Epilogue
EPILOGUE
In the morning, they returned home, to Morighe.
A week later, they were wed, and folk spoke of their wedding for years after. For not every wedding was postponed because of pirates, and not in every wedding a laird toasted his lady, calling her the dragonness that ensured their downfall.
And not in every wedding there were sparkling rainbows on the horizon, with rain falling over the sea but not on land.
Finally, as though also joining in the celebrations when night had fallen and the revelry showed no signs of stopping, the sky lit up with hundreds and hundreds of falling stars.
Which meant that no one saw the Laird and Lady sneak out of their wedding, hop on two waiting horses, and race down the coast, shouting their joy.
One Week Later
“A letter for ye, Lady MacCabe,” called out a youthful voice.
Helena, who’d been walking down the stairs with a wistful, happy, and bittersweet heart, found herself suppressing laughter as she accepted the letter. She recognized that dashed and peevish hand.
About to open the letter, someone snatched it from her hand and held it out of reach.
“Is this how a laird should act?” she asked, turning to her husband.
“Aye,” Damien said. He grinned as he turned the letter over. “Ah, another update from yer faither. I wonder what he wants to complain about this time.”
“Is that another letter from Lord Lovell?” asked a low, laughing voice, and Grant appeared.
“Excellent timing,” growled Leo, also grinning.
The three Lairds huddled together while Damien read out loud in a perfect imitation of his father-in-law.
“ Daughter. News of Barthy. Appears positive, for a change. An English ship picked him up near the Isle of Man. Apparently, the pirates tired of him and left the poor lad there. Barbarians, every last one of them. He’s on the way home, to London, but of course, the shipwright is demanding payment.
I shall write when I get to London.
But of course, it did not end there. No, there were more complaints about the road, the grooms, the carriage, the taverns, which Leo, Grant, and Damien laughed over. Helena shook her head at them, then heard a clattering from above.
Servants were carrying trunks and juggling bags, while Agnes and Emma followed behind, brimming over with gratitude—and gossip. Gwendolyn trotted behind, hand-in-hand with Sophia, while Jolly was being firmly held by Lady Merie.
There was a commotion as they all reached the entrance hall, talking at once, and a mess of bags to sort through. They had one final lunch, and then Helena’s heart was heavy as she walked Agnes and Emma outside. Oh, how she was so happy to be wed to Damien at last, but how she would miss the twins.
“I would stay longer, but I must return now or risk missing my friend, Joanna,” Agnes apologized, her pretty face creased with worry and affection. “Somehow, that dear creature has wrangled a vacation from the nuns. I cannot understand it.”
“Well, they’ve become more understanding since that wretched Mother Superior left, no?” Emma asked. “And your dear Nun-Mum took over.”
Agnes and Helena exchanged amused looks at the nickname Emma had come up with.
“Don’t fret, you stayed for nearly a month,” Helena said. “I’ve been far too covetous with your time.”
“I am glad you will have help with the babe, too,” Emma said, smiling over her shoulder at her brother-in-law carrying her niece.
“Mm,” Agnes agreed, her expression distant and thoughtful. Then, she shook herself. “Oh, I shall miss you two with all my heart.”
There were embraces and kisses, more than a few tears, and Helena gazed at her four friends, not able to believe that two weeks had passed so quickly since the pirate attack. She was married, she was a lady of a clan, and now they were planning their next visit—though Emma had flushed and warned them that they may have to come to see her.
Jolly yipped his head off as the two carriages rolled through the gates, Leo and Grant riding horses and waving. Sophia wept, and Gwendolyn dabbed at her eyes, while Lady Merie shook her head and muttered that it had all passed too quickly.
Helena could only nod and watch the gate, long after the carriages had vanished from view.
“Correct me if I’m wrong,” drawled a warm voice in her ear. “But shouldnae Lady MacCabe be hard at work on her translation of Iphigenia? ” She smiled at Damien, who pulled her into an embrace. “We can visit soon.”
“I know,” she murmured. “Thank you.”
She patted him on the cheek and then headed inside, nodding at servants and family alike, who gave her knowing smiles. The castle could tell, now, when Lady MacCabe was headed for the library and her work.
Helena could not believe that she’d ever feared that they would not support her. Everyone in the castle was excited for her—and a little bit in awe. It meant the world to her.
Settling into her favorite seat in the library by the windows and the fireplace, Helena set to work. She soon was lost in the passage where Iphigenia plotted with the prisoners—one of whom was her dear brother—to make their escape.
The scent of tea teased her nostrils, and she winced as she lifted her head. Sitting by the fire, with a platter of snacks and tea, was Damien. He had a book resting on his knee and a soft look in his good eye.
She shook her head, not sure why she was surprised he’d managed to sneak in here again.
“How long?” she demanded as she stood up and stretched.
“Nae long,” he responded with a shrug. “Tea and—och.”
Helena had sat on her husband’s lap and pressed a kiss to his bearded cheek. Some silver now mixed with the dark hair—something that had happened abruptly after the kidnapping. Damien had simply laughed when they’d noticed it and teased Helena that it was from the intensity of the rescue, never mind loving her.
He handed her a cookie, which she nibbled on, and she snuggled against his big, strong body. She would never get tired of this, though she wondered if one day she would get used to how big and strong he was, how her heart swelled when she saw him and remembered that they were married.
“You are my favorite husband,” she informed him.
Damien huffed a laugh even as he shot her a dark look. “I told ye, I dinnae care for that jest, Hel.”
“You know that it has to do with me having a husband at all, not that there were hordes in wait.”
“One tried to snatch ye on our original weddin’ night,” Damien began and then sighed. “Nay, ye arenae rilin’ me tonight, minx. Nae when ye looked so beautiful writin’ and readin’. Yer focus is one of me favorite things.”
Helena finished her cookie and sat up, wrapping her arms around his neck. “What are the others?”
Damien smirked up at her, and his hands tightened on her waist. “Shall I show ye?”
Helena nodded and made to kiss him, before she jerked back. “Wait, I forgot to cap the inkpot. Damien—no, Damien, we have been over this. No, that’s not…” Her eyes fluttered shut as he kissed her neck. “Not fair.”
“Nay mercy, wife,” Damien whispered as he kissed along her jaw, toward her lips. “And I told ye, I will buy ye as much ink as ye want.”
Helena opened her mouth to argue but then kissed him instead.
Much as it often went with Lady and Laird MacCabe—which they both found much more agreeable.
Not that they stopped rowing. Oh no. Sometimes, they rowed simply to make up.
But as all the folk in the castle knew, no one was happier rowing or making up than their Laird and Lady.
The End?