not freely given. And yet, here, in her hands, was the proof that she had once belonged somewhere else. That she had been cast aside, handed off like a transaction.

She barely noticed Finley moving until his hands settled gently on her shoulders. “Lass,” he said softly, “ye need tae breathe.”

She exhaled, shuddering slightly as she let the papers drop onto the bed. Her fingers curled at her sides. “Why?” she asked, her voice quieter now, almost lost in the space between them. “Why would they give me up?”

Finley let a beat pass before answering. “It was common practice, Edin. Nobles often sent their daughters tae be raised by the Triad — tae be trained, protected. Ye kent this is what happened tae me grandmaither.”

She turned her gaze to him sharply. “I kent… yes.”

He nodded. “Aye. She was given up young, just like ye. But it was nae because she was unwanted. It was because the Triad could offer somethin’ her family couldnae. Strength. Safety.”

Edin swallowed hard, her emotions a tangled knot in her chest. “And yet, they never came fer me.”

The truth sat heavy between them. Finley didn’t argue, didn’t offer hollow reassurances. Instead, he took her hands in his, calloused and warm against her skin. “I cannae tell ye what was in their hearts when they made that choice, but I can tell ye this: who ye are, everythin’ ye’ve become, ye did that. Ye survived, thrived. An’ whatever ye choose tae dae with this—” he gestured at the folder, “—we dae it taegether.”

Her breath caught at that, at the simple certainty in his voice. She looked at him then, truly looked, and saw not just her husband, but her partner. Her family.

She let out a breath that felt like letting go, if only a little. And then, in a voice that was steadier now, she said, “I dinnae ken if I want tae kent them.”

Finley squeezed her hands gently. “Ye dinnae have tae. Ye have me.”

A slow warmth unfurled in her chest. She had spent so long wondering where she belonged, searching for something unseen. But as Finley pulled her close, his arms solid and sure around her, she realized she had found it.

Here. With him. Exactly where she belonged.

The End.

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The wind whipped against Edin’s face as she approached Castle Lennox, the craggy walls looming in the distance like the silent sentinels of some forgotten battle. She felt the burden of the assignment on her shoulders, though she was more than accustomed to the idea of a job to be done. Her pulse quickened as the castle grew larger, and the thought of sharing the mission with Finley — a rich, spoiled man — settling like a bitter taste on her tongue.

With her gaze fixed on the looming stone of Castle Lennox, she scaled the wall with practiced ease, her fingers finding purchase on the jagged edges of the stones. The wind howled, tugging at her cloak, but Edin was used to the wildness.

She reached a large tree growing beside the wall and, after a swift and quiet climb, perched herself upon one of its sturdy branches. The castle entrance was below her, and from her vantage point, she could see the men and women moving about, preparing for whatever the day might bring.

Exhaustion from the journey caught up with her, and despite her best efforts, her eyelids grew heavy. She let herself drift for a time, letting the cool breeze and the muffled sounds of the castle below soothe her, if only for a moment.

It was the faint sound of boots crunching on gravel that jerked her awake.

Edin blinked rapidly, shaking off the remnants of sleep as she focused on the figure below. He was leaving. She was certain of it before the shape even fully registered, though the certainty turned to clarity as Finley appeared from behind the castle gates. She watched him as he said his goodbyes to the older woman — a thin woman with graying hair, her voice low and warm despite the distance between them. A mother.

She felt a twist in her chest — an ache, a pang that she quickly shoved aside. To see someone else have that moment — the chance to say goodbye — was a reminder of what she had missed. It was something kept beneath the surface, something that only stirred in moments like this.

Finley’s broad shoulders moved with the easy grace of a man used to war, used to authority. His cloak fluttered behind him, the family crest pinned to the fabric with an almost childlike pride.

Idiot.

It was a mistake, a foolish one. Anyone who looked could identify him, could tie his name to his face with ease. And in this business, that was a mistake worth noting. She narrowed her eyes, taking in every detail. His was tall, broadly built, yet something about him felt out of place, as though he were too finely honed for the kind of brutality a war would demand.

The task was simple enough, but the fact that she had to share it with him gnawed at her. He didn’t seem incompetent, no. But there was something about him, something that made the air around him crackle with… charm. The kind of man who commanded attention without asking for it. And it didn’t help that she didn’t like being told how to do her work, especially by a man she hardly knew.

He turned and Edin’s breath caught in her throat, though she was careful not to move.

“Look at ye, all clean and ready fer war,” she muttered under her breath, her voice low and laced with more than a touch of sarcasm. “Ye look too pretty tae be walkin’ off into battle.”

The words were out before she could stop them, and her eyes narrowed as she studied him.

His rugged jawline, the sharpness of his features all contributed to a presence she wasn’t entirely sure how to deal with.

Finley’s gaze flickered down to his family crest. She knew he was thinking about it, likely trying to decide if he’d been foolish or simply bold. He was bold, there was no denying that, but also foolish.

Still, her gaze lingered on the crest for a moment longer before moving back up to his face.

He turned and nodded to his mother one last time before striding toward his horse.

A dark steed, strong and powerful, was tethered at the gate, its coat gleaming in the low afternoon sun. Finley mounted with practiced ease, one foot in the stirrup and then the other, settling into the saddle with a quiet confidence that somehow managed to draw Edin’s gaze once more.

She couldn’t help it. There was something about him that demanded attention, that made her mind whirl in an uncomfortable way.

She shook herself from the thought, leaping lightly from the tree and moving quickly to her own steed. She had no intention of allowing him to notice her — not yet, anyway. She kept her distance, riding silently behind him, careful to stay far enough so as not to draw his attention. The castle walls, now far behind them, were nothing more than a shadow in the distance, but Edin’s thoughts remained fixed on the man ahead.

Finley might have a mother’s farewell, but it was clear to her that he was a man out of his depth — like all men were. And it wouldn’t be long before he realized it.

