Epilogue
Torches burned in every finished room of the castle, for the storm clouds allowed no light through the windows. If the sun shone, it was not upon Scotland. And the force of the rain pounding on the cobblestones fairly drowned out the music from the harp in the throne room.
It was the most beautiful day of Kenna’s life.
Tearloch MacPherson must have dressed early in his finery and waited outside her door, for the moment she woke and spoke to her attendants, he charged through the door and refused to leave without her on his arm.
He poked at the fire with a hot iron while she bathed and dressed. Once she was dressed in the purple ensemble the king had intended for the ceremony, with half her hair atop her head and white heather woven into it, she gave him permission to turn.
There were tears in his eyes and dripping from his cheeks. She needed no other compliment.
Her brother, the king, arrived to escort her to the chapel and was displeased but unsurprised to find the bridegroom had arrived before him.
“Sander?”
“Aye, sister mine.”
“Did you think I still had the brains of a lass of eight?”
“Nay…”
“I think ye did… One bite at a time? Let’s not choke her?” She lunged toward the king and everyone gasped until her hands passed the sides of his neck and she pulled herself up to him in an embrace, laughing at her new turn of luck.
He hugged her to him tightly, she quickly ran out of breath, but she didn’t care.
The nightmares from her childhood had been banished.
She had indeed been able to see her beloved brother’s face again.
How could she not have recognized him straight off?
Those eyes and that mischievous smile were as familiar as her own face.
After a lengthy embrace that communicated years of regret and loss, Kenna pulled back and smiled. “Brother mine?”
“Aye, sister?”
“Must my husband obey his princess as well as his king?”
“He must not,” Tearloch answered for him. “Ye must obey me, woman.”
She waited for Sander.
“Alas, Tearloch has the right of it.”
She flashed Tearloch a devious smile. “But not until we are wed…”
He rolled his eyes. “Send a runner to the priest! Tell him to be ready!” Then he lowered his brow and pressed his forehead to hers. “Can ye move quickly in those royal slippers, lass? Or need I toss ye over my shoulder?”
“I fear he has learned nothing,” Malcolm said behind them. “Never, ever challenge my sister to a race.”
Tearloch pulled her against him and took her mouth in a passionate kiss that went on so long they nearly forgot about the wedding.