Laird of Lust – Extended Epilogue
One year later
The road wound through the valley like a ribbon of silver, the morning mist lifting slow and soft from the heather. Catherine held her cloak close as the wind teased at its edges, her cheeks flushed from the chill. The air smelled of pine and distant rain, and somewhere far behind them the faint sound of the river echoed through the glen.
They had been riding since dawn, and though she’d asked Aidan more than once where he was taking her, he had only smiled—that quiet, infuriating smile that told her she would learn when he wished her to.
“Ye’re enjoyin’ this far too much,” she said at last, pulling her hood lower as they crested a rise.
He gave a low chuckle, his voice rough with the cold air. “Maybe. I like keepin’ ye guessin’.”
She tried to look unimpressed, but the warmth in his tone made it impossible. Aidan Cameron rarely teased anyone, but with her, it came as natural as breathing. The past year had carved something gentler into him, quieter, as though the part of him that had once only known battle had finally found peace.
Peace. The word still felt strange to her sometimes. Achnacarry was whole again, its gates rebuilt, its people thriving. Tòrr had returned often, Michael too, and there had been laughter in the hall where once there had been only fire and shouting. And somehow, through it all, she and Aidan had learned to live as husband and wife. That thought made her smile, though she hid it quickly when he glanced over.
She had her own secret today, one he didn’t yet know. Every time she thought of it, her heart fluttered like a startled bird. But she would wait for the right moment. He had his surprise; she would have hers.
The trail narrowed as they reached the lower ridge, and through the mist ahead she saw the dark outline of stables and fencing. Horses. Dozens of them, moving like shadows across the pasture.
“Aidan,” she said, her voice caught between laughter and disbelief, “tell me ye didnae bring me all this way tae buy a horse.”
He didn’t answer at first, but the grin tugging at his mouth gave him away. “I might’ve,” he said.
Catherine groaned, though she couldn’t quite hide her amusement. “Ye could’ve sent a man fer that.”
“Could’ve,” he agreed. “But then I’d miss seein’ the look on yer face.”
She tried to glare, but it melted into a smile before she could manage it.
By the time they reached the pens, the morning had brightened. A broad-shouldered man hurried out to greet them, wiping his hands on a rough wool coat. His bow was deep enough to suggest he knew exactly who he was speaking to.
“Me laird, me lady,” he said breathlessly. “A rare honor. Ye’ll find nay finer beasts than the ones bred here. Strong backs, steady temper—fit fer a king if it please ye.”
Aidan dismounted, handing the reins to one of the stable lads. “We’ll see.”
Catherine swung down beside him, her boots sinking slightly into the damp earth. The merchant’s gaze flicked to her, polite but patronizing in that way some men had when they thought a woman’s interest in horses ended with a gentle mare and a fancy saddle.
“Perhaps somethin’ light fer the lady,” he said. “A palfrey, gentle-tempered. We’ve one that’d suit her fine hands.”
Aidan’s brow arched faintly, but he didn’t speak. Catherine did.
“I’m sure ye dae,” she said, voice sweet enough to make the merchant smile in relief. Then, after a beat: “But I’m lookin’ fer somethin’ wi’ fire. Somethin’ that bites back.”
The man blinked. “Beg pardon, me lady?”
She pointed toward the far end of the enclosure where a dark horse stood apart from the rest, tall and restless, its coat black as river stone. It stamped once, ears flicking, the tension in its body like a held breath.
“That one,” she said.
The merchant followed her gaze, then laughed nervously. “Och, nae that beast. He’s half-wild still. Near killed the last lad who tried tae bridle him. Nae fit fer ridin’ yet.”
Catherine’s lips curved. “So perhaps ye tried taming him wi’ fear instead o’ patience.”
Aidan’s low chuckle rumbled beside her. “I’d listen tae her. She’s near impossible tae argue wi’.”
The merchant looked between them, uncertain whether he was being jested with. “Me laird, I’d advise—”
“Ye’d advise me tae trust me wife,” Aidan said lightly. “Which I dae.”
The man opened his mouth, then shut it again, clearly deciding it was safer not to protest.
Catherine moved toward the fence, her steps slow and even. The dark horse tossed its head once, wary, then still again. She stopped a few feet away, keeping her voice low as she spoke, more to the animal than to the men watching.
“Ye’ve been penned too long, havenae ye?” she murmured. “Ye’ve forgotten the feel o’ open air. I ken that.”
The horse flicked an ear, the muscles along its neck tightening. Catherine waited.
Aidan leaned on the fence, watching with quiet amusement as the merchant whispered a hurried prayer under his breath.
Then the horse took one step forward. Then another. Its breath came out in a snort, white in the cool air. Catherine reached out a gloved hand, slow and steady, until her fingers brushed the rough line of its jaw. The animal shuddered once, then lowered its head.
The merchant made a strangled sound. “Saints preserve us.”
Aidan laughed, a deep, unrestrained sound that made her turn, smiling despite herself. “Told ye,” he said. “Impossible tae argue wi’.”
The merchant mumbled something about miracles and retreated toward the stables.
When they were alone, Aidan crossed the space between them, his arm brushing hers. “Ye’ve got a way wi’ beasts,” he said softly. “Even the wild ones listen tae ye.”
She smiled faintly, still stroking the horse’s neck. “Maybe because I married one.”
He chuckled, the sound low in his throat. “Careful, lass. I’m tame now.”
“I’ll believe that when ye start listenin’,” she said.
He leaned in, his breath warm against her temple. “I listen,” he murmured. “I just prefer me own way o’ hearin’.”
