A Price to Be Paid: A Scottish Highlander Romance (Legacy of the Laird Book 2)

Epilogue

Lilidh heard Mathe close the door behind him quietly. There was no doubt he was hoping to surprise Fynn; it was their favourite game at the moment, but the boy had learned to listen for the click of the door as it locked.

“Papa!” he cried, running up to greet him with a hug. Mathe leant down and opened his arms and lifted his son up over one shoulder, spinning wildly.

“Who’s there?” he asked, turning this way and that, while Fynn giggled from behind him, hanging upside down.

“I’m here, papa,” he called. “Behind ye.”

“Where?” Mathe asked, twisting back the other way in his mock search. “I cannae see ye.”

Fynn giggled again, and Mathe lowered him to the ground and ruffled his hair. As he straightened, he caught Lilidh’s eye across the room and smiled, lifting one hand in greeting. She smiled back, wondering if the warm feelings she felt when she watched Mathe and Fynn play would ever go away.

She hoped not.

“What’s that?” Fynn asked, looking at a heavy burlap bag Mathe had brought back with him from town.

“Come into the kitchen and I’ll show ye,” he said, then looked up at Lilidh. “Ye too.”

They walked into the kitchen and Lilidh once again felt a surge of pride as she looked at the room. She’d been right; there were things that needed to change. The old kitchen was pokey and poorly laid out, with dead ends and corner cupboards that opened into other cupboards, poorly lit and hard to move around in. Now, the room was transformed, with plenty of bench space and natural light. They had made it larger as well, with the extra space coming from what used to be an unused room in one corner of the house. The difference was staggering.

Mathe stepped up to Lilidh and wrapped his arms round her waist, kissing her passionately. She murmured in weak protest before sinking forward into the kiss, putting her hand on his cheek. The beard was coming along nicely, and felt softer to her fingers. In fact, she thought she even preferred it shorter as it was; enough to transform his face, but not quite the scraggly bird’s nest that he’d worn when he first came back to her.

“The bag, the bag,” Fynn begged. “Stop that, both of ye.”

Mathe laughed and pulled away, giving her a grin that promised they’d continue later and pick up where they left off. She smiled back and raised one eyebrow wickedly, and he shook his head.

“Fynn,” he said, “do ye remember when we spoke about keepsakes, in the oak grove?”

“Aye,” the boy replied. “My fishing rods. And yer sword.”

Mathe nodded. “Aye. Well, I decided it was about time we both got a new keepsake. Something to celebrate the building of our home.”

“What is it?” Fynn asked, his eyes lighting up. “Can I see?”

Mathe nodded and reached into the bag, pulling out a long hammer. It was wrapped with a leather handle, and markings wound their way up each side of the square shaft. Lilidh was no expert in these matters, but she’d seen Mathe’s old tools enough to know that this hammer was something else entirely; a craftsman’s hammer, sturdy and yet exquisitely made. This was something special.

Fynn breathed out slowly. “What do the markings mean?”

“They’re an auld language, Fynn, and they speak words of power.”

“What kind of power?”

“To bind and hold, and to strike true. Powerful things for a hammer.”

“Can I hold it?”

“Nay,” Mathe replied, and the boy’s face fell. He raised his hand. “Because ye can hold this, instead.” And with that, he reached his hand back in and withdrew another hammer, identical in every way, only half the size.

Lilidh felt herself sob. It was a hammer for Fynn, the same as his papa. A gift from the father to the son.

Mathe held it out to the boy, who received it in awe, cradling it in his arms. “It’s wonderful,” he said. “Is it mine?”

“Aye, Fynn, this is a hammer for ye. Just remember, though; the hammer creates. By taking it, ye assume a great responsibility. Will ye only use it to help people?”

“Aye,” the boy said solemnly. “I promise.”

Mathe nodded. “Then it’s yers. Now why dinnae ye run it out to the workshop. Careful now, just place it on the bench and we can decide where to keep it later.”

Fynn turned and carried the hammer away, still holding it close, and they both watched him leave.

“A wonderful gift,” Lilidh said. “It will mean a lot to Fynn.”

“Aye,” Mathe said, his eyes lost in thought. “I remember what it was like to receive a gift from a father.”

Lilidh thought of the sword and shook her head. “It’s no” the same at all. Ye said it yerself; the sword could only take, and it wasnae given to ye out of love. Ye”ve given our bhobain the gift of creation.”

Mathe considered her words for a moment. “I suppose ye’re right,” he said. “Although the sword didnae always take. It gave me one good thing.”

She twisted to look at him. “That sword didnae give anything good, Mathe.”

He smiled. “Only one thing. I melted it down and sold the scrap. Then I took the ruby to the jeweller. That’s how I paid for these hammers. I thought it was fitting, to destroy the last remnant of the man I was, to help become the man I want to be. And the father I want to be, as well.”

“The sword is gone forever?” Lilidh asked, not quite daring to believe it. She supposed a part of her thought it would never truly be gone.

“Forever,” he said.

She felt tears on her cheeks, and Mathe put his arm around her. He was right; it was fitting indeed. With the sword gone, the last ties that bound Mathe to the old laird had been severed. It was a time for new beginnings, to look towards the future, to rebuild what they had all lost. It would be a hard road, she knew, to become welcomed in the town once more, but Lilidh knew they could do it. She had a husband and a son and a house full of love, and together they could do anything.

“What will he make with it, I wonder?” Mathe murmured.

Lilidh smiled. “Whatever it is, it will be made with love.”

“Aye,” he replied, squeezing her tighter. “That it will.”