Epilogue
One day later
Wrapped in a fur coverlet, Selene reclined by the fireside in the solar, the warmth of the hearth seeping deep into her bones.
She wore a gown of the softest velvet, its color the dark-green of the forest, the luxurious fabric sensuous against her skin.
The room smelled faintly of beeswax and woodsmoke, pleasing scents that spoke of safety and home.
She had bathed when they had returned to the castle, astonished to discover that hot water could, in fact, be summoned at Duntulm after all.
She had sunk into the tub with a sigh, fragrant steam curling around her shoulders, and allowed the grime and sweat of yesterday loosen and drift away.
For a long while she had simply floated there, eyes closed, breathing slowly, as though the water might draw the memories of terror from her soul.
Of course, she would never forget what had happened. The sharp edges of fear and pain could not be erased so easily. But the horror had dulled, and in its place was the sensation that a great weight had finally lifted from her shoulders.
She turned as a knock sounded at the door.
“Come,” she called.
Kenneth entered with Maureen and Elsie close behind. Selene’s breath hitched in her throat at the sight of him.
He was clad in his great kilt in the red and blue of the Macdonald plaid, and over it a formal black velvet jacket that lent him an almost ceremonial air.
The cut emphasized his broad shoulders and powerful frame, and the contrast of dark cloth against his lighter hair made him all the more striking. He was every inch the laird.
She could scarcely tear her eyes away from him.
He crossed the room and leaned over, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead, his hand resting briefly at her shoulder as though to reassure himself she was truly there. Maureen and Elsie stood side by side behind him, their relief written plainly on their faces.
“It daes me heart good tae see the roses have returned tae yer cheeks,” Kenneth said softly, “and the sparkle is there again in yer bonnie eyes.”
The memory rose unbidden – how he had carried her back to the keep the day before, her limbs trembling, her tears soaking his shoulder.
He had borne her to her chamber as though she weighed nothing at all, his grip unwavering.
Maureen and Elsie had hovered anxiously, helping her change into her night shift, their voices tumbling over one another as they demanded to know what had happened.
Kenneth had dismissed her sister gently, insisting rest was what she needed most. Exhaustion had claimed her utterly. Her body, after the long the long bath, finally released from fear, had surrendered to a deep and dreamless sleep.
She remembered little beyond the feel of cool linen against her skin and the weight of his arm around her as he lay beside her.
When she woke that morning, she had been curled in his embrace, her back pressed to his chest, his breath warm against her neck.
The memory of his closeness, the feel of the steady rhythm of his heart, and the unshakable sense of safety was with her now.
“I cannae stay, dearest,” Kenneth told her. “There are things I must see tae.”
Selene nodded, reaching for his hand, “Am I to be robbed of your company already?” Even now, with the danger past, she could hardly bear the thought of him leaving her side.
She pouted despite herself, unwilling to let him go.
“Promise me you’ll not place yourself in danger.”
He responded with a soft, reassuring laugh. “I’ve been with our patrols already this morning. Ye can rest easy, mo chridhe. There’s nay trace of Clan MacLeay tae be found on our land.”
Relief flooded her so swiftly it left her a little weak.
“Dear Lord.” She pressed his hand to her cheek, “I am thankful for that.”
Elsie pressed forward bringing back her smile.
“Ye are indeed looking bonnie this day, dear sister,” Elsie said warmly. “It daes me heart good tae see ye so well.”
She held up a small parcel wrapped in linen.
Unfolding it, she revealed two lengths of green silk that matched Selene’s gown.
Kneeling before her, Elsie bound each of Selene’s wrists with gentle care, the soft silk concealing the salve and linen with which Aonghas the healer had dressed the raw wounds left by the cruel ropes.
Emotion tightening Selene’s throat. It was a small thing, the silk, yet it was a quiet reclaiming of what had been marred.
Maureen, meanwhile, hovered nearby with a small silver platter containing caramels and sugar-coated almonds.
“Ye must eat,” she insisted, pressing the sweets upon them all. “It is a day fer sweetness.”
Another knock sounded at the door.
This time it was not Kenneth who entered, but Callum and Halvard, both splendid in their kilts and tailored jackets.
“Why,” Selene said with a smile, “ye’re all looking very fine today.”
“Aye,” Callum replied, a rare grin splitting his usually stern features. “We’ve much tae celebrate.”
