Chapter 24
CHAPTER 24
W ith his health fully restored, Eamon had returned to his duties with a renewed vigor. He and his men were no longer on the hunt for Malcolm after confirming that Ian and William MacCowan had been behind every bit of toil and trouble in the area. Seeing as that was the case, Cam had some of the guards transfer them over to the Campbells, where they would be judged by Laird Colin Campbell for their actions. He was the one with all of the power in Islay and the only one who could decide their fate.
On this particular evening, as the sun cast a warm glow over the landscape, Catherine found herself by Eamon's side walking along the shore of Loch Ballygrant. The breeze carried the melody of the hills, and the scent of the sea. Catherine turned to Eamon, her gaze warm and sincere.
"I'm glad you're not out chasing Malcolm anymore," she said softly, her eyes meeting his. "It means we can spend more time together."
Eamon's lips curved into a playful grin, his eyes dancing with a mixture of affection and jest. "Aye," he replied, "though I must admit, lass, you're wearing me out more than those many patrols ever did."
Catherine laughed, the sound like the tinkling of a distant stream. "Is that so?" she teased, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "I had no idea I was such a handful."
Eamon's laughter joined hers, a deep and hearty resonance that filled the air. "Ah, but tis a welcome weariness," he assured her, his gaze tender as he looked at her. "I wouldnae have it any other way."
As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a tapestry of hues across the sky, Eamon wrapped his arms around her, drawing her close. He lowered his lips to hers and kissed her tenderly. Catherine felt her heart soar and prayed that she never had to return to her own time.
Later that evening, the dining hall was alive with the warm glow of hearth fires and the hearty chatter of the clan. The long wooden tables were laden with platters of roasted meats, hearty stews, and baskets of fresh bread. The air was thick with the aroma of rich spices and savory flavors, an offering of sustenance to the hardy souls gathered to partake.
Amidst the bustling activity, Catherine moved gracefully among the tables, her eyes alight with the camaraderie that flowed as freely as the ale and whisky. It was a scene of unity, of shared laughter and shared stories, each individual woven into the tapestry of the clan's life.
As she walked, Mae called out, “Catherine!”
Catherine approached the table where Mae sat, a wide smile gracing her lips. “Hey Mae, Jen.” She smiled.
“Come take a walk with me?” Mae said.
Catherine followed Mae to a quieter corner of the hall, where the din of the crowd seemed to soften. “If we were just going to stay in the same room, why did you ask me to go for a walk?” Catherine asked with a laugh.
"I just wanted to get you alone for a minute. I wanted to say I'm glad you chose Eamon over Sir Kellan," she said. “I don’t think I told you that before and I didn’t want any of the Donalds to overhear me.”
"Honestly, I can't imagine being with anyone but Eamon," she admitted, a soft smile playing on her lips. “I have only ever thought of Sir Kellan as a friend, and now not even that.”
“I’m not sure if you’re aware, but while you were gone, when Eamon came back here to get William, he and Sir Kellan got into a fight. Eamon punched him in the face and told him to stay away from you.”
Catherine cringed. “That’s my fault. I got in a fight with Eamon, and I thought we were through. I’m afraid I allowed Sir Kellan to think I might be interested in him, and he kissed me. I told Eamon while we were out hunting Malcolm, and he was furious. He didn’t let me explain and then I got kidnapped and well you know what happened after that.”
Mae shook her head and laughed. “Gotta say, these MacDonald men are pretty hot blooded. They don’t take things lightly when it comes to the women they love.”
“No, they definitely don’t.” Catherine smiled and glanced toward Eamon who was engaged in a conversation with Niall and Cam. “And I wouldn’t change that for the world.”
“Me either.” Mae grinned.
“A toast?” Catherine said, lifting her mug up to clink with Mae’s.
"Okay, how about to love," Mae declared, her eyes locking with Catherine's.
"To love," Catherine echoed as she tapped her mug to Mae’s, her gaze drifting to Eamon, his presence a reassuring anchor in her life. In that moment, as the festivities carried on around them, Catherine felt a deep sense of belonging, of being part of something greater than herself.
The night wore on, the firelight casting dancing shadows upon the stone walls. As the feast continued, Catherine found herself drawn to Eamon's side, their fingers entwined as they exchanged soft smiles and shared laughter. The hall was alive with the warmth of kinship, the echoes of ancient traditions merging seamlessly with the present.