She laughed, pushing lightly at his chest. “Ye’re impossible.”
“Aye,” he said. “And yet ye married me anyway.”
They stood like that for a long moment, the wind curling between them, the smell of hay and leather filling the air. The horse nudged Catherine’s shoulder once, almost playfully, before wandering off to graze.
When she turned back to Aidan, his gaze had softened in that way it only ever did when they were alone, with quiet warmth beneath all the rough edges.
“I like him,” she said. “He’s got spirit.”
Aidan nodded. “Aye. Reminds me o’ someone.”
She rolled her eyes. “Ye’re flatterin’ yerself.”
“Maybe,” he said, smiling now, the expression small but rare. “We’ll take him.”
They walked together toward the merchant’s booth, where the man was still muttering about cursed luck and fearless women. Aidan settled the payment easily, though the merchant’s hands shook as he counted the coins.
When it was done, Catherine lingered near the fence again, watching the dark horse toss its mane in the sunlight. Something about him, perhaps its strength or the refusal to bow, filled her with a quiet pride.
She turned back to Aidan, who was adjusting the reins of his own mount. “Perhaps,” she began lightly, “we should buy another.”
He looked up, one brow arched. “Another? Ye’ve barely chosen this one.”
She stepped closer, fingers twisting absently in her gloves. “Aye, but I was thinkin’… he’ll need company.”
“Company?” he echoed, amused. “Ye plannin’ tae start a stable now?”
Her smile faltered just enough for him to notice. “Nae exactly.”
Aidan’s expression softened. “Catherine?”
She took a breath, her voice quieter now, trembling at the edges. “The other one should be fer our bairn.”
For a moment, he didn’t speak. The world seemed to still around them, all of it fading into silence.
When he finally looked at her, his eyes were wide, startled in a way she’d never seen before. “Our… bairn?”
She nodded, her throat tightening with emotion she could barely contain. “Aye. I was goin’ tae tell ye sooner, but I wanted tae let ye have yer surprise first.”
He stared at her for a long heartbeat, and then, for perhaps the first time in his life, Aidan Cameron forgot how to speak. His mouth parted, then closed again. When words finally came, they were little more than a whisper. “Ye’re certain?”
She looked up at him, through the tears gathering in her eyes. “Aye. I am.”
Something inside him broke open then like sunlight breaking through storm clouds. He took her face in his hands, rough palms trembling as if he feared she might vanish.
“Christ, Catherine,” he said, his voice thick. “Ye’re tellin’ me I’m tae be a faither?”
“Aye,” she breathed. “If ye can manage it.”
That made him laugh, unsteady and disbelieving, before he pulled her into his arms. She went willingly, her cheek pressed against his chest, feeling the wild thrum of his heart beneath her palm.
He held her for a long time, his hand buried in her hair, his breath uneven against the crown of her head. “Ye’ve given me everythin’,” he murmured. “Things I didnae even ken I wanted.”
She looked up at him, her own tears falling now, though they came with laughter. “Ye’ve given me love, Aidan Cameron. That’s nay small thing.”
He brushed his thumb across her cheek, catching a tear as it fell. “Love,” he said softly, as though testing the word. “Aye. Maybe we’ve both earned it.”
She leaned into his touch, her heart so full she thought it might burst from the weight of it. “We’ll raise the bairn here,” she said. “Let him grow wi’ the glen and the wind and the sound o’ the river.”
“Him?” Aidan teased.
“Or her,” she said quickly, smiling through the blush that rose in her cheeks.
He laughed again, the sound low and warm and utterly real. “Whichever it is, they’ll be stubborn as sin.”
“Then they’ll fit right in,” she said.
He bent to kiss her then, a slow, tender kiss that tasted of sunlight and promise. When they finally drew apart, she could still feel the echo of it against her lips.
Aidan looked out toward the hills, his arm slipping easily around her waist. “We’ll build more stables,” he said absently. “A proper place fer the horses and the bairn’s pony both.”
She laughed, her head resting against his shoulder. “Ye’re already plannin’.”
“Aye,” he said. “A man’s got tae keep busy, else he starts thinkin’ too much.”
“Ye never stop thinkin’,” she murmured.
“Only when ye kiss me.”
She swatted at his arm, but he caught her hand and kissed her fingers before letting go.
They stayed there for a while, the two of them framed by light and open sky. The wild horse grazed quietly nearby, the valley stretching wide and green around them. It felt, to Catherine, like the world and everything in it was simply right.
She turned to him, her eyes soft. “Dae ye remember what ye did the day we wed?”
He looked down at her, his expression curious. “I did a great many things.”
She smiled. “Ye danced.”
He chuckled. “Aye, I did.”
“Well,” she said, slipping her hand into his. “Dance wi’ me now again.”
There was no music, only the wind and the soft thud of hooves in the distance. But Aidan drew her close anyway, his arm steady around her waist as they moved slowly across the grass. The sunlight caught in her hair, the glen opening around them like a promise kept.
Catherine closed her eyes, letting the quiet wash over her, feeling his hand, the warmth of his breath, the steady rhythm of his heart. She had thought once that love would be fire, fierce and consuming. But this peace, this warmth, this life they had built together was gentler and stronger than fire.
When she opened her eyes again, Aidan was smiling down at her, and she thought, not for the first time, that there was nothing in all the world she would ever want more than this.
Somewhere in the distance, the river sang. And as the sun rose higher over the valley, Catherine Cameron knew that home was not a place but a person. And she had found hers.
The End.
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