***

The days bled together in a haze of silence and tension as Edin kept her distance, observing Finley from afar. She kept to the shadows, moving like a whisper across the land as she followed him, always careful to remain out of sight.

He didn’t notice her; not once — and that suited her just fine. Her only goal was to make sure the man didn’t get himself killed — or worse, get in her way.

At first, everything seemed ordinary. He traveled at a steady pace, always on the move but never hurried. There was nothing remarkable about his routine, just the usual trappings of a man who was traveling with purpose.

It was during the second day that she first noticed the two men.

They appeared at odd intervals, always seeming to materialize just after Finley had passed. She didn’t think much of them at first — perhaps just travelers, or maybe soldiers — but after a while, the feeling that he was being watched gnawed at the back of her mind.

The first man was tall, broad, with dark hair and a face that was as sharp as knives. The second man was smaller, with lighter features and a quicker step, but no less dangerous in the way he carried himself.

She had seen both of them at the inns Finley stayed at, always in the same place, always keeping their distance but never straying too far. And every time they looked at Finley, she caught the glint of suspicion in their eyes.

Whoever they were, aye, they were following him.

It was an unusual thing to notice — too blatant, too obvious — but there it was. She made a mental note to keep an eye on them. There were too many unanswered questions, and she didn’t like the feeling creeping along her spine, the sensation that something was off.

On the fourth day of following him, Finley walked into an inn just outside a small village.

Edin had been keeping her distance, as usual, watching from the shadows, but as the day stretched on, it became clear that he wasn’t coming out. Hours passed, the sun dipping lower in the sky, and still, there was no sign of him.

She bit her lip, wondering what he could be doing inside. She hadn’t seen him meet anyone, hadn’t noticed any other men lingering nearby. She couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.

She didn’t care about his business inside that inn — it wasn’t her job to know — but she had to make sure nothing got in her way. If there was trouble, she wanted to be the first one to see it.

With a sigh, Edin made her way to the inn’s front door. She didn’t need a reason to be there; she’d been staying at inns along the route anyway, always keeping a low profile.

Stepping inside, she immediately regretted the decision. The warmth of the fire, the bustling of people in the common room — everything felt too alive, too exposed. She winced when she bumped into someone in the doorway, the force of the collision nearly knocking her off balance.

Her heart skipped a beat, but before she could lift her gaze, she lowered her head in the practiced gesture of an apology. She wasn’t looking for attention. She wanted to remain unnoticed.

“Sorry,” she muttered, her voice a mere whisper.

It was only when the stranger grunted in acknowledgment that she dared glance up, and there he was — Finley.

She froze for a heartbeat, her pulse quickening, but then she quickly stepped aside, trying her hardest not to meet his gaze. He didn’t seem to notice her and went outside about his way.

She was careful to keep her movements steady, calm, and casual as she approached the reception desk. The innkeeper — a stout, middle-aged man with a thick beard — looked up at her, his face creased with both suspicion and politeness.

“I’ll be needing a room,” Edin said, her voice steady as she met his gaze.

The innkeeper fumbled for a moment, reaching for the ledger in front of him. “Aye, we’ve a few rooms open.”

It was there that she noticed three keys were missing. These were rooms that had been taken for the night. Edin made a mental note of the missing rooms, her eyes darting over the list of available keys.

She thanked the innkeeper, paid for a room, and then made her way down the hallway.

Room 5, she noted first. It was locked, as expected. She couldn’t hear anything inside. Moving on, she checked Room 9, but when she put her ear to the door, she heard the unmistakable sound of hushed voices, followed by the scrape of a chair.

Not Room 9, then.

She didn’t wait around to confirm. Instead, she moved swiftly, but quietly, to the next door, Room 12. She had a feeling. Something in her gut told her that this room might be Finley’s. She stood in front of it for a moment, listening, but when no sounds came from inside, she acted quickly.

With practiced ease, she picked the lock. It was simple enough — a basic mechanism she had mastered over the years — and within moments she was inside, her footsteps light on the creaky floorboards.

She stayed in the shadows, blending with the room’s quiet emptiness. She could wait for hours if need be. But she was ready to confront Finley now.

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1708, Dornoch

Moira’s wrists throbbed, as she unsuccessfully tried to release her hands from the damp rope rubbing them raw.

The cellar reeked of mold and stale earth, and the air was heavy with the musty scent of decay. It was dark, so while she couldn’t see her surroundings, she could hear the faint squeak of mice and the rattling of their claws against the stone.

None of that bothered her, though.

She reminded herself sternly that she had to focus right now to get out alive. Although she had been taken to the cellar blindfolded, she had thoroughly scanned her surroundings the moment she had arrived at the laird’s party that evening, exactly as she’d been taught to do.

Moira knew that she was below the small cottage that was on the laird’s largest wheat crop field. It was close enough to the ocean that she could hear the waves, though not close enough to offer her an escape.

She knew that no matter how fast she ran toward the lapping tide, she’d be caught and killed before reaching any semblance of safety.

She cursed as she banged her restrained hands against the cellar gate. The laird’s party was still going on outside the main castle—she could hear the faint sounds of music and laughter.

It would likely go on for a few more hours, so she had to find a way out before then.

“We’ll deal wi’ ye later,” a grim looking guard had muttered, before chucking her inside.

She couldn’t believe her luck. Her first mission as an apprentice in the Triad, gathering intelligence on clan Buchanan, rival of the clan that had hired them. Everything seemed to have been going well at first. She had kept quiet, speaking only when spoken to, while letting her superior do most of the talking.

She had not thought she was asking too many questions, not enough to raise suspicion, at least.

Just as she was wrapping her cloak around her shoulders to leave, a couple of the Laird’s closest men stepped forward, and asked her to go on an evening stroll.

