Epilogue #2
As the commotion finally began to settle, Aunt Honoria leaned over to Eilidh, her voice low and conspiratorial.
“Well, it seems things are progressing nicely for all of us, Eilidh. Perhaps next year, the excitement will be yours? I daresay Lord Arnold seems quite taken with you. I have caught his eyes wandering in your direction at the last ball we attended. His assets are quite impressive.”
“Ye are incorrigible,” Eilidh blushed, her eyes sparkling, acknowledging the hint of her own future prospects. “But perhaps ye are right… I think I may find love in the new year.”
“That’s my dear,” Aunt Honoria said with a smile. “You keep me young!”
Later that night, when the fires had burned down to embers and the guests had retired to their perfectly set rooms, Isla and Benedict stood together in the deserted parlor.
The scents of pine and spent beeswax were heavy in the air.
The only light came from the deep, red glow of the coals and the stars that showed through the windows.
Isla placed her hand gently over her lower abdomen, rubbing it reverently and smiling. “A Duke who throws cushions for sport and weeps for joy… I am still gettin’ used to this new you, mo chridhe. So much has happened so fast…”
Benedict wrapped his arms around her from behind, bending down and resting his chin on her shoulder, his lips brushing the curve of her earlobe. “It is the real me, Duchess. The man you saved from his own darkness. I am a much happier ruin now, thanks to you.”
“Are ye sure it is all right that we have told everyone that I am with child? It is still so early,” she whispered.
“I am not afraid. I know that my warrior queen will bring our baby into this world,” he said, smiling.
He turned her in his arms, and his hands moved to cup her face. His thumb gently wiped away a stray tear of happiness that had escaped her eye.
“I love you,” he murmured, his voice thick with devotion. “And I love this life you have given me. “
“Live it with me, then,” Isla whispered, winding her arms around his neck, pulling him closer. “Stop imagining, stop thinking, and just live.”
“This is the happiest Christmas of my life,” he whispered.
“Just wait until next year,” she sighed. “What shall we do now, husband?”
Benedict answered with a deep kiss, the heat of the dying fire and the depth of their lust for each other wrapping around them like a soft blanket. He lifted her into his arms effortlessly and carried her out of the darkened parlor, moving towards the master suite, where their future awaited them.
The massive four-poster bed was draped in newly acquired heavy velvet, the fireplace crackling with fresh logs a thoughtful footman had laid earlier. Benedict set Isla down gently beside the bed, his eyes never leaving hers as he began to unbutton his shirt.
“Wait,” Isla said. She reached out and took his hand, pulling him not toward the bed, but toward the mahogany chest of drawers tucked in the corner. “I have one last gift for ye, Benedict.”
He watched, curiosity softening his features, as she opened a small, leather-bound box tucked away beneath a stack of his nightshirts.
She lifted out a heavy, antique silver pendant, suspended from a delicate filigree chain.
The silver had a deep, mellow patina, and the pendant itself was an intricate knotwork design, forming a Celtic heart.
“What is this?” he asked, taking the cool metal gently in his palm.
“It is a Scottish luckenbooth,” she explained, her fingers tracing the loops of the design. “They were traditionally given as betrothal gifts, or as a sign of deep love and devotion. I ken we are already wed, but it all happened so fast… it just felt right.”
“It is beautiful,” he said. “And I wish we had a more romantic courtship, Isla. But if this is what brought us here, I would not change a thing.”
“Aye, Ben,” she said softly, continuing her explanation. “The knotwork signifies a bond that cannae be broken. I want ye to wear it, just for a night, or a day, or forever. It is a piece of me home, a piece of me heart, to keep close to yers.”
A profound stillness fell over Benedict. He had not expected another gift, especially one so personal. He saw the trust, the commitment, and the sheer depth of her enduring love reflected in the silver.
“It is the most treasured thing I own, now,” he vowed, his voice husky.
He turned and lifted his thick, dark hair, offering her the simple intimacy of fastening the clasp.
Her fingers brushed the back of his neck, sending a familiar thrill through him.
The pendant settled heavily over the wool of his shirt, right above his heart.
He reached up and closed his hand around it. “Thank you, Isla.”
He turned and took her face in his hands again, her eyes wide and luminous in the firelight.
