Epilogue
It turned out that the Best of Islay really was the people.
Bruadarach Distillery won the island-wide competition, although it had been a close call.
After Uncle Peter had packed up and left for India, Hunter and Helena had their hands filled trying to make sense of his organization.
Thank fook most of his employees stayed on, and Hunter was delighted that the Head Stillman was not only infinitely easier to understand, but willing to hold Hunter’s hand as he navigated this new, unexpected career.
After discussion with the rest of the employees, Hunter decided to pull Peater Distillery—Christ, he still needed to come up with a more marketable name!—from the competition, which improved Helena’s chances. He did, however, vow that they would be ready to compete by next year.
They were going to have to do something about the name, though.
Perhaps one day, Hunter’s new distillery would fold in with Bruadarach and become one large operation.
Since he rather suspected that dear old Uncle Peter had been copying whatever Helena had done all these years anyhow, it wouldn’t be that difficult.
All Hunter knew was that he had his work cut out for him. And with Helena at his side, he was more than ready for the challenge.
It had been natural to move in with her in the beautiful home she’d built, the bedchamber he was already familiar with.
The people of both distilleries seemed to approve of their union, and further afield, the people of Islay had welcomed him with open arms. They’d forgiven Helena’s lie, and Hunter had already heard a few rumors about how the lie had really been part of an elaborate ruse by the wily intelligent woman to entrance and land the Huffington Heir, and unite the two distilleries.
Well, since that had been the outcome, it was impossible to deny it had worked. If that’s what the people of Islay wanted to believe, then why not lift a glass right along with them?
Hunter had done that quite a few times today, although he was merely sampling the wares, so to speak. It seemed as though every single occupant of Islay had turned out today, not just to celebrate Bruadarach’s recent win, but the wedding of two dynasties.
Dreamers, indeed.
As far as Hunter was concerned, the distillery dynasties could fook right off. All he cared about was that as of ten o’clock that morning, Helena Lickfold was officially Helena Lindsay…his wife.
Unable to help himself, he smiled down at her. She was snuggled up at his side, holding court from the veranda of their home as the revelers celebrated throughout the distillery and beyond.
“Are you drunk?” she asked unexpectedly.
Hunter blinked, then grinned lopsidedly as he bit into an apple—he needed something solid after so many toasts. “Nay, although it would’ve been impolite to turn down the toasts. Why?”
“Because you are looking at me as if I am the most interesting thing in the world.”
“Ye are.” He dropped a quick kiss to her nose. “And the most beautiful. Have I ever told ye how long I’ve dreamed of seeing ye in pink silk?”
How adorable was it that he could still make her flush? “Really?” She smoothed her free hand down her skirt. “I was just thrilled when your Aunt Kit brought the pink silk gown she loaned me—I had nothing else appropriate to be wed in.”
With a wicked grin, he leaned closer. “Since I plan on tearing it off ye tonight, we might no’ want to return it to her just yet.”
He could tell the moment his wife caught her breath. Her nostrils flared as her lids lowered to half-mast, and she stretched her lips up to meet his…
“I see we’re just in time!” came a loud voice. A nearly identical one announced, “Thank Christ, I’m too young to see such debauchery.”
Laughing, Hunter gave up on his hopes of kissing Helena and pulled her about to face his cousins. “Lochlan, Keenan,” he announced sternly, “I have complete confidence ye could both give me lessons on debauchery.”
“Aye,” drawled one of them with a wink, as the other leaned forward and whispered in a serious tone, “Dinnae tell Mother and Father, eh?”
Hunter met Uncle Thorne’s rueful gaze over the lads’ heads and drawled, “Promise,” even as he offered the twins his hand. “Welcome to Islay. Thank ye for coming to the wedding, and for your magnificent gifts which I’m sure I’ll open tomorrow.”
Uncle Thorne heaved a mighty sigh as he shook Hunter’s hand.
“We’re only here for the whisky. Cannae let ye think we love ye enough to travel this far, ye’ll expect it all the time.
Hello, my dear,” he caught Helena’s hand to kiss her knuckles.
“We’ll come visit ye anytime. Ye make a beautiful bride.
That gown looks fetching. And familiar.”
His wife nudged him out of the way as she embraced first Helena, then Hunter.
“It’s mine, you idiot, as well you know—and Helena looks much better in it than I do.
What were you thinking, trying to put this hair in pink silk?
” Aunt Kit smirked as she shook her head at Thorne.