Moira knew immediately that something was wrong. She felt it, deep within the pit of her stomach. But she barely had time to think before she was blindfolded, tied, and carried away to the cell that she was now trying to escape.

It doesnae matter how it happened now, Moira reminded herself.

Despite the tightness in her stomach and the cold sweat on her forehead, as she wondered whether those were going to be her last breaths, she tried hard to calm down and keep her wits about her. She remembered the words of the Triad, dinnae fear death fer it’ll tak’ ye faster.

She had to find a solution, that was all she could think about now.

As she paced back and forth, she jolted, her thoughts interrupted by a loud thud nearby.

She froze, listening hard for any other noise.

Perhaps death was coming faster than she thought.

The sound of boots on the stone floor getting closer and closer to Moira, set a beat for her quickening heart.

Frantically, she searched along the cell floor with her hands for anything she could use to cut her hands free from their bindings.

It was too late.

The door that was closest swung wide open, and standing at the end of the hall was the large shadow of a man.

The light behind him obscuring his features, all she could see was his impressive stature. His arms, relaxed to the sides of his belted paid, looked like they could easily crush her. It was still too dark to see clearly, but her eyes shifted to his formidable thighs. Large and thick as though carved from stone. This lad had the body of a warrior, there was no doubt about that, and he could clearly overpower her with ease. She had to be very careful.

Her breath caught as he stepped forward, the dim light catching the glint of a blade at his hip.

As he walked toward her cell, she did her best to use the small slither of light to her advantage. She had to look for something to free, or at least protect, herself.

Something sharp. Perhaps she could take his dagger?

But as he came close enough for her to glimpse his face, she was surprised. His eyes seemed kind and gentle, he didn’t seem menacing at all.

“Are ye all right?” He asked, his voice low.

Was this a trick?

It’s wise o’ them tae bring in a bonnie an’ concerned looking lad tae confuse me and take me quietly tae me death.

“Just fine,” Moira said, her gaze darting to his dagger. “But I think I’ll feel a little better wi’ me hands untied from this rope.”

He brought his face close to the bars that stood between them. His eyes studied her with an intensity that caused an unwanted fluttering in her chest.

“Ye dinnae look fine,” he said, his voice echoing across the damp stone walls. “Dinnae worry I’m nae here tae hurt ye.”

Moira swallowed hard as she forced herself to hold his gaze.

He must be lying.

As a member of the Triad, she knew that tactics came in all shapes and sizes. She knew that someone could pretend to be helping you, pretend to be concerned, only to weaken you and later stab you in the back.

But there was something about the way he looked at her that confused her. It felt too earnest, too real.

“Who are ye?” She asked.

“Roderick Fraser,” he said. “I came here as a guest, I dinnae have much o’ a taste fer these things, so I went walkin’ along the lands. That’s when I saw ye gettin’ blindfolded an’ tied up.”

Moira’s pulse quickened. A guest? That meant he was another laird’s man—or perhaps a laird himself.

“Aye,” she said. “An’ ye came in here alone?”

“The place was unguarded.”

“Why?”

“Because the laird o’ this place is a fool, that’s why,” Roderick responded wryly.

Moira studied him intently. While she should have been looking for something to arm herself with, she was distracted again by the strong cut of his jaw, the way the side of his face creased when he smiled. But it was his eyes that unsettled her the most.

Deep and steady, as though they saw her for who she really was—Moira. Not just some foolish lass tied up in a cell.

“I meant,” she said, her voice soft, “why did ye come tae get me?”

“A lass like yerself shouldnae be left here tae rot in the dark alone.”

Moira’s cheeks flushed and something inside her warmed. This Roderick Fraser had no idea what sort of lass she was. But she liked the way he spoke as if he did.

As though he saw something in her worth saving.

“Now,” he continued, “I dinnae think we have much time, so stand back.”

Moira obeyed. There was calm and decisive authority in the way he spoke.

While she couldn’t really trust him, she also couldn’t just stay stuck in this cell.

As she backed up, pressing herself against the stone wall, she watched Roderick pull the small, sharp blade from his belt.

With a firm grip, he wedged the blade between the iron bars, testing the strength of the lock.

“Stay back,” he warned again.

“Aye,” Moira said. “Mak’ sure ye turn it the right way. Ye’ll break the blade if ye rush it.”

Roderick cast her a quick glance, his lips tilting into a smirk. “Comin’ from the lass who’s locked up?”

Moira lifted her chin, trying to ignore the strange feelings Roderick was stirring.

Something in her angered, but not at what the laird had said—she was angry at her body for the heat spreading up the side of her neck. Angry at that foreign feeling of tension pooling in her lower belly.

“Aye, well, just because I’m in here daesnae mean I’m daft,” she said.

Roderick’s smirk deepened. “Aye, of course nae,” he said.

He turned his attention back to the lock, moving the blade with precision. Moira noticed how the muscles in his forearm flexed as he twisted the blade.

She was watching him too closely, and not because she was trying to gather intel on him, which was exactly what she should have been doing. But because of something else.

Part of her relaxed.

And before she knew it, there was a soft snap.

The lock gave way and the door creaked open with a groan. Now there was nothing between them.

Something in her tightened as he came toward her with the blade. She took an instinctive step away from him, but she wasn’t really frightened.

He didn’t speak, but he brought the knife to the rope that bound her wrists, and his eyes flickered briefly to hers before concentrating on the knot.

She focused her attention on the rope as the sharp edge of the blade cut it with ease. Being this close to him was overwhelming, and she did everything she could to avoid his gaze for fear that he might notice how she was feeling.

The rope fell to the floor, and finally, she was free. She could have run, but she didn’t. She remained completely still, her heart pumping wildly in her chest.

“Thank ye,” she said softly. She was embarrassed, but she was grateful—she’d been given a second chance.

“Let’s get ye out o’ here,” he said. “Before the laird o’ this castle comes fer me head.”

“Aye,” she said.