“You have given me your life, your love, your son or daughter, and now a token of your homeland,” he began, his thumb stroking the curve of her cheekbone and gracing her scar. “I have been keeping a secret, too. A truly selfish one, because I wanted to see the pure surprise on your face.”
“What are ye up to, Ben?”
He helped her up, then led her to a small writing desk in the corner and pulled out a rolled-up scroll tied with a simple blue ribbon. He held it out to her, and she took it, her brow furrowing slightly as she untied the bow. The moment the parchment unfurled, she gasped, a sharp, delighted sound.
“This is breathtakin’,” Isla said as she held the paper close to her eyes, examining each corner.
It wasn’t a poem or a contract. Instead, it was a breathtaking watercolor painting of a large, stone manor house. It was perched on a secluded cove, with a rugged coastline stretching away on either side. Smoke curled from several chimneys, and a small garden bloomed bravely against the wind.
It was not grand and imposing like the ancestral home they were currently in, but solid, beautiful, and utterly Scottish.
“Benedict, wait… What is this?” she breathed, running a reverent finger over the painted slate roof. “What does this mean? Does it mean what I think it means?”
“It is a house, Duchess,” he said, his lips tracing the lobe of her ear. “I bought it for you. It is called Dunlachlan.”
“Dunlachlan,” she repeated, a smile crossing her face. “Aye, I think I have heard of it!”
“It sits on the west coast of Scotland, on Loch Sunart. It belonged to an old clan chief whose line had run out. It is fully paid for, furnished, and waiting for its new master and mistress, whenever they would like to visit.”
Isla’s hand flew to her mouth, her eyes welling up with tears that were a mixture of shock and overwhelming joy.
“Ye mean this is nae just a trip?”
“No,” he said with a wide grin.
“Ye… ye bought me a house in Scotland?”
“It is our house, Isla. I want our child to have a place to go that has the sea air and scent of heather you talk of. I want you to wake up to the sound of gulls and the call of a familiar loch. I want Oliver to know it too.”
“I daenae ken what to say,” she said softly. “Thank ye, me sweet Ben.”
“I know how much you miss your home, even though you never said it outright. I see it in your quiet moments, the stories you share. I want a place that is ours, where there are no inherited ghosts, only the future we make together.”
He took the scroll from her trembling hands and laid it aside, stepping close to her.
“I may be the Duke of Ealdwick, and this grand estate may be my duty, but as a man of means we shall have as many homes as my wife requires.”
“We will have the nursery painted blue and green!” Isla said, clapping her hands. “And renew our vows with friends and family in the years to come!”
“And we will watch the storms roll in from the sea, tucked in beside a massive hearth. It is where we will raise our children and grow old together.”
Isla launched herself into his arms and clung to him fiercely.
“This is the most incredible gift. Ye truly give me everythin’.”
He held her tightly, inhaling the sweet, familiar scent of her hair, the Celtic pendant pressing into her collarbone as he kissed her temple.
“You gave me a life worth living, Isla. Now, let me give you a home worth loving,” he murmured.
“Aye, I can do that,” she whispered.
“Let us celebrate this Christmas night and this grand, wild future that awaits us.”
“I will show ye just how wild I can be,” she purred into his ear.
He lifted her into his arms effortlessly once more, this time carrying her the few steps to their freshly made bed.
He set her down gently, placing her head on a fluffy pillow.
He leaned down over her, hovering carefully over her body so as not to press on her.
He traced the line of her jaw with a thumb.
The subtle, erotic gesture was amplified by the quiet that hung in the room, the peacefulness making Isla even more voracious for him.
She closed her eyes and leaned into his touch, not wanting to focus on anything else. The tension that had been crackling between them all day shattered. She didn’t need to ask what he wanted. The question and the answer were both mirrored in his searing gaze as he looked down on her.
“Are you sure it is all right that we make love so often? Will we hurt the child?” He asked seriously. “I do not want to take a risk.”
“It is perfectly safe,” Isla purred into his ear. “I promise. I need ye, Ben. I think the bairn will suffer if I daenae get what I need.”
He lowered his head then with a nod, and the kiss slow, deliberate.
It was a soft ignition that quickly became a consuming warmth that pooled between her legs as he drove his tongue in and out of her mouth, exploring her.
She pulled away and nibbled on his bottom lip playfully, the hairs of his beard tickling her chin.
His hands moved from her face to the small of her back, pulling her closer until no sliver of air separated them.