Epilogue
The sun spilled golden light over Gretna Green, the little chapel crowded with family, friends, and a handful of Euan's old mates.
Brock dozed in the crook of David's arm, his tiny fists curled tight, a soft snuffle against his big brother's chest. David looked proud and awkward all at once, but he carried the weight of best man easily enough, flanked by a few of Euan's mates.
Euan had insisted on a kilt—"To show off me hairy, manly, pasty legs," he'd declared, to Sage's endless amusement.
David had been a sport and joined him in tartan, though the boy walked with exaggerated care after Fergus, one of the groomsmen, admitted loudly that he didn't believe in underwear.
The whole front row nearly fell off their seats when a rogue gust of wind caught Fergus's kilt, giving them an uninvited close-up of his crown jewels.
The ripple of laughter started with a muffled cough, then spread through the pews until the minister had to pause to regain his composure.
Sage caught Euan's eye, both trying, and failing, not to grin like fools at the altar.
Fergus was as tall as Euan, broad-shouldered, with a rugged face framed by thick waves of dark blond hair and a beard that made him look half-Viking.
His blue-grey eyes had a wicked gleam, the sort that suggested trouble was never far behind him.
He arrived half drunk, with whisky on his breath and his shirt a touch skewed, but carried himself with such easy control that no one could quite call him out on it.
He also didn't have an ounce of shame in his body.
Blair stood at Sage's side, surprisingly radiant in bridesmaid's satin, her hair in soft curls. She looked more relaxed than Sage had ever seen her, smiling shyly as she adjusted Sage's bouquet. The other bridesmaids, mostly Sage's new friends from the hospice, fussed happily around them.
And Sage looked luminous in lace. Her dress skimmed her curves, long sleeves of delicate floral that caught in the sunlight. For a moment, as she walked towards Euan, Brock's cries briefly filling the chapel before David hushed him, she thought her chest might burst from the sheer joy of it.
The ceremony was simple, sweet, with laughter woven through the vows. Euan, who'd posted mock bans all over the neighbourhood as a gag, grinned like a schoolboy as he kissed her breathless before the priest could say the magic words.
"No take-backs, lass," he muttered against her lips.
At the reception, Fergus stood for the best man's speech. He tugged nervously at his jacket, glanced at his notes, then decided against them.
He held up a pint and deadpanned, "I promised Euan I'd bring some dignity to this wedding. But from the reaction of the first two rows, I think I left my dignity somewhere under my kilt." The hall erupted, Euan burying his face in his hands while Sage nearly choked on her single glass of champagne.
"Well, then...where the hell do I start? I've known Euan since we were wee lads, and let me tell ye, he hasn't changed much. Still got the same daft grin, same stubborn streak, and still thinks a spray of Lynx Africa is enough tae make him God's gift tae women.
"Back in school, we thought he'd never find a lass who'd put up wi' him.
Then Sage came along. Gorgeous, clever, and far too good for him—so naturally, we all assumed she'd come tae her senses and leg it.
Yet here we are, barely months later, and she's leg-shackled.
Sage, you deserve sainthood or at least, a steady supply of wine and noise-cancelling headphones. "
He took a long drink, wiped his mouth, and leaned on the mic.
"Now, everyone says the best man's supposed tae share embarrassing stories.
But honestly, most o' Euan's stories can't legally be told in mixed company.
So, I'll just say this—if he promises tae cook for ye, Sage, run.
..run fast. The man once set fire tae a pan of beans. Beans! How d'you even manage that?"
The crowd roared, Sage hiding her face behind her hand while Euan groaned.
"And let's talk about this kilt. Hands up, who saw more o' Fergus than they bargained for earlier?
" he bellowed, waving at himself. Half the front row raised their hands, crimson with laughter.
"Aye, apologies tae you lot...free show, nae refunds.
Consider it my wedding gift. Don't say I never give ye anything. "
The hall exploded—pints slammed down, bridesmaids shrieking with laughter, the back table yelling, "Aye, and the front row's seen enough proof o' that already!"
He raised his pint again, his grin softening just a fraction.
"But in all seriousness, Euan's one of the most loyal, big-hearted idiots I know.
He'd give his last quid tae a mate, or his last pint, which is saying something.
And Sage...you've put the fire in him—we can all see it.
He's happier, steadier, a better man because of you.
So, thank you for seeing what the rest of us sometimes forget is there. "
Fergus paused, eyes gleaming with both mischief and warmth, then lifted his glass high.
"So here's tae love, tae laughter, and tae never ever letting him near a frying pan, unless ye like your sausages blacker than Satan's arse.
Here's tae nights that shake the headboard, mornings where ye cannae walk straight, and bairns loud enough tae prove you've not just been holding hands.
May your glasses always be full, your sheets never stay cold, and Euan—may you always keep your kilt down. ..unless Sage asks otherwise!"
Euan hid his face in his hands, Sage was doubled over in helpless giggles, and Fergus bowed low, smug as a man who knew he'd nailed it.
Sage caught him later, leaning against the bar, head dipped close to Rose—her shy colleague from the hospice.
Rose's cheeks were pinker than the rosé in her glass, her laughter nervous but genuine as Fergus murmured something in her ear.
An hour later, both had slipped out together, the empty corner of the garden suddenly missing its two occupants.
Shaking her head, Sage tried not to laugh. Trust Fergus to find trouble—or romance—before dessert had even been served.
By the time dancing began, Brock was wide awake, his powerful lungs making sure everyone knew he wanted a feeding. Euan took him without complaint, settling into a chair with the bottle, his big hand cradling the baby's head with surprising tenderness.
Ronin was quiet all evening, just watching from the periphery. At one point, he asked Sage for a dance. She hesitated, then laid her hand in his. The music was slow, lilting, and for a few minutes, it was just the two of them swaying under fairy lights.
"You look beautiful," Ronin said softly, his eyes holding hers. "I should've given you all this. I knew it even then. But I was a lazy fool, and I deserved to lose you."
They danced in silence for a while.
"Are you happy, Sage?" he asked in a whisper.
Her throat suddenly felt full of tears. For a moment, she didn't trust herself to answer, but then she smiled faintly. "I am, Ronin. Truly."
He nodded, jaw tight, then pressed a chaste kiss to her cheek before handing her back to Euan.
Euan's eyes danced with mischief as he pulled her close. "You've got quite the fan club, Mrs. Robertson," he teased, kissing the side of her mouth. "But I'm the one who gets to peel this dress off ya."
Sage laughed, resting her head against his chest as Brock's cries rose again, sharp and demanding. "Your son may rain on that parade."
"Our son," he corrected, pride thick in his voice. And with that, he spun her into the dance, their little family's laughter carrying long into the summer night.