“I thought you said you had fashion sense? I’m giving Helena all my pink gowns as my wedding gift, she’s smashing in that color. ”
“I never said I had fashion sense,” her husband protested as Kit led him off. “I said that Bull said I had fashion sense.”
Before Hunter could return to kissing his wife, she stiffened at his side. “Your uncle,” she hissed, and then tried to give an abbreviated curtsey—as much as she could with Hunter’s arm around her.
The reason was soon clear as Uncle Rourke limped his way up the steps, leaning heavily on his cane.
The man had raised him, and sometimes Hunter still felt like a child looking up at him.
At the man who had taught him, by his example more than his words, what it was to be a husband. What it was to be a man.
As stone-faced as always, he offered Hunter his hand. “We’re proud of ye, laddie,” he said solemnly, his single nod of approval still having the power to cause Hunter’s throat to close up with emotion.
Over Uncle Rourke’s shoulder he met Aunt Sophia’s eyes, saw them shining with tears as she held Bear and Lizzie’s hands. Hunter’s eyes filled with his own tears and he had to swallow a few times to reply to his uncle.
“Thank ye for coming,” he managed. “It really means a lot—”
His words were cut off when Uncle Rourke enveloped him in a sudden engulfing hug. He buried his head in the older man’s shoulder and reveled in the love from this stoic man who had raised him to be the man he was.
Uncle Rourke clapped him on his shoulder a few times before pulling away.
“We’re proud of the man ye’ve become, laddie, and the businessman ye’re becoming.
And the husband ye’ll be.” He turned his gaze to Helena.
“Hunter’s never called me Da, but…but I hope any children ye have might consider calling me Grandda. ”
Helena made a noise that might’ve been a sob, might’ve been a laugh, and then Uncle Rourke opened his arms to her and she threw herself forward for a hug.
A laughing Aunt Sophia came forward, dragging the twins. “We would not have missed it for the world, Hunter! Congratulations to both of you, we are so very happy for you!”
Hunter was by now fully occupied swinging his young cousins around, hearing their laughter and cheerful chatter—but he did hear Aunt Sophia take Helena’s hand in her own and say, “Welcome to the family, Helena. I cannot wait to get to know you.”
And his heart was full.
Gabby had arrived on Islay a few days before with her new husband and son, Cassian and Gus, and had quickly bonded with Helena.
So when she skipped up the steps to hug them both, it was more teasing than anything else.
Apparently Bear and young Gus had plans to examine the kiln later, and she’d promised to oversee them—carefully.
Cassian had rolled his eyes when he’d heard this. “We ought to put yer cousin Rupert in charge of them. He’ll bore them to death.”
Hunter pretended to scoff. “No’ to death. Just to devastating disinterest. Let the lads learn what they’d like, perhaps they could come back to fix all the shite that seems to go wrong—”
“At your distillery, perhaps,” Helena sniffed haughtily. “We do not have anything wrong at Bruadarach.”
The teasing continued until Marcia joined them, stretching up on her toes to press a kiss on Hunter’s cheek, then linked her arm through Gabby’s and spoke to Helena.
“Not counting the ferry ride, your home is only a few hours from Tostinham,” she said, naming her husband’s estate in Kintyre. “We will have to visit often.”
“I would like that,” Helena confessed shyly. “I have not made much effort to get away from the distillery these last years, but then…I never had family for which to do so.”
Gabby gave a happy little sigh and linked her free arm through Helena’s. “I have always desperately wanted a sister. Lizzie is wonderful, but almost fifteen years younger. Hunter is not bad—”
“He just makes a shite sister,” Hunter interrupted with a grin. “Where’s Hawk?” he asked Marcia. “I’m feeling overwhelmed by all ye females.”
“I do not care if you feel overwhelmed,” his cousin said sternly, “you cannot abandon your wife on your wedding day. And you would have to abandon her in order to find Hawk, because he is playing chaperone.”
Hunter hooted with glee. “Allie and Rupert? The lad hasnae worked up the bollocks to propose yet?”
Marcia’s younger brother was the same age as Hunter and he was quite fond of Rupert; but while they’d grown up together, it was difficult to be close friends with someone three times smarter than you.
When Rupert had fallen hard for Hawk’s young niece, it had been a delight to finally see the genius tongue-tied for once.
But Marcia just snorted. “Either he is waiting for her to propose, or he is planning something truly grandiose.”
“Knowing Rupert,” Gabby said to Helena, “it could be both.”