Epilogue
M argaret’s life had improved significantly after saying goodbye to Helen. She couldn’t refer to her as her mother anymore. Mothers don’t torture their children the way Helen had.
Within days of returning back to the Randall keep, they received word that Helen MacCallen had taken her own life. She’d hanged herself.
Margaret had no desire to claim the woman’s body. She left the funeral and burial to the fine brothers at the monastery.
They had learned that there was only one man who had helped Helen get her letters to Margaret. Helen had managed to manipulate the poor fool into feeling sorry for her. She had a knack for manipulation, to be certain.
The abbot had sent Helen’s belongings to Margaret. Albeit, there was very little to send. It all fit neatly into one little box.
It took a few days before Margaret felt like opening it. She refused to do so without her husband by her side.
The box contained nothing but letters. Letters to Margaret, Connor, Onnleigh, and the king. Margaret refused to read any of them. As far as she was concerned, they contained nothing but the musings of an insane woman.
Without much fanfare, Margaret burned all of them. One by one, she tossed them into the hearth in her bedchamber. Aiden was with her, by her side, silently letting her say goodbye to her past in her own way.
When she was done with the very last bit of parchment, she closed the box and added it to the flames.
“’Tis done,” she murmured.
Aiden came to her side and wrapped a loving arm around her shoulder. They stood and watched as the box caught fire. It crackled and hissed ominously.
“I want never to hear her name mentioned again,” Margaret said as she rested her head on his shoulder.
Aiden agreed as he patted her shoulder. “Hard is the heart that hates,” he whispered. “Tender is the heart that loves.”
Margaret looked up at him, “That is a pretty thought.”
“’Tis somethin’ my da used to say,” he told her as he kissed the top of her head. Turning her around to face him, he smiled. “Ye, my wife, have the most tender of hearts.”
Days ago, she might have argued he was wrong. However, today, she realized he was right. Her mother’s opinion of her no longer held any weight with her thinking or her own opinion of herself. She knew she did possess a heart and an inner strength. It had simply been hidden under years of abuse.
“I love ye, Aiden Randall. With all my heart.”
“And I ye, Margaret. With all that I am.”