Epilogue
The following May
Ronan paused only briefly at the door to their chamber, wincing at the sound of retching from within. It had been a common thing in the mornings over the last month. Hopefully, the bannocks and honey he brought would continue to work their magic as they did most mornings.
“Hello, love. It appears today will not be the day the sickness leaves you.”
“Nay. Moira said it shouldn’t last much longer.”
Ronan smiled at her words. The same words she said each morning as he rubbed her back and did his best to comfort her. Though, in truth, there wasn’t much he could do. He knew the helplessness he felt each morning would be nothing in comparison to when his wife delivered their child.
He would be left in the corridor while his wife faced that battle on her own.
“Bannock?” He held up his meager offering.
“Aye,” she said as if he’d offered her a ship filled with jewels.
He ripped off a bite-size piece and handed it over after dipping it in a bit of honey.
As was common, the sickly green tinge seemed to lift from her skin immediately.
He went to the washstand and wrung out a cool cloth to wipe her face and neck.
And as was also common, it was as if she had never been ill.
He handed her a glass of watered mead, and she sipped it as if it were the sweetest nectar.
It was only the fact that his wife recovered her health and energy so quickly that he eventually allowed his priority to shift from protection to desire.
He smiled at her and watched as her hazel eyes flared with carnal interest.
This was yet another common thing of late. Once his wife was back to feeling herself, she became ravenous for something besides bannocks. Namely him. He had yet to sate her for more than a few hours at a time.
It didn’t stop him from trying, though.
***
As they descended into the main hall for the late meal, Brenna smoothed a hand over her still-flat stomach, hoping her gown was not too badly wrinkled from her husband’s attentions.
He placed a kiss to her knuckles, and their gazes held for longer than was probably acceptable.
She was mentally counting down the hours until they could claim exhaustion and go to their room.
Ronan was rarely away from her, always the doting husband.
She worried he attempted to make up for the past. Something they’d both decided to put aside so they could live full and happy lives moving forward.
“I do hope our son has your smile,” she said, not really meaning for the words to leave her mouth.
“And I hope our daughter has your eyes and spirit.”
“My spirit?” Brenna laughed and he helped her into her seat next to him on the dais. “You wish her to ride in men’s clothing and be late for meeting her intended.”
“If he is any kind of man, he will realize she is worth waiting for.”
He kissed her then, and Brenna might have been embarrassed to be kissing him in front of their clan, but like most times when she kissed her husband, she couldn’t think of what she should or shouldn’t do.
No word, English or Gaelic, could adequately describe the amount of love Brenna Grant felt for her husband. It could only be communicated with a kiss.
*****
Thank you for reading His Forgotten Highland Bride.