Epilogue
ONE MONTH LATER
Ava stood still while Isobel needlessly straightened the fall of her veil for what must have been the fourth time.
“If ye touch it again, I shall look as though I have been wrestled into it,” she complained.
Isobel grinned and stepped back at last. “I am only making sure ye are perfect.”
“Too late. I was born so.”
Ava’s sister, Millie, laughed from near the bed, where she had been pretending to fold a ribbon for the better part of five minutes, only to watch them both. “She is insufferable already.”
“She is a bride,” Isobel said. “They are all dreadful on their wedding day.”
Ava smiled despite herself and looked around the room.
One month ago, she would have thought herself incapable of standing here in white again with a calm heart and steady hands. Now, the steadiness was real. Her pulse was quick, but it was the right sort of quick.
She did not feel haunted by the day or as though some shadow lurked just beyond the door. The room was full of women moving with purpose, laughter, and too many opinions over sleeves and flowers.
That alone felt like the purest form of bliss.
Millie crossed to her and adjusted the small bouquet in her hands. “There. Now ye look fit to make him lose his senses in church.”
“He never had many to begin with,” Ava snorted.
“That is true,” Isobel agreed. “Still, today shall finish the work.”
They all laughed again.
The sound sent warmth through Ava’s chest.
Millie had managed to make the time to visit, and that meant more to Ava than she would admit. Isobel looked delighted enough for three brides. Outside the room, Ava could hear feet hurrying along the passageway and the excited hum of the castle.
A while later, a maid came to say they were ready below.
Ava drew one breath and let it out slowly. When she stepped into the passageway, her father was waiting with Bruce tucked under one arm like an offended parcel. The little dog started wriggling at the sight of her and let out a soft bark.
“Well,” her father said, looking her over with teary eyes he was pretending not to have, “that should do.”
“Only do?” Ava asked.
“I am trying nae to flatter ye too much. It encourages vanity.”
Bruce wriggled harder, and her father set him down. The little creature ran straight to her, then sat by her dress as if he too understood that this was a solemn occasion and that his usual chaos could be spared for later.
“Ye see?” her father quipped. “Even the beast has manners for once.”
“Daenae praise him yet,” Ava said. “He may still disgrace us all before the vows.”
Her father offered his arm. She took it, and together they went downstairs.
The hall below was bright with faces she loved. Hector stood waiting in formal dress, broader and steadier than he had been before, the weight of his new place sitting well on him.
By the time she reached the chapel doors, the warmth of the day had settled into her bones.
Then she saw Ciaran.
He stood at the front, waiting for her with no shadow on his face. His gaze rested on her as though she were the only thing in the room worth seeing, and the force of that look reached her even across the space between them.
Her father gave her arm the smallest squeeze and then led her forward.
The chapel was full, yet nobody felt far away.
Isobel stood smiling through tears she was no longer bothering to hide.
Millie pressed a hand to her mouth. Hector looked proud enough to burst. Bruce sat at the back with a ribbon tied badly around his neck and the expression of a dog tolerating nonsense for love.
Ava came to Ciaran’s side and met his eyes. He smiled. Small enough just for the two of them.
Soon, the ceremony began, and the vows were spoken. Ciaran took her hand, his thumb moving once against her skin. The touch grounded her more than the stone floor beneath her feet.
“Ye’re cold,” he whispered.
“Nerves,” she responded, almost automatically.
“Well, we will have to do something about that later.”
She nodded and laughed, almost like he had said the most hilarious thing in the history of man.
By the time the ceremony was over, relief had spread through the chapel so hard that it almost felt like a collective exhale. Laughter rose from the back when Bruce barked once, as if in approval.
That set off the rest of them.
Isobel began crying outright. Millie embraced Hector hard enough to make him stagger back half a step.
Laird MacKenna clapped Ciaran on the shoulder. “Ye did good, lad. Ye did really good.”
“Thank ye, Laird MacKenna.”
Ava turned to look at her husband once more as the joy of their people echoed around them. She had stood in white before and waited for her life to end. Now she stood in white again and felt only peace.
Ciaran stepped close and bent to kiss her, the warmth in the room wrapping around them. Then he drew back slightly to murmur, “If I let one more person hug ye before I have ye alone, I shall die of patience.”
Ava laughed. “A tragic end for a bridegroom.”
“Aye. Come save me.”
Before Isobel or her father or Millie could pull her back into another round of congratulations, Ciaran took her hand and led her out of the chapel and through the hall with the speed of a man who had already given enough of his wife to the world for one day.
Behind them, laughter erupted, Bruce barked, and her father said something about shameless husbands. Ava looked over her shoulder once, smiling, then let Ciaran drag her on.
He did not stop until they were in their chamber with the door shut fast behind them.
The quiet struck at once.
Ava stood with her back to the door for one moment, breathing hard from laughter and the quick walk, her veil slightly askew and her bouquet still clutched in one hand. Ciaran eyed her as though he had been waiting for this for half his life.
She watched as he came closer and took the bouquet from her hand, setting it aside without looking away from her face.
“There,” he murmured. “Now ye belong to me for at least five minutes.”
Ava smiled. “Only five?”
He put both hands on her waist. “If ye tease me on our wedding day, I shall carry ye to the bed this instant.”
“Ye may try.”
The answer pleased him so much that the smile lit up his whole face.
He bent and kissed the corner of her mouth, light and brief, then her cheek, then paused. Ava followed his gaze, only to find the star map hanging above their bed.
It was framed simply and placed where she could see it the moment she entered the room, the fine markings clear in the firelight, the lines and names preserved with care.
For one breath, she could do nothing but stare at it, then she crossed to the bed slowly. Her fingers lifted toward the frame and stopped just short of touching it.
“When did ye do this?”
“This morning,” Ciaran said from behind her. “While ye were being fussed over.”
She turned to look at him. He stood a few steps away, watching her with a steadiness that felt almost shy. It made the ache rise in her throat faster than any speech could have.
“I wanted ye to see it the moment ye came in,” he added. “It belongs here.”
Ava put one hand over her mouth. Then she laughed softly because crying on her wedding day for the tenth time seemed excessive, even for her.
He crossed the gap between them and took her hand away from her face. “Nay more tears,” he chided softly.
“I make nay promises.”
“A cruel wife already.”
“Oh, daenae pretend like ye didnae choose me.”
“Aye.” His thumb stroked across her knuckles. “Best thing I ever did.”
Ava looked once more at the star map and then back at him. Their whole story seemed to sit in that small space between the bed and the wall, every event gathered in ink and paper.
When he kissed her again, there was heat in it.
She held his shoulders and leaned fully into him.
His hands settled on her waist, then slid up her back, slow and certain, as though he had no wish to rush through a single second of this.
She felt the care in his touch. She felt the burning hunger too, open and unashamed.
Her veil slipped, and he caught it with one hand and laughed under his breath when it tangled briefly around his wrist. “This thing is trying to kill me.”
“Oh, well, something needs to.”
He pulled the pins in her hair free one by one, set them on the nearby table, then lifted her veil clear and let it fall. Her hair came loose around her shoulders, and his eyes darkened at the sight.
She shivered.
“Ye are staring,” she whispered.
“I am yer husband. I have earned the right.”
He kissed her throat then, and she closed her eyes.
Eventually, she sank onto the mattress, laughing softly. He came down with her, one hand braced beside her shoulder and the other holding her as though he meant to keep her there forever.
Above them, the stars remained fixed in place.
The End?