Epilogue
Twelfth Night
Once more I stood with Rhys on the crest of the slope above Seren Bach, under a velvety, dark indigo sky studded with the brightest of winter stars.
I’d held the torch for him while he’d poured the wassail libation over the roots of the most venerable oak tree, where we’d kissed the previous day, and then on to the strangely carved surface of Mab’s Grave, and he’d looked somehow strange and forbidding in his Druid robe.
But now, in the dark, he was just Rhys … whom I loved, and who loved me and, held close in his arms, I sighed happily.
‘I never thought I’d fall in love with a Druid.’
His arms tightened around me. ‘I think it was written in the stars. Whatever happened in the past, we’ll be happy here, Ginny, I promise. I just wish we hadn’t wasted all those years. We could have had so much more time together!’
I looked up at him, trying to make out his face in the moonlight.
‘Milly said much the same to Arwen, when she was dying, but Arwen said you couldn’t measure happiness in time – it was too deep for that.’
‘Well, perhaps she had it right,’ he agreed. ‘Because my love for you is as deep as an ocean and as high as a mountain.’
‘Snowdon?’ I asked, seeing the pale glimmer of snow on the mountains behind him.
‘Everest,’ he replied, and gathered me into his arms again.