Epilogue
The morning sun spilled soft light through the mullioned windows of her chamber, casting pale gold across the stone floor. A breeze swept in through the open window, carrying with it the scent of heather and the distant echo of a fiddle being tuned.
Somewhere down in the hall, a bustle of voices marked the early preparations for the wedding feast. And yet here, in her rooms, there was only laughter and lace and the hum of excitement.
“I cannae believe it’s already the day,” Nina breathed as she cinched the final ribbon along the back of Amara’s dress. “I swear, I’ll wake tomorrow and find it’s all been a dream. We’ll all be back in the study, planning still.”
“We better nae, worked too hard on this for it to be nae real,” Mabel muttered, inspecting a delicate seam near the sleeve with a look of high scrutiny, then reaching over to pluck a fleck of invisible lint. “Hold still, now.”
Amara stood in the center of the room, robed in folds of cream and soft gold, the bodice embroidered with vines and tiny pearl accents.
Her hair had been curled into a series of loose ringlets, half pulled back and pinned with sprigs of rosemary and dried thistle.
A soft veil lay draped across the foot of the bed, waiting.
She hardly dared to move.
Daisy sat cross-legged on the edge of a padded bench, kicking her feet and humming some tune that sounded like one of Myles’s favorite drinking songs, but gentler, almost not as inappropriate as it really was.
“Are ye nervous?” Daisy asked, chin in hand.
“A little,” Amara confessed, then smiled. “Mostly because I’m terrified I’ll trip on the walk to the altar and go rollin’ straight into yer da.”
Daisy giggled. “Ye would never! And if ye do, he’ll catch ye.”
That made the room go quiet for a beat. Warm. Full.
Amara swallowed the tight knot that had lodged in her throat since dawn.
“Aye, I think he would.”
There were moments in life when everything shifted. Moments when the world tucked itself neatly into place and invited the heart to breathe. This was one of them. This was peace.
“I think we’re ready,” Nina said, lifting the veil gently.
Amara nodded. “Then let’s get me wed.”
The great hall had been cleared of long tables, their benches replaced with rows of cushioned chairs wrapped in tartan sashes. Floral garlands of lavender, pine, and heather hung from the beams, and ribbons of deep blue and silver framed every arch.
At the end of the aisle, before the stone hearth now unlit for spring, Rhys stood tall in full Highland regalia and O’Donnell colors, flanked by only Myles.
“Are ye sure ye want me doin’ this?” William whispered, as he stepped toward her behind the pipers.
“Aye, ye’re our friend,” Amara said with a soft smile. “And we both trust ye.”
He smiled back. “Ye realize that this gives me a forever one-up on Myles.”
They both leaned in their heads and laughed.
William offered his arm, “Ready when ye are, Amara.”
As they stepped forward, she murmured, “Thank ye, Billy.”
His step faltered only a second.
She turned wide eyes on him. “I’m so so sorry, William.”
He grinned. “...Nay, to ye, it’s Billy.”
And in that moment, she realized what he meant. “To ye, me family, it’s Billy.”
She laughed through her nerves, and the room around her seemed to blur in soft edges as he led her through.
Then, she caught sight of Rhys.
He was staring at her like she was the sun and moon.
With every step she didn’t know if it was the music or her own soul lifting that made her feel as if she were floating.
And then she was there, standing before him. Before everyone.
Rhys reached for her hand with reverence, and the warmth of his skin against hers steadied her more than anything else could have.
The druid priest’s voice drifted over the gathering, calling them to witness, to join, to bind two souls under sky and stone.
Rhys’s vows were spoken low and sure, each word threaded with purpose. “I vow to guard ye with me strength, honor ye with me word, and walk beside ye from this day to me last.”
She could barely breathe as she gave her own. “And I vow to stand beside ye in fire or storm, to speak truth, and keep yer heart with mine until me last breath.”