Roderick moved ahead of her, and she followed closely behind, though she staggered slightly. The men who had locked her in there had been a little rough, and her muscles ached from being jostled, but she gritted her teeth, following behind him quickly.

They moved to the main level of the estate, heading for the door.

Roderick swung it open, the moonlight flooding in as the breeze swept his golden hair. She hadn’t noticed his hair was golden until now.

The intensity of his light eyes once again made her heart flutter.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice low, carrying over the sound of the waves crashing nearby.

“Naething,” she said quickly, “me body is just a little sore is all, but I’m fine.”

“Put yer arm over me,” he demanded. “If we’re goin’ tae mak’ it across that field tae me horse—yer goin’ tae need some help.”

Moira knew that he was right. She hesitated for only a moment before nodding, stepping closer to him.

She could feel the heat of his body as she gently draped her arm over his broad shoulders.

As they moved through the night, she felt steadied, protected. Even though they hadn’t yet made it out, there was something about him that made her feel safe.

When they reached his horse at the far end of the field, he took her by the waist, lifting her up onto the saddle.

There was such an ease and certainty in the way he moved her—as though he had claimed her as his own.

Before she knew it, he swung himself up behind her, his large thighs trapping her onto the horse as she felt the warm sharp edges of his chest against her back. She tried to sit upright, but she couldn’t help but sink into him.

“Where am I takin’ ye?” He asked, his voice vibrating through her body.

“Tae the town.”

“Aye,” he said, pulling the reins on his horse.

As they galloped away from the laird’s estate and toward the closest town, Moira’s thoughts raced.

She was supposed to be thinking about the mess she had gotten herself into, not being distracted by him.

They rode in silence, until Moira was confident they were far enough away from her captors to not get caught.

“Ye can stop just here,” she said, pointing toward a small alley.

He nodded, stopping his horse. He stepped down, and just as she was about to jump off, he extended out his hand to help her.

She was planning to run away swiftly once they had stopped, but something in his expression made her pause.

“Thank ye,” she said softly, her breath hitching as he helped her down.

Once on the ground, she took a few steps forward, and he followed without another word, keeping beside her protectively. She turned to face him and they stood in silence, the tension broken only by the strong wind.

“Here,” Moira finally said, reaching into her pocket and outstretching her hand to reveal the Triad’s coin.

She didn’t know what else to say, she didn’t know what she was supposed to do. Not when those honey-colored eyes made her feel so small.

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Ian Wallace never wanted to be laird, but with a dying clan to save, he has no time for complications—especially not the fierce, beautiful prisoner hidden in his own new castle. She’s a MacAlpin, born of the blood he’s sworn to hate but the fire in her eyes stirs something deeper than duty. He should send her away. Instead, he’ll risk everything to keep her.

Read the book

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Thora MacLeod always follows her visions, but kidnapping Laird Aedan Cameron and blackmailing him into a fake marriage at a dangerous Yule gathering? Not her best idea. As sparks fly in enemy territory, their feelings for one another start to complicate things. Thora knows that her visions might save their clans, but they won’t stop her heart from shattering once Aedan finds out she’s been lying to him all along…

Read the book

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What is the most irresistible trait of a Highland hero? *

• His unwavering loyalty
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One month later, Castle Fraser

It was summertime at Castle Fraser, and the air was filled with the sweet scent of roses. The Highland mountains loomed in the near distance, their green peaks still and picturesque against a perfect blue sky.

Roderick would have wedded Moira sooner, but she had told him she wanted to have their wedding during the height of summer, and Roderick could understand why.

It was perfect outdoors.

There was a slight chill in the air that tempered the sun’s heat, and the sounds of the garden hummed in perfect symphony with the chatter of the castle’s guests.

Everyone was invited, and as Roderick waited by the priest at the heart of the rose garden, he let his gaze sweep over the guests sitting before him on wooden chairs.

Roderick, after he had been stubbornly isolating himself since his father died, burdened with grief and suspicion, had finally found himself opening up to, and enjoying, the company of others once again.

He was glad that so many people were there to witness their wedding.

As he gazed upon the faces around him, he noticed with a smile that Edin was sitting near the back. He assumed Moira didn’t know that she was coming, and Roderick knew she’d be excited to have her there, as one of her own.

Both Moira and Roderick had decided to reveal Moira’s true identity to a select few: Isobel, Cameron and Arabella.

Given that Moira’s ties with the Triad had been officially cut, they believed it was safe to do so. However, to the rest of the inhabitants of the castle, Moira remained Lady Wilson—soon to be Lady Fraser.

Roderick didn’t want to push their luck. He explained that Lady Wilson’s family could not attend due to other obligations. Whether or not they believed him didn’t matter—no further questions were asked.

As he stood below a grand arch of woven heather and pink roses, he shifted nervously from foot to foot, tense with anticipation.

“Nervous are we, me Laird?” Cameron asked with a smile, standing a few paces to his right.

Roderick let out a low chuckle, rolling his shoulders. “Aye, maybe just a wee bit.”

Cameron smirked. “Ye? The man who has faced battles, outwitted enemies, avenged yer faither. Nervous about a wedding?”

Roderick inhaled, his chest expanding slowly beneath his draped tartan plaid. “Aye,” he said, gazing toward the rose garden’s main entrance. “This is different. It has tae be perfect fer her.”

Cameron clapped a hand onto his shoulder. “It already is, me friend.”

Before Roderick could respond, the crowd quieted, and a young lad playing the flute began a soft melody. They all turned their heads to the back of the rose garden, as a harp joined in, swelling the music to a more romantic depth.

Roderick straightened himself out, repositioning the belt at his waist. But as soon as Moira took her first steps into the garden, his hands fell to his sides.