Selene clapped her hands lightly, delight bubbling up within her.
“Oh, we do indeed. The menace that’s hung over us all like a dark cloud has gone.”
They had only just helped themselves to the sweets when the door opened once more.
Kenneth entered – and this time he was not alone. Father Mulcahy stood at his side.
Selene rose at once, smoothing her gown as she stepped forward to greet the elderly priest.
“Why, Faither, this is unexpected,” she said. “I see ye’ve already returned from your urgent trip to Ireland.” She extended her hand. “I trust all is well?”
Father Mulcahy frowned slightly, looking momentarily bewildered.
“Ireland?”
“Never mind, Faither,” Kenneth interjected quickly, his tone light but firm.
Selene’s brows knit for the briefest instant. She noted the exchange – and filed it away for later.
Father Mulcahy took her hand smiling kindly
“Would ye care tae join me in the chapel, Lady Selene? Ye are rather late fer yer wedding, but I believe I may just find time fer the ceremony before noon.”
She spluttered, surprise stealing her breath. Then, as his words took hold, jubilation surged through her so swiftly it left her dizzy.
“Of course,” she said, laughter threading her voice. “Apologies for my lateness.”
Elsie clapped her hands and immediately took Halvard’s arm, her face alight. Callum offered his arm to Maureen, who accepted with barely contained excitement.
With Father Mulcahy leading the way, and Kenneth and Selene following, the small party made its way down the steps and across the cobblestoned courtyard. The air was crisp, the stones outside the chapel still damp from the morning mist.
At last, after all that had come before, the wedding ceremony would take place.
They exchanged their vows before God and Father Mulcahy, the old priest’s voice steady and solemn as it bound their lives together. When at last the blessing was given and they stepped out into the light, Selene felt as though her heart might burst from her breast.
Kenneth took her into his arms, his hands firm and sure at her back as he pressed his lips to hers in their first kiss as man and wife. It was not hurried, but filled with a deep, quiet joy.
Maureen and Elsie were beside themselves, laughter and happy tears mingling as they swept ahead of the newlyweds, ushering them toward the banqueting hall.
Inside, the air was rich with the mouth-watering aromas. Kitchen maids hurried to and fro, bearing platters laden high with roasted carrots, parsnips, and neaps, steaming haggis, and a glorious goose, its skin crisped to a deep golden brown.
Selene took it all in with shining eyes, scarcely able to believe it was real. “Ye arranged this, Maureen?”
Kenneth laughed softly beside her.
“The wee sisters have been up since dawn, working in the kitchen with the cooks,” he said fondly.
As they took their seats, he reached for a decanter and filled their goblets with ruby-red wine from France, the liquid catching the light as he poured. He rose to his feet, lifting his glass.
“Slàinte mhath,” his voice carried through the hall. “Tae me beloved lady wife, Selene. Good health, long life, and happiness tae her and tae all my dear ones.”
Selene lifted her goblet, her eyes misting as the others echoed the toast. In that moment, surrounded by warmth and love, with Kenneth at her side, she knew, with a certainty that steadied her soul, the darkness had truly passed.
They lingered over the feast far longer than anyone had intended, unwilling to let the day slip away too quickly.
Selene sampled everything that was set before her, determined to do justice to the sweet abundance laid out – baked apples swimming in custard, fragrant rosewater jellies, and spicy, delicious clootie dumplings.
By the time they pushed back their plates, content and pleasantly heavy with food and wine, laughter came easily to them all. They retreated to the solar, where the fire blazed high and the air was rich with the comforting scents of peat smoke and whisky.
The men soon settled themselves with a dram – or two – while the lasses gathered at the harpsichord.
Selene took her place at the keys, her fingers moving effortlessly as Maureen and Elsie joined in, their voices weaving in harmony.
They sang old, well-loved songs: melancholy ballads, and bright, jaunty tunes that had feet tapping and smiles spreading around the room.
When the final song ended, the men applauded enthusiastically.
“I’m ready fer a dram of yer whisky, braither,” Elsie declared. Accepting a glass from Kenneth, she tipped it back and downed it in one bold swallow, prompting peals of laughter from the men. Selene and Maureen contented themselves with a final goblet of claret.
As the day waned and the deep darkness of a winter night crept in, the time came for Selene and Kenneth to bid the others goodnight. The fire burned low, casting long shadows across the walls.