Epilogue
“Are ye ready, dear?”
Amara’s voice was gentle, her hands steady as she adjusted the final pin in Piper’s hair.
They stood in Piper’s chambers, soon to be her former chambers, Piper realized with a flutter in her stomach. After today, she’d be moving into Elijah’s rooms. Into the Lady’s chambers.
Into her husband’s bed.
“I think so,” Piper said, though her voice shook slightly. “I’m just… I’m nervous.”
“That’s natural.” Amara stepped back, her eyes bright with tears as she looked at Piper. “Oh, dear. Ye look absolutely beautiful.”
Piper turned to face the mirror and barely recognized herself.
The gown was simple yet elegant, a cream-colored silk that flowed over her curves like water.
Amara had insisted on having it made especially, refusing to hear any of Piper’s protests about the expense.
The neckline was modest, showing just a hint of her collarbones, and the sleeves were long and fitted.
Around her waist was a belt of silver thread that matched the silver clips holding back her blonde hair.
And at her throat was Alexandra’s necklace. The symbol of the MacTavish clan, gleaming in the afternoon light.
“I daenae look like meself,” Piper whispered.
“Ye look like a bride,” Amara corrected. “Ye look like a woman about to marry the man she loves. And trust me, dear, Elijah is nae goin’ to be able to take his eyes off ye.”
A knock at the door made them both turn. Masie poked her head in, her own face freshly scrubbed and her hair braided with blue ribbons.
“Everyone’s ready,” she announced. “And Da keeps pacin’ like he thinks ye might change yer mind and run away.”
“I’m nae runnin’ anywhere,” Piper said with a smile.
“Good.” Masie came fully into the room, and for the first time since Piper had known her, the girl looked genuinely happy. “Because we, Connor and I… we want ye to stay. We want ye to be our maither. Properly.”
Piper’s throat tightened. “Ye really mean that?”
“Aye. Ye’ve been more of a maither to us in a few weeks than…” Masie stopped, her voice catching. “Than anyone has been in years. And we love ye. Both of us.”
“Oh, Masie.” Piper crossed to the girl and pulled her into a hug. “I love ye too. Both of ye. So much.”
“Are ye cryin’?” Masie asked, her voice muffled against Piper’s shoulder.
“Maybe a little.”
“Good. Me too.”
They stood like that for a moment, holding each other, until another knock sounded.
“Miss Armstrong?” It was Connor’s voice. “Are ye almost ready? Da says if ye daenae come soon, he’s goin’ to come get ye himself.”
Masie pulled back with a watery laugh. “He probably would, too.”
“Then we‘d better nae keep him waitin’ any longer.” Piper took a deep breath, smoothing down her gown. “How do I look?”
“Beautiful,” Amara said firmly.
“Perfect,” Masie added.
“Like a princess!” Connor called through the door.
Piper laughed, feeling some of her nervousness ease. This was right. This was exactly where she was supposed to be.
She opened the door to find Connor waiting, dressed in his finest clothes and practically bouncing with excitement.
“Ye really do look like a princess,” he said, his eyes wide. “Da’s goin’ to… he’s goin’ to—”
“He’s goin’ to what?” Piper asked, amused.
“I daenae ken the word. But his face is goin’ to do that thing where he looks all soft and happy.”
“That sounds perfect,” Piper said.
They made their way through the castle, down corridors Piper had walked a hundred times, yet they felt different now. Special. As if the castle itself knew something momentous was about to happen.
The ceremony was held in the castle’s small chapel, a beautiful stone room with stained-glass windows that cast colored light across the floor. Piper had asked for it to be private, just family, and Elijah had agreed immediately.
She didn’t need a grand wedding with hundreds of guests. Didn’t want strangers staring at her, judging her, whispering about the governess who’d somehow caught the Laird’s eye.
She just wanted the people who mattered. The people who loved her.
As they approached the chapel doors, Piper’s heart began to race. This was it. This was real.
She was about to marry Elijah.
Amara squeezed her hand. “Ready?”
“Aye,” Piper said. “I’m ready.”
The doors opened.
The chapel was small but beautiful, lit by candles and the colored light from the windows. A handful of people stood inside, including Declan, grinning broadly. A few of the senior household staff. The priest waited at the altar.
And Elijah.
He stood at the front of the chapel, dressed in formal attire—dark wool and fine linen, his clan’s colors. His dark hair was neatly tied back, his beard freshly trimmed. And when he saw her, when their eyes met across the distance—
His face did exactly what Connor had described. It went soft and happy and full of so much love that Piper’s breath caught.
