Epilogue
Wasp
A little over three weeks later, in the white chapel across the loch, Taylor entered through the heavy doors. Holding my breath so I wouldn’t quake, I stood with my brothers and James at the top of the church, our family tartan worn with pride.
I gazed at Taylor as she approached.
Ah Christ, she was beautiful.
Her off-white dress hugged her form, and if I’d ever thought her a Hollywood pinup, she’d long blown them all out of the water. Blue and white flowers made a crown in her blonde hair. Heather adorned her bouquet. She glowed.
In front of her, the wee lasses scattered petals. Behind, Sebastian and Lennox jostled each other before remembering their role as her guardsmen.
At her side, my twin held her arm.
Around us all, a small gathering of family and friends attended.
With my mother and her family, Taylor’s mother sat on the edge of the pew.
She’d made the journey, a new boyfriend in tow, but only after being convinced Taylor’s father had declined the invitation.
No loss from our point of view. We’d send him an announcement when our firstborn arrived, whenever that might be, but otherwise he could stay an ocean away.
In one corner of the church, Theo, the man Taylor was supposed to marry, held hands with his fiancée, Karen. She and Taylor had spoken on the phone a few times and had become friends.
Strange how things worked out.
Then Taylor was at my side, and all other thoughts left my head.
“You’re a picture,” I whispered. “So beautiful I can barely take ye in.”
Happy tears welled in her eyes. “Look at you in a kilt! And you’re all mine? I can’t even think straight.”
A laugh left my lips, but then the pastor called our attention.
We made our vows, promising each other our worlds. We exchanged rings, kissed, with maybe a little too much passion from the catcalls, then we led the way to Castle McRae and the party of my lifetime.
It was perfect, every bit. Nothing could ruin our happiness.
Married life was bliss.
Our stay-home honeymoon had us working on the crofthouse, and we’d finally reached the stage where we could buy furniture.
In Inverness, outside a home interiors place in Queensgate where we’d just spent a small fortune, I bundled Taylor into a hug and kissed her hair.
“Mrs McRae. Have ye any idea what you’ve done? You’re a dream come true.”
She pulled away, and a smile lit her face. “Mr McRae, that’s all you.”
A passing shopper stopped in her tracks, her sharp inhale drawing my attention.
I glanced at the middle-aged woman, ready with a grin. Taylor and I were cute, for sure. Newlyweds, brimming over with joy.
But a strange expression met my gaze.
“McRae?” the small woman asked. The expression morphed to pure anger. “I know that name. I know your face now I look at ye! How dare ye?”
“I’m sorry?”
“So ye should be!” the woman squeaked.
Taylor tilted her head, the confusion on her face echoing mine. “How do you know my husband?” she asked.
I was glad she’d asked, as I was taken aback by the bad vibes coming my way.
“Your husband?” The woman shifted her shopping bags from one hand to another, her fingers tight on the handles. Bags from a baby shop, stuffed with clothes. “Ye poor lass. Well, at least he married ye first. Watch out that he doesn’t leave ye in the lurch, too.”
Then the woman lifted her chin and marched away.
I gaped, still dumbstruck.
No, I wasn’t having this. I strode after her. “Hang on. Ye say you know me? How? And who did I leave in the lurch?”
“My great niece!” The woman spun around and glared. “Kathleen Reid. Ring any bells?”
Kathleen? “None.” I reached back to take Taylor’s hand. “I’ve never heard of her. I’m sorry, but you’ve got the wrong man.”
“I’ve seen your picture! Ye can’t lie. Kathleen died taking her secrets to the grave, but that bairn looks just like you, Alasdair McRae.”
My stomach flipped.
Taylor’s hands flew to her mouth. “Baby?”
“Bairn?” I said simultaneously.
“Try telling me that we’en isn’t yours.” The woman snatched her phone from the depths of her bag and held it up. A tiny bairn’s scrunched-up face appeared. Eyes closed. A thatch of blond hair.
The absolute spitting image of us as newborns.
Too much information at once. I forced my mouth to move. “I’m not Alasdair, I’m William. He’s my twin.” I ran my hand over my still-short hair, a memory triggering. “Ah God, did Kathleen go by Kaylee?”
The woman ran her gaze down me, her untrusting expression settling to something pained. Even desperate. “Aye, she did. Then I’m right.”
Fuck.
“Did you say she died?” Taylor stared at the child.
Now, the woman crumpled. Her hostility melted, and her gaze dropped to the pavement. “She did! She had a weak heart, and it gave out after the birth. She was twenty-two years old, and now her poor bairn is motherless.” She drew in a shuddering breath.
But maybe not fatherless.
“Give me your name and number,” I said.
Ally was away, but he needed to hear this. Now.
The woman reared back an inch, suddenly appearing doubtful. “I’m nae sure. What kind of man is he if he left her to go through all that alone? Why wasn’t he with her?”
“I guarantee he didn’t know.” I pressed my hands together. “Please. Your number.”
Hesitantly, she searched her bag. “I’ll find a pen. Is your twin here?”
“Not right now. He’ll be home in a few days or sooner if he can.”
Taylor turned her big blue eyes on me. “Can this be true? Is Ally…?”
“A da,” I completed for her, the incredible revelation sending me spinning.
Of all the paths my brother’s life could take, with his career flourishing, his chilled-out, love-one-love-all attitude, now he could be a single parent.
“Ally’s a father,” I repeated.
The End.