And as the stars glittered in the ink-dark sky outside, Catherine knew that she was exactly where she belonged.
The castle corridor stretched ahead, its stone walls bathed in the soft glow of torchlight. The flickering flames cast dancing shadows, creating an ambiance of mystery and history that seemed to echo with the stories of those who had tread these same paths before.
Catherine walked alone, her footsteps echoing in the stillness as she made her way through the dimly lit corridor. Her thoughts were a swirl of emotions, a tapestry woven with the threads of love, loyalty, and newfound belonging.
Amidst the quiet, the sound of another's footsteps reached her ears. She turned to find Sir Kellan approaching, his presence a sudden interruption in her solitary journey. His voice, rich with the lilt of the Scottish dialect, carried across the space between them as he spoke.
"I'll be leavin' the Fort," Kellan announced, his expression a mixture of resignation and something she couldn't quite place.
Catherine met his gaze with curiosity. "Leaving?" she echoed. She almost didn’t believe him and thought maybe this was ploy of some kind to gain her attention.
"Aye," Kellan confirmed, his gaze steady upon her. "Laird Colin has need of me and has sent a replacement to fill my position here. 'Tis time for me to return home."
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Catherine said sincerely. She had actually enjoyed being friends with him and had hoped that at some point they could return to that status.
“I wanted to give you this before I left.” He extended his hand, which held a book.
Catherine took it and looked down at it. It was another book of poetry. Her fingers brushed against the aged pages, a silent acknowledgment of the significance of this parting gesture. "Thank you, Sir Kellan, I shall treasure it," she said, her voice carrying the weight of farewell.
“Have a good life, Lady Catherine, I shall remember my time here with you fondly."
As Sir Kellan turned to leave, the echo of his footsteps fading into the distance, Catherine realized that she would actually miss him. However, as the corridor once again returned to silence, Catherine couldn't help but feel a sense of closure, a chapter of her life closing even as new ones awaited her.
Catherine's footsteps carried her from the corridor into the intimate sanctuary of the bedchamber she now shared with Eamon. The room was adorned with a sense of familiarity now, each piece of furniture and tapestry bearing witness to her presence and the evolution of her experiences within these walls.
Catherine's gaze shifted to the window, where a sliver of moonlight spilled into the room. She had adapted to this life, finding her place among the clan and the rugged beauty of the Highlands. And in the midst of it all, she had discovered a love that transcended the grand gestures and poetic words—a love that was woven into the fabric of her everyday existence.
As she settled beneath the covers and into Eamon’s arms, the warmth of the hearth still lingering in the air, Catherine's thoughts carried her into the realm of dreams. And in that space between wakefulness and slumber, she embraced the truth that had become her anchor—the substance of love, nurtured in the simplicity of shared moments and genuine connection, was what truly set her heart alight.
One crisp morning, a few weeks after Sir Kellan’s departure, Eamon taught Catherine how to wield a bow and arrow, his hands guiding hers as they aimed for a target in the distance. The closeness of their bodies sent a shiver of awareness down Catherine's spine, and she found herself lost in the intensity of his gaze. It was a dance of trust and vulnerability, a silent promise that they would always be there to support each other.
The clan's celebrations over the last several weeks had brought them even closer, the lively music and dancing infusing the air with an electric energy. Catherine found herself swept into the whirlwind of it all, Eamon's hand firmly holding hers as they twirled and swayed. Their eyes met amidst the revelry, the world around them fading into the background as they shared a moment that was theirs alone.
Late one evening, under a sky studded with stars, they wandered to a hidden glen that Eamon had discovered as a boy. The glen was a sanctuary of nature's beauty, where the scent of wildflowers mingled with the soft rustling of leaves. It was there that Eamon took Catherine's hand and led her in a dance that seemed to transcend time itself, their movements a reflection of their hearts' rhythm as he said, "Love, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?"
"Yes!" Catherine shouted and threw her arms around him. She’d been hoping he would ask and could not imagine a better place for a proposal than this.
Catherine marveled at the way her heart had found its home in the Highlands, in the arms of a man who had shown her the true essence of love. Each moment they shared was a page in the story they were weaving together—a story of two souls entwined, bound by a love that was as vast and timeless as the rugged landscape that surrounded them.