Dressed in a pale green linen dress, Moira moved with quiet elegance slowly down the aisle. At first, her gaze wove through the crowd, her green eyes sparkling with a certain shyness beneath the sun. Her black hair fell down her back, framing her delicate features and complementing the greens of her eyes and dress.

Everyone in the crowd was stunned.

But as her gaze found Roderick’s, her shyness seemed to melt away, replaced by a certainty that mirrored his own. It was a look that made his chest tighten, heavy with emotion.

She walked toward him, a joyful smile on her lips as the music faded away, their attention solely for each other.

He couldn’t believe how much she had transformed. When she had first come to him, she had been cold and restrained—a woman bound by duty and weighed down by the ghosts of her past.

But now, she was radiant and free—she was his.

As she came to stand beside him, the music stopped, and Roderick swallowed against the lump in his throat.

“Ye tak’ me breath away, lass,” he whispered into her ear, “I dinnae think ye’ll have much of a man left standin’ by the time this is done.”

Moira giggled and whispered back, “At least keep it together fer our first consummation.”

The corner of Roderick’s mouth upturned into a wry smile as the priest cleared his throat, commencing the ceremony.

First, he spoke a few words, his voice booming through the crowd with authority, though Roderick took little notice of what he said. He was distracted by Moira and the way the sun bathed her features in the perfect light.

She was sparkling beneath the summer sky, like a rare emerald.

“Step forward,” the priest beckoned, after he finished his speech. They moved accordingly, hand in hand.

A length of finely woven tartan ribbon was brought forth, the colors of Clan Fraser contrasting against the pale green of Moira’s sleeves. As the priest commenced the ancient custom, he wrapped the ribbon around their joined hands, binding them together.

“Handfastin’ is a symbol of yer devotion, a vow bound nae by mere words, but by the very fabric of yer people. By this tie, ye pledge yerselves tae one another, in strength and in weakness, in fortune and in hardship, fer as long as ye both shall live.”

Roderick squeezed Moira’s hand gently as the priest nodded for them to speak.

Both Moira and Roderick exchanged their vows. They kept them short, for Roderick was not one for long drawn-out speeches, and Moira, he knew, also preferred words that carried true meaning over flowery declarations.

But he was overjoyed to share their love publicly, at least once, upholding the traditions of his father and all who came before him.

To conclude the ceremony, both Roderick and Moira’s hands were released, and they drank from a chalice filled with spiced wine.

A cheer erupted from the gathered crowd as the bagpipes began to sound a deep, triumphant melody.

Roderick tugged Moira closer, his free hand coming up to cup her cheek.

“I love ye,” he said softly, kissing her lips.

As they pulled apart, the crowd applauded enthusiastically, and they walked down the aisle of the rose garden as familiar faces cheered them on.

“Ah,” Moira said, her voice only a little louder than the jolly music, “it looks like a fairytale out here.”

“It is,” Roderick said, squeezing her hand a little tighter. “Fittin’ fer a princess like yerself.”

“Och, I’m nay princess,” Moira said, “just a lady.”

Roderick chuckled, bringing his mouth close to her ear. “There’s nae much difference between the two, Lady Fraser.”

Moira rolled her eyes, and as they stepped through the rose garden, the guests followed behind. They moved toward a large open area of the garden, that was filled with long wooden tables covered in white linens and adorned with white and yellow wildflowers in vases.

Platters of roasted meats, fresh breads, and cheeses filled the tables, while a large roasting spit stood to one side, emanating the enticing scent of slow-cooked lamb.

Guests chattered and laughed, filling their seats as the pace of the bagpipers quickened, setting the scene for dancing.

“Let us dance first,” Moira beamed, “food can wait.”

“Aye,” Roderick said, noticing Edin coming toward them from the corner of his eye. “Although I think there is someone ye might like tae speak wi’ first.”

Moira swiveled around, and Roderick’s smile deepened as he watched her eyes widen with joy.

“Ye came!” She called, as Edin came closer, wrapping Moira into a tight hug.

“Aye,” she winked. “We’ve always been family have we nae? Ye really think I wouldnae join?”

Moira chuckled. “Ah, I thought ye’d be too busy, wi’ yer duties tae entertain travellin’ back here.”

“Aye,” Edin smiled. “Castle Strathcarron has been keepin’ me busy.”

“Och,” Moira joked. “Lady Strathcarron is it? It suits ye well, me friend.”

Edin laughed, “It has a ring tae it, Laird Fraser, wouldnae ye agree?”

Roderick opened his mouth to speak, but before he could Isobel came up behind them both.

“Let me see the bonnie bride,” she beamed, taking Moira’s hand in hers. “That green on ye is truly magnificent.”

“Thank ye, Isobel.”

“An’ who is this?” Isobel asked, smiling at Edin. “A friend o’ Moira’s? I’m so glad ye could make it!”

“Aye,” Edin said, nodding politely. “Lady Strathcarron, it is a pleasure.”

Roderick held in a breath, hoping his mother wouldn’t say anything that might lead to Edin blowing her cover.

“The bonnie bride,” Arabella called, coming toward them. “We must dance, fer the day is young, an’ a celebration awaits!”

Isobel turned to Roderick, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Aye, me son,” she said, her voice light and teasing, “will ye let us lasses dance wi’ yer bride? We promise tae give her back.”

“Of course, Maither,” he said, “but mak’ sure tae save a dance fer me.”

Moira shot Roderick a playful look as the women pulled her toward the dancing crowd. He looked on, watching them, warmed by the beating sun and a joyful contentment in his heart.

“A drink?” Cameron asked, coming up to him with a chalice in hand.

Roderick took the chalice from Cameron, his fingers brushing against the cool metal. He raised it slightly, meeting Cameron’s gaze. “A drink it is, then.”

Cameron grinned, lifting his own chalice in response. “Aye, ye seem content. Cannae say I blame ye, lad. Things seem to be goin’ well fer ye these days.”

“Aye,” Roderick responded as he sipped from his chalice. “We have enough grain tae feed our people, uprisings have calmed—there’s peace fer now at least. But I ken well a storm will always be brewin’.”

“Aye, but we must enjoy the summer while it lasts,” Cameron said. “There’s nay need tae fear a storm when ye have the perfect lass by yer side.”

“Wise words,” Roderick said. “It’ll be a lass fer ye next.”

Cameron chuckled. “Dinnae worry about me Roderick, today is yer day.”

“Today is a day fer castle Fraser,” he said. “An’ what would a day fer Castle Fraser be without a big feast.”

“Aye,” Cameron agreed, following Roderick as he led them both to the table. After some drinking and eating among his friends, Roderick excused himself, heading into the crowd. There he found Moira dancing merrily, her green dress swishing around her.

Her eyes sparkled as she saw him approaching.

“Lady Fraser,” he said, his words almost lost among the music and crowd. “May I have this dance?”

“That,” she beamed. “An’ so much more.”

As they edged closer to one another, Roderick took her into his arms, ready to lean in for a kiss before they were interrupted by a familiar voice.

“Sorry,” Malcolm said. “I dinnae mean tae interrupt.”

“Aye,” Moira smiled, her arms wrapped around Roderick as she leaned against his chest. “Malcolm, it seems we’ve been meetin’ like this too often.”

Malcolm laughed “I promise ye, I dinnae intend tae tak’ yer husband away from ye. I just wanted tae offer me congratulations tae ye both. Ye mak’ one fine couple, an’ I wish ye an abundance o’ prosperity goin’ forward.”

“Thank ye, Malcolm,” Roderick said. “We appreciate yer kind words. It means much comin’ from ye.”

Malcolm nodded. “I ken well that yer faither is watchin’ down on us from above—he’d be more than proud o’ the man ye’ve become.”

“Thank ye,” Roderick said, before Malcolm disappeared into the crowd.

Roderick liked to think that his father was looking down on him too, not just now, but every single day that he lead Castle Fraser as their laird.

Overwhelmed, yet strengthened by the love surrounding him, he raised Moira’s chin to meet his lips. “Now, where were we Lady Fraser?”

She smiled, her face inches from his. “Right here, where we should be.”

The End.

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December 1298. A few hours earlier…

She hadn’t wanted to leave her brother Kai’s wedding, but Thora MacLeod knew when a vision was coming, and knew it was best to find a quiet place to let it come. Resisting her visions never came to any good, any more than ignoring the warnings they gave her. And this one felt exceptionally powerful, which meant the warning was far too important to let it pass her by.

Foresight. Sometimes a gift, more often a curse in her world, it plagued her with dreams in her sleep and visions or vague premonitions in her waking hours, and only long years of experience, as well as the occasional success in thwarting some grim fate, had resigned Thora to the whims of the MacLeod Gift she had inherited from her mother’s blood.

She found a quiet space and closed her eyes, then surrendered herself to the Gift that had plagued her for so many years of her life.

Flash: War. Bloody war, and fires that burned over the Highlands. Violence, and the cries of the dead, dying and destitute, filled her mind. Warriors littered the field, a spectacle so grim it might have been the Morrigan’s handiwork of old. Her own kinfolk lay among the fallen, or among those fighting for their lives, and she knew with a sense of despair that all of them were doomed. And over it all, drifting above the scenes of horror and destruction, flew the colors of Clan Ross and the personal standard of Lachlan Ross.

Flash: There was little enough food, and less of anything else. The fields were practically barren, the store houses and barns empty save for half-starved livestock, but the grim-faced soldier on the horse cared naething for the despair in the gaunt, weary faces of the nearby villagers as he loaded a wagon heavy with grains claimed in tithe to the laird. A familiar sash adorned his chest, emblazoned with the colors she’d seen in her previous vision.

Flash: Two men stood opposing each other on a field. One wore the colors of Ross, the other of Cameron. Both wore the rank torcs that marked them as lairds of their clans. One was older, one younger. The vision wavered, a split in time. On one road, the men stood side by side, and desolation filled the world as the younger one fell. On the other, they faced each other in combat, and the future wavered like the waves of a storm-tossed sea.

Flash: The Ross standard was replaced by Cameron, and instead of desolation, life flourished. The fields prospered, the livestock grew fat and strong, and the villagers were hale and healthy. The storehouses were full, and warriors maintained the easy, watchful guard of peacetime, rather than the weary, wary tension imposed by strife. Everywhere, there was a sense of plenty and peace. A sense of happiness filled Thora, a joy so pure it was enough to make her wish to weep.

The visions released her, and Thora sank against the nearest wall, spent and shaking. It was rare to See so much and so clearly, rarer still to know what the visions meant. But this message, she could decipher with ease.

Clan Ross would bring devastation, a fact she’d no doubt of, for Lachlan Ross and her brother Domhnall had already come to blows in the past and opposed each other fiercely. She’d met him once in her lifetime and come away feeling as if she’d narrowly avoided being bit by a viper. Her brother Magnus refused to be in the same room with the man for years.

Now, according to her Gift, Lachlan Ross had set plans in motion that would devastate the Highlands and destroy everything – including her clan and kinfolk. What those plans were, she had no idea, but it was imperative that they be stopped before they could come to fruition. Otherwise, all of Scotland would be endangered by Lachlan’s ambition.

According to what she had seen, Clan Cameron and its laird were the keys to stopping the horror. If they could be brought to stand against Laird Ross, then disaster might be averted. More than that, there was a chance that all the Highlands could benefit.

Unfortunately, there was a problem with that scenario. Ross and Cameron had long been allies, as Ross and MacLeod were foes. This made clan Cameron a foe too. It would be difficult – nigh – impossible, to convince Laird Cameron to turn against his ally, based on the words of a woman who was kinfolk to one he might see as his enemy.