Their hands were bound with a strip of his clan’s tartan. The druid’s blessing rang out. And when Rhys lifted her veil and kissed her, the whole room erupted in a fierce, wild cheer that echoed to the very rafters.
Myles whooped loudest. Billy wiped a pretend tear. And Daisy threw petals over their heads with reckless abandon, catching Rhys squarely in the face.
They were married.
And Amara could not stop smiling.
The sun had just barely dipped behind the trees and the music started in the courtyard.
Fiddles and drums and the rhythmic stomp of boots echoed off the fresh stone walls of O’Donnell Keep. It was newly rebuilt, but already pulsing with life.
Banners fluttered along the parapets, torchlight glinting off gold thread. Tables were heavy with food, tartans woven into centerpieces, and barrels of ale had been tapped before the last blessing was even given.
Amara had seen many feasts, but never one like this. Not even in her girlhood dreams.
The yard sparkled under the clear dusk sky. She sat on a low stone wall, Daisy leaning against her side, pink-cheeked and giggling after a long, glorious chase around the keep with some of the other bairns.
Mabel was nearby, deep in conversation with Cookie about how the bannocks had turned out “fluffier than expected,” and Nina had already managed to make three men blush with compliments and threats alike. Everything was right.
And her husband looked positively feral in a way that made her insides tighten every time she caught his eye.
He stood by the fire pit, laughing hard with Billy and Myles, sleeves rolled up, his collar undone, a tankard in his hand. His hair was still damp from when Daisy had “accidentally” spilled cider on him earlier, and Amara could swear the man had never looked more handsome in his life.
Someone tugged her hand.
“Ye promised,” Daisy reminded her with a mischievous grin. “One dance.”
Amara laughed and slid off the wall. “Aye, one dance. But ye’ll be carryin’ me after, I swear it.”
The little girl led her right into the dancing line before she could protest further. The ceilidh had begun in full, bodies forming sets, arms swinging and feet stomping in time with the fiddle’s frenetic pace.
Amara hadn’t danced like this in years, not since before her mother died. And yet, as she moved, spinning around the circle, gripping hands with strangers and loved ones alike, it felt as natural as breath.
She laughed, breathless, twirling Daisy between her and Myles, who had somehow landed himself in the line.
When he caught Amara’s eye mid-spin, Myles pointed dramatically with an onion and bellowed, “Somebody stop her before she spins a hole clean through the floor!”
Before the laughter even died down, he tossed the onion over his shoulder without looking, and Billy caught it midair with one hand without even blinking.
The courtyard erupted. Amara doubled over with laughter, gasping, “Ye’re both impossible!”
Daisy was howling with delight.
“Ye look like ye're about to faint,” Rhys murmured suddenly, stepping in behind her and stealing her hand mid-dance. “Come, wife. Let me save ye from Myles before he decides to tell them about the honeymoon plan he made up in the tavern last night.”
She let him pull her from the fray, her chest still heaving with laughter.
Rhys grinned and pressed a kiss to her temple. “What do ye say to takin’ a turn with me about the new gardens?”
She raised a brow. “Are ye tryin’ to get me alone, husband?”
Rhys tilted his head. “Is it workin’?”
She slipped her arm through his. “Lead the way.”
They strolled through the west gate, where the lanterns were dimmer and the soft scent of night-blooming flowers lingered in the air.
The herb garden had been one of her favorite ideas during the reconstruction.
It had been just a small space behind the old smithy, filled with herbs, lavender, and hardy blooms that could survive Highland frost.
The cool breeze stirred her skirts as they walked in silence, Daisy’s laughter still echoing faintly behind them.
It was only when they reached the stone bench by the sundial that Rhys paused. Amara turned to face him, her smile softening.
He studied her for a moment. “Are ye happy?”
She nodded. “Aye. More than I ever thought possible.”
Rhys brushed a strand of hair from her face. “Good.”
Then, he reached into his sporran and pulled something small from inