Epilogue
Spring, Ross Keep, Isle of Skye
Ailith pressed the last mound of soil into place, her fingers curling into the cool earth before brushing it smooth. The tiny shoots she’d planted would soon grow into a garden brimming with vegetables. Food to share not only with Hendry but with the friends and kin who often filled their lives.
Most days, she and Hendry took their meals in the great hall, surrounded by laughter, chatter, and the warmth of the clan.
But every so often, they stayed here in their cottage, just the two of them, lingering over a simple supper by the fire.
Those nights felt like little pockets of sweetness, quiet and entirely their own.
During the long winter, Hendry and a handful of his men had built an addition to the cottage, transforming it into something far more than she had ever dreamed.
A proper bedchamber now opened off the main room, the new hearth cleverly set so its heat warmed both spaces at once.
Ailith delighted in showing visitors, especially Ainsley and Nala, how cozy it was when they came to escape the noise of the keep and sit with her, sewing in companionable peace.
The front room had become a comfortable sitting room and kitchen, bright with touches of home. It was a far cry from her small forest cottage. Although she carried fond memories of that place, her heart no longer lived there.
Her old cottage was not abandoned, though. Her sister and brother-in-law had found an elderly couple who’d been cruelly cast out by their kin, and they now called it home. Knowing it sheltered someone again made Ailith glad that it continued to be a home.
Hearing male voices inside, Ailith dusted her apron and smiled. Teller would be along soon, no doubt expecting his dinner, unless, of course, he and his ragtag band of mischief-makers had already charmed the cook into feeding them scraps.
When she stepped inside, her hands flew to her mouth. Hendry was helping Liam ease into a chair, the archer’s movements deliberate but determined.
“Ye made it this far!” she said, her smile lighting the room.
“Aye,” Liam replied, a trace of a grin on his lips despite the flicker of pain in his eyes. “Further each day. Nae able to ride yet, but I’ve loosed a few arrows.”
Ailith knew, as Hendry had told her, that Liam might never ride again. His left leg and hip had healed stiff, forcing him to drag the leg forward with each step, cane in hand. It was a hard blow for a man who had once moved like the wind and drawn the gaze of every lass in a room.
And yet his spirit had not dimmed. If anything, he fought harder, every day found a way to challenge himself, to adapt, to keep living as a warrior in his own way.
“The laird has asked Liam to take over scribe duties,” Hendry told her. “The last scribe’s moving to the Isle of Harris to join his wife’s clan.”
Ailith studied Liam’s face. There was no bitterness there, no sadness, only quiet acceptance.
“That is a good thing,” she said warmly, squeezing his shoulder. “I have every confidence ye will excel.”
She left them to talk and stepped back into the sunlight.
As she returned to her garden, her thoughts lingered on Liam’s resilience.
Warriors trained for battle and for death, but rarely for what could come after injury.
She prayed Hendry would see what she saw.
That there was always another path, another way to live with honor.
Beitris was glad to have returned to the keep and visit those she’d cared for. Keir had returned for guard duty, and she’d asked to spend the day at the keep. Surprisingly, he’d agreed. Mostly because he knew how much she wished to see the wounded and how they now fared.
The courtyard was busy, chambermaids, kitchen help, and squires crossing with buckets from the well. The sharp ring of steel on steel from the practice yard. But Beitris’s gaze found him instantly.
Liam.
He moved with that slow, deliberate stride she’d come to recognize over the past weeks.
His cane tapped the ground in a steady rhythm, the stiff drag of his left leg making each step look as though it cost him more effort than he’d ever admit.
The spring sun caught on his dark hair, and she saw that he remained a warrior, shoulders broad, gaze fierce, much to handsome for his own good.
Before she could stop herself, she was already calling out. “Liam!”
His head turned toward her, the barest flicker of acknowledgment in his bright blue eyes.
She hurried down the steps of the main house, gathering her skirts to keep from stumbling, her boots crunching lightly on the hardened earth.
She was glad to see him as he had lingered in her thoughts.
The handsome archer was someone she’d never aspire to court her.
Especially as his reputation for escorting the prettiest girls in the village to dances and such.
“Let me help ye,” she said when she reached him, her fingers light on his forearm.
He went still. His gaze flying to where her hand landed on his arm. Instantly Beitris pulled it back.
“I dinnae need help,” he said, his voice cool and clipped.
Her stomach sank. “I only thought…”
“That I could nae walk without ye?” The edge in his tone cut deeper than she’d expected, making heat rise in her cheeks.
“I…” Words faltered on her tongue. She hadn’t meant it like that. Hadn’t meant to wound the pride she knew he guarded fiercely. “Forgive me. I meant no offence.”
His expression softened only a fraction. “Aye. I ken ye meant well.” He gave her one last sharp look then he was moving again, his back to her, the steady thump of his cane carrying him farther away.
Beitris stood in the middle of the yard, watching him go, wishing she’d simply kept her hands to herself. Yet even with her embarrassment burning hot, she couldn’t ignore the tug in her chest. An ache born not of pity, but of admiration for the stubborn strength in every step he took.
About an hour after Ailith had gone back to tending her garden, the sound of Hendry’s boots on the path pulled her from her thoughts. He knelt beside her, the scent of leather and the warmth of his nearness surrounding her.
“Thank ye,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her temple.
She turned her head with a smile. “For what?”
“For what ye said to Liam. He left here smiling… told me how fortunate it was that we’d found each other again. I think ye helped him more than ye ken.”
Her heart swelled. “We are fortunate, are we not?”
“Aye.”
Before she could say anything else, he scooped her up from the ground as easily as if she weighed nothing. Dropping her spade, she laughed in surprise as he strode toward the cottage, his grin wicked.
“Allow me to show ye just how happy ye make me,” he said, kicking the door closed behind them.
Ailith giggled, wriggling in his hold. “At least let me rinse my hands first!”
Teller trotted up to the back door, nose lifted to sniff the air.
He scratched the door and waited. Muffled sounds came from inside, and he cocked his head, listening.
Finally, the dog settled down onto his belly and placed his head on top of his paws.
It could be a while before his mistress opened the door. He didn’t mind waiting.
In the quiet of that evening, the breeze stirred through the fresh-turned soil, rustling the tender green leaves of Ailith’s new garden.
Inside, laughter and love filled the walls, wrapping the cottage in a kind of warmth no hearth alone could give.
Seasons would come and go, storms would rise and pass, but here, in this place they had built together, everything they planted would grow strong.