Epilogue
Roxburgh Castle
Six months later
“Good heavens,” Isabeth said with some chagrin. “Are they always like this?”
“Like what?” Ronan asked.
“Like.. loud,” Isabeth said. “Are they always this loud?”
Ronan grinned as he listened to his father, his uncles, and several cousins indulge in a few stanzas of what was known in the de Wolfe family as the Naughty Wedding Song.
It wasn’t even a wedding song, but something that was first sung at his Uncle Edward’s wedding years ago by none other than Blayth himself and, for some reason, it had been sung at every single wedding since.
But it wasn’t just the male de Wolfe contingent singing it – he could clearly see Millicent in the middle of it, belting it out and drinking wine as if she’d been born to it.
He was very glad he’d invited her.
“There once was a lady fair,
With silver bells in her hair.
I knew her to have,
A luscious kiss… it drove me mad!
But she denied me… and I was so terribly sad.
Lily, my girl,
Your flower, I will unfurl
With my cock and a bit of good luck!
Your kiss divine,
I’ll make you mine,
And keep you a-bed for a fuck!”
Gales of raucous laughter arose from the crowd in the vast and imposing great hall of Roxburgh Castle.
More laughter and cheers arose when Millicent drained a cup of wine before several de Wolfe men did.
It was a wedding of great proportions, the union of Blayth de Wolfe’s son, Ronan, and the widow formerly known as Lady de Brito.
Now, she was Lady de Wolfe.
“You have no idea what a tradition this is,” Ronan said. “It’s more than just the song.”
“Why?” Isabeth asked.
Ronan leaned over, his arm around her shoulders, his lips near her ear.
“Because when my father first sang it many years ago, my grandmother became furious,” she said.
“She would chase my father all around the hall and threaten to beat him. My Aunt Jemma became furious also. You remember Jemma? My Uncle Kieran’s wife? ”
Isabeth nodded. “You have told me of her,” she said. “But it has been quite a task remembering your family lineage. There are so many of you.”
Ronan laughed softly. “There are, indeed,” he said. Then, something caught his eye at the end of the able and he sat back, smiling. “Ah. We are to be honored.”
Three little girls were heading in his direction. The eldest one was around nine years of age, with bright red hair and brown eyes, while the middle lass was seven years of age with black hair and blue eyes. The third child, a little girl of four years, had curly dark hair and very dark eyes.
Anne, Esther, and Priscilla de Wolfe had come to bid their father and new stepmother a good night.
Ronan drew the girls into his embrace.
“It is late,” he told them. “You should already be in bed. Where is Aunt Mae?”
Esther, the most vocal of the three, pointed to the edge of the hall where Mae de Wolfe, Countess of Northumbria, was waiting.
Whenever children were involved, Mae was always the first to volunteer to watch over them or assist. But another woman was standing with her, tall and strawberry-blonde, cradling an infant.
The moment Isabeth saw the woman and the child, she was on her feet.
“I must bid Maxwell a good eve,” she said.
Because she was up, Ronan was up. Anne had one of his hands while Priscilla had the other. Esther grasped Isabeth, pulling her along until they reached the edge of the hall.
“I told them to bid you a good night, not to bring you away from your celebration,” Mae said. “I am sorry they took you away.”
Isabeth smiled at the woman she was coming to like a great deal. In fact, she liked all of Ronan’s aunts and mother and stepmother a great deal. Each de Wolfe wife had great virtues and kindness of their own and she was very much coming to appreciate them.
“And how is our strong lad tonight?” Isabeth said, leaning over the baby that the strawberry-blonde was holding. “Has he been a good boy?”
Cassiopeia de Wolfe, wife of Edward de Wolfe, aunt and uncle to Ronan, smiled as she looked at the black-haired infant. “He is a very good baby,” she said. “I wish mine had been so peaceful and content.”
Isabeth couldn’t help but scoop the child out of Cassiopeia’s arms. He stirred a little but she crooned to him softly, rocking him. She could feel Ronan leaning over her, his big hand on the baby’s head.
“He will lead the next generation of strong de Wolfe knights,” he said firmly. “Of course he is a good lad. With you as his mother, he could be nothing else.”
He kissed her on the cheek and Isabeth smiled at him gratefully as Priscilla tugged on him. “Papa,” she said. “I want to see Maxie.”
Ronan grunted as he lifted her up so she could see the baby. “His name is Maxwell,” he said flatly. “Max if one is so inclined, but not Maxie.”
Priscilla was a truly adorable child and she was dearly loved.
All of Marian’s girls were, in fact, even if Ronan wasn’t their father.
He had never treated them any differently, nor had anyone else.
They were part of the House of de Wolfe, loved for who they were and not shunned because of who their mother was.
Ronan had set that example long ago in yet another show of his good character.
As he held Priscilla, she leaned over to kiss the baby but then squirmed until Ronan was forced to set her down.
“Come!” she told her sisters. “Let’s play!”
They ran off squealing as Mae headed out after them, calling for them to stop running. Cassiopeia remained behind so she could take the baby, but Isabeth didn’t seem inclined to give up her son.
At least, not yet.
“I cannot thank you enough for minding him,” she said to Cassiopeia. “You have so many children and grandchildren of your own, so I hope one more was not a burden.”
Cassiopeia smiled at her. “Not at all,” she said. “If I thought I could get away with it, I would steal him from you, although your maid, Gerta, is quite possessive of him.”
“Has she been a help to you?”
“A great help,” Cassiopeia said. “All of the children seem to like her and she has been a tremendous help minding them. But little Maxwell has her full attention. He is a wonderful baby.”
Isabeth smiled gratefully. “Thank you,” she said. “I have waited a long time for him. I am enjoying him very much.”
Cassiopeia smiled in return but something over Isabeth’s head caught her attention. She elbowed Ronan.
“Look,” she said. “Here they come. They’re going to make demands for your wedding night so if I were you, I would quickly leave.”
Ronan looked over to see his uncles and cousins heading in his direction.
It was quite a group of knights, without Millicent this time, who seemed more content to sing with some of the other guests.
Cousins close to his age, including Titus, Edward, and Christian were grinning at him and Ronan knew they were in for it.
“Take the baby, Aunt Cassie,” he said, urging Isabeth to give her the child. When the baby was safely transferred, he took Isabeth by the hand. “Come with me. Quickly.”
Isabeth had no idea what was wrong but she did as she was told.
Roxburgh was an enormous castle with towers and rooms and she still wasn’t exactly clear where all of them were, or even where she was half the time, so she simply followed her husband up the stairs and through some dark passages.
They finally made their way to their wedding chamber in a room that overlooked the town of Kelso in the distance.
The views were quite astonishing but once they reached the room, they were greeted by familiar faces inside.
Blayth and Rose, Ronan’s mother by birth, were waiting for them.
“Christ,” Ronan said as he entered the door and staggered. “You startled me. I thought you were that horde behind us, having beaten us to the chamber.”
Blayth grinned. “Nay,” he said. “But they will be here shortly. Shut the door and bolt it.”
Ronan did as he was told. Isabeth gravitated towards Rose because she was a little nervous about the situation, while Blayth and Ronan seemed on alert, and Rose smiled as she took Isabeth’s hand.
“Not to worry,” she said. “We will protect you.”
“Protect me from what?” Isabeth asked, concerned.
Rose laughed softly. She was a lovely woman, petite, with dark hair and pale skin.
She and Blayth had known each other all their lives and back when Blayth had been known as James, they had fallen in love.
They had married but when James had been declared dead, Rose had grieved and eventually married another man.
But the friendship, the long-standing affection, for James – now Blayth – was still there, as the pair got along splendidly.
This moment, when their eldest son married for love, was particularly poignant to them both.
“The de Wolfe men tend to be quite boisterous when one of their own is married,” Rose said. “They will not tangle with me, so I am here to protect you. But I’m also here because I want to give you something.”
Ronan heard her, turning away from the door with interest. “What is it, Mama?”
Rose smiled at her eldest child. “I will try to be brief, but do bear with me,” she said.
“This goes back to the day your father and I were married. It was a snowy winter’s day and our families had been having the best of times.
We were playing games, throwing snowballs at each other, and I remember that your Aunt Penelope and I were being particularly brutal with each other.
But Penny was always the brutal sort, so that is no surprise. ”