Clan Cameron and Clan MacLeod had no formal disagreements, but from what Thora had heard of Laird Cameron, his honor would hold him to the alliance and induce him to view his ally’s opponents as his own. Therefore, the first difficulty would be in convincing him to listen to her. The greatest difficulty would be in convincing him that his clan was better served by breaking away from his alliance with Clan Ross.

As to the first, she could use another name, pretend to be a lass from some village or an overseer’s daughter. Or perhaps even the daughter of some distant, smallish clan, or subordinate clan. He would have no cause to be suspicious of her then. But how to convince him to go against Lachlan Ross?

Another vision came to her, this one weaker but still clear enough for her to be sure of its content. It was a vision of Yule – specifically a yuletide festival.

Yuletide decorations, the Yule log being lit. Laird Ross’ stronghold. He angrily mumbled something about Cameron’s absence to his advisor.

Lachlan Ross was hosting a grand Yule festival at Ross Castle. Domhnall had not received an invitation of course, but it was no secret. As an ally of Clan Ross, Laird Cameron had surely received an invitation as well.

Somehow, Thora needed to ensure that Laird Cameron attended that feast, and she had to be there with him. She didn’t know why, but she knew she did. Her presence was essential to the discovery of the truth – whatever truth it was that would turn the course of fate in favor of prosperity, rather than destruction.

That would present another difficulty, for how was she to accompany Laird Cameron? An unrelated lass in a laird’s company would surely invite talk, and rumors, and she couldn’t pretend to be his sister. That lie would be all too easy for a man like Lachlan Ross to see through.

Of course, there was another role she might play. Thora felt her cheeks flush, and she pushed that thought away. She could worry about that part of her plans after she had ensured that Laird Cameron would attend the Ross Yuletide celebration.

Of course, first she had to make her way to Laird Cameron, and speak with him. That was a difficulty in and of itself.

Domhnall would never let her go. He knew to trust her visions but asking him to let her walk into enemy territory alone was too much. He would insist on her having a companion, assuming he permitted her to leave. And yet, she was certain she would fail if she had anyone else with her. Only by going alone could she succeed.

Thora sat for a few moments, thinking over everything she had Seen, and everything she had gleaned from her Gift. Then she rose, her face settled in a steely expression of determination.

She would go tonight. It stung to have to leave in the middle of her brother’s wedding celebration – especially given that he had married her close friend Ava – but it was the only time she could be sure that everyone was too preoccupied with other things to pay any attention to her absence. If she left within the next two or three candle-marks, it was unlikely that she would be noticed, and no one would question her absence til morning.

By the time they not only realized she was absent but searched the castle for her and discovered she was missing, she’d be on the birlinn to the main island, if not already disembarked and riding for Castle Cameron. And if the weather turned troublesome again, as it probably would, then it would both obscure her passage and delay them searching for her. With a little bit of luck, she would reach Castle Cameron before they could even confirm that she’d left the Isle of Skye, let alone follow her.

It would be a perilous journey, and a difficult one, especially alone in the middle of winter, but Thora was determined to manage. The fate of her clan was too important to shrink from the possible hardship.

She had to pack – practical simple clothing, and one or two days of food. Neither would be difficult to secure. She also had to write her brother a note. She didn’t dare tell him the full extent of her plans, but the last thing she needed was Domhnall sending messengers to every clan in the Highlands in an effort to find her. If nothing else, such an action might alert Laird Cameron to her true identity.

The path that lay before her was one tangled with unseen obstacles and uncertainties, but Thora refused to turn away from it, even as the enormity of what she was about to undertake confronted her.

Whatever it took, and whatever the cost, she would go to Laird Cameron and secure his aid in thwarting the disaster that threatened to engulf all of them.

Loved this bonus chapter? Keep the adventure alive—continue the journey on your e-reader. Happy reading!

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Five Years Later…

It was a wild and grand Yuletide, with a crowd to rival a Highland Gathering, but Thora Cameron couldn’t have been happier as she surveyed the Great Hall of Cameron Castle. By some stroke of fortune, all of her siblings, their spouses and their children had managed to attend the Yuletide celebrations this year and seeing them all gathered around the Yule log together filled her heart with joy.

That joy was only increased by the location. To host such a gathering required resources, and the knowledge that Clan Cameron had finally recovered enough from Lachlan Ross’s attempts to destroy it to be able to hold such a feast was uplifting.

It had been a hard road. Reestablishing trade, growing enough grain, potatoes and other crops to both feed the people and have a surplus to sell – none of it had been easy. The first year, he’d been forced to swallow his pride and ask Clan MacLeod for assistance to keep his home defended through the winter and spring. The first two years, Aedan had even sent out messengers to villages, offering an exchange of reduced taxes in return for tradable goods.

Her brother had helped, as she had known he would, along with her other brothers and their clans, and together, they had healed Clan Cameron. Now, they were enjoying the results, and Thora knew that Aedan, busy as he was with overseeing the festivities, was enjoying them most of all.

Giggling drew her attention to the cleared floor that would later be used for dancing. Domhnall was in the middle of the space, giving the children rides on his arms and shoulders – three or four children at a time, while his wife Katherine watched from her seat at the table, a smile on her face and a basket of sewing in her lap.

Two of the bairns climbing all over the Laird MacLeod were his own, and the day before, they’d announced that a third would be arriving near the end of summer. With two sons already, it was no secret that both Katherine and Domhnall were hoping for a girl, and equally certain that, girl or boy, Domhnall would be as besotted with the bairn as he had been after the previous two births. And far more confident than he’d been with the birth of his first son, Erik.

He’d been terrified that he’d hurt the child, that a bairn so small and fragile would break like glass the first time he accidentally used too much strength. But Erik had proved sturdier than that, and well able to make his displeasure known if he felt too constrained. By the time Conall had been born, Domhnall had learned not to worry so much. He was still cautious about his Gift, and always would be, but with Katherine and his children had come confidence in his control, and peace of mind.

Magnus alternated between laughing at his brother and wandering the Hall, speaking with various guests from outside the extended clan. After the fall of Clan Ross, Aedan had offered alliances to the other lairds who had once ridden by Lachlan’s side. None of them had refused, not when they knew Aedan’s marriage bound him through kinship bonds not only to three other powerful clans, but also the English court. Magnus had taken it upon himself to ensure that the large, widespread alliance functioned smoothly, and any arguments were settled without resorting to duels or potential feuds.

He’d truly come into his own, both as Laird MacDougall and as Ciara’s husband. His gift granted him a keen insight, and he was already known far and wide as being one of the fairest and most just lairds in the land. It was said that even the king himself consulted with Laird MacDougall when dispensing a thorny problem of justice, and Magnus rarely steered anyone wrong.

He and Ciara had borne twins, two years ago now, and were content with that, though by the sheen in Ciara’s eye, there might be a third child conceived within that family as well before Yule’s end. In the meantime, they had their son and daughter – Alric and Cianna – both of whom were currently clinging to their uncle’s belt and clamoring for more rides.

Kai, rogue and trickster that he was, had used his gift to make everyone a little merrier and a little less controlled as the Yule feast wore on. It had earned him a scolding from his wife, Thora’s good friend Ava, but even so, she was laughing as much as the rest of them, and Thora knew she wasn’t nearly as stern about it as she pretended to be.

And truly, what harm was it that there was more laughter and conversation flowing among the assembled guests, especially when it was not accompanied by alcohol? Unlike copious amounts of drink, Kai’s gift would leave behind only a slight weariness, easy to sleep off, without headaches or troubled stomachs.

Kai and Ava’s youngest born son, Devon, was sleeping at his mother’s breast, while their oldest played with his myriad cousins and his eldest uncle. At four winters old, Cameron MacLeod was among the older of the children surrounding Domhnall, and already possessed both his father’s eyes and his sense of mischief. Even so, he adored his brother and his cousins and could often be found playing with younger and older children alike.

In contrast to their mischievous brother, Thora’s twin Enya was quieter, seated at the table and sipping from her cup, a small smile on her face as she watched the children play

Cillian, Laird MacDonald to those outside his family and close friends, watched his wife carefully, and pressed another mug of sweetened tea and a plate of Enya’s favorite biscuits into her hands as they watched their three-year-old son Brian play around Domhnall’s knees at Cameron’s side.

The last member of the gaggle of children made Thora smile. Her daughter, Maeve, chased after her uncle with childish glee, giggling madly as Domhnall scooped her up to sit on his broad shoulder. Even though the child was only two years old, Thora knew her daughter would be Gifted. What the gift would be, she didn’t know, but she was determined to nurture it to the best of her ability.

That was true of all of them, she knew. Enya had some way of telling if a power might be present, something about the way it affected the body. She kept careful watch on all the family, especially the children.

Though young, over half the children were showing signs of inheriting the MacLeod Gifts. Enya had informed the entire family as soon as she was sure what her Gift was telling her, and all of them had sworn to see that no child ever felt a moment’s more confusion or fear than they could help.

Arms slipped around her shoulders, interrupting her thoughts, and Thora relaxed into her husband’s embrace. The years had mellowed Aedan and given him the peace and confidence he’d once been lacking. With it, and with some advice from elder lairds like Terion of Clan Mackenzie, he’d become a better laird, and Clan Cameron had truly prospered.

He’d always been a good husband, but the years had deepened their bond and strengthened the relationship between them. Time had also smoothed some of Aedan’s rough edges and eased his heart, as he learned to trust in her presence, and her advice. And Thora had learned as well. Aedan’s support gave her the strength to rely on others, and to trust that she did not have to be the only one to try and guide the future.

Now, when her visions came, it was easier to speak of them and easier to ask others to help her attend to the warnings, rather than attempting to manage matters alone.

A breath across her ear made Thora stifle a giggle. “What are ye thinkin’ me darling wife?”

“I was thinkin’ o’ our family, and how large it is, and how happy they all look. There was a time, years ago, that I couldnae imagine such a thing, nor see it in my dreams. Tae see it now feels like heaven on earth. I am so happy with ye, me love, and our daughter and all the people we love.”

“Aye… I ken yer meaning. But tae me, any place ye are is heaven.” Aedan nipped her earlobe, his hand sneaking down to her belly, and Thora swatted him with one hand, though she couldn’t help laughing at her husband’s amorous nature. After five years, the passion between them had yet to cool, and Thora loved every moment of it – even if Aedan did occasionally attempt to seduce her in what she considered inappropriate situations or locations.

“Save that fer taenight. Though we’ll have tae be careful.”

Aedan paused, shifting away from where he’d been to kiss the side of her neck. “Careful?”

Aedan had been supervising something else, some paperwork that Mac couldn’t handle on his own, when Thora had received confirmation of her suspicions from Enya. “Aye. Careful. We wouldnae want tae hurt the bairns, after all…”

Aedan froze. “Bairns?” A confused and tentatively joyful look spread across his face.

“Twins, me love. A son and a daughter fer ye, if Enya is right. And she almost always is.” Thora smiled at Aedan’s awestruck expression. “Two more children fer us tae love and cherish who will grow up strong to support our family.”

“That’s fair wondrous.” Aedan reached down to touch her belly again, laughing with glee, though it wouldn’t swell with child for some months yet. “Did yer visions show ye that?”

“They didnae have tae.” Thora reached up to cup her husband’s jaw, her eyes drifting back to her large, laughing family. “With family like this around them… how could they be anything else save loved, cherished, strong and happy?”

Aedan hummed, a warm smile blossoming over his face as he bent to give her a sweet, lingering kiss that made her skin tingle with delight. “How indeed, my little trickster? How indeed.”

The End.

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