The walk down the aisle felt both endless and far too short. Piper was aware of Connor and Masie flanking her, of Amara dabbing at her eyes, of Declan’s encouraging nod.
But mostly, she was aware of Elijah. Of the way he watched her approach. Of the way his hands clenched at his sides like he was restraining himself from coming to meet her.
When she finally reached him, when she was close enough to see the gold flecks in his green eyes, Elijah let out a breath that sounded almost like relief.
“Ye came,” he said softly.
“Did ye think I wouldnae?” Piper asked, just as quietly.
“I worried ye might realize ye could do better.”
“There is nae better than ye,” Piper said. “For me, there’s only ye.”
The priest cleared his throat. “Shall we begin?”
The ceremony itself passed in a blur. Piper heard the words, the traditional vows, the promises of love and fidelity and partnership. Heard herself repeat them, her voice steady despite her racing heart.
Heard Elijah speak his own vows, his voice rough with emotion.
The priest stepped forward, holding a length of tartan cloth in the McMahon colors—deep green and blue, woven through with threads of silver.
"The handfastin’," he intoned, "is an ancient tradition of our people. The binding of two souls, two lives, into one."
Elijah took Piper's right hand in his left, their fingers intertwining. The priest wrapped the tartan around their joined hands, weaving it in a figure-eight pattern that bound them together.
"As this cloth binds yer hands, so too are yer lives now bound," the priest said. "What is joined here today, let no man tear asunder."
Piper's eyes shimmered with tears as she looked down at their bound hands, then up at Elijah. His green eyes were soft, full of a tenderness that made her heart ache.
"Now, speak yer vows," the priest instructed.
Elijah's voice was steady, strong. "I, Elijah Quinn, take ye, Piper Armstrong, to be me wife. To have and to hold from this day forward. To protect and cherish, to honor and love, for as long as we both shall live."
Piper's voice trembled slightly, but her words rang clear. "I, Piper Armstrong, take ye, Elijah Quinn, to be me husband. To have and to hold from this day forward. To stand beside and support, to honor and love, for as long as we both shall live."
The priest carefully unwound the tartan from their hands, then presented it to Elijah. "Keep this cloth as a symbol of yer union. The knot that bound ye may be untied, but the bond between ye remains forever."
Elijah tucked the tartan into his belt, never taking his eyes from Piper's face.
The priest smiled warmly. "By the power vested in me by God and the laws of Scotland, I now pronounce ye husband and wife. Laird McMahon, ye may kiss yer bride."
Elijah didn’t hesitate. He pulled Piper close and kissed her, deep and thorough and full of promise. Around them, people cheered, Connor’s voice loudest of all, but Piper barely heard.
All she knew was Elijah. His mouth on hers. His arms were around her. The solid reality of him, warm and alive and hers.
Me husband. Me love. Mine.
When they finally pulled apart, both breathing hard, Elijah rested his forehead against hers.
“Lady McMahon,” he murmured.
“That’s goin’ to take some gettin’ used to,” Piper admitted.
“We have the rest of our lives for ye to adjust.” Elijah’s smile was brilliant. “Come on. We have a celebration waitin’.”
The ceilidh was being held in the great hall, and as they walked toward it, Piper could already hear music and laughter.
The entire household had been invited, servants and guards, stable hands and kitchen staff. Everyone who’d welcomed her into Castle McMahon.
But before they reached the great hall, Elijah suddenly veered down a different corridor, pulling Piper with him.
“Elijah? Where are we goin’?”
“Just trust me.”
He led her up a staircase, down another corridor, until they reached a set of doors Piper had only seen from the outside. The Lady’s chambers. Her chambers now.
Elijah pushed open the doors and pulled her inside.
The room was beautiful—larger than her old chambers, with a massive bed draped in blue and silver, tall windows overlooking the loch, and a fireplace already burning warmly. Someone had scattered rose petals across the bed and lit candles throughout the space.
“Elijah,” Piper breathed. “This is… It’s beautiful. But the ceilidh? Everyone’s waitin’ for us.”
“They can wait,” Elijah said, closing and locking the door behind them.
His eyes had gone dark, intense. “I’ve been patient for weeks, lass.
I’ve kept me hands to meself, honored yer space, waited for our weddin’ night like a proper gentleman.
But I’m done waitin’. I need to claim ye. Properly. Now.”
Heat flooded through Piper’s body at his words, at the hunger in his voice. “But—”
“Our people will understand,” Elijah interrupted, stalking toward her with predatory grace. “They’ll drink and dance and celebrate. And when we finally join them, they’ll see me mark on ye. See that ye’re mine in every way that matters.”
“Yer mark?” Piper’s voice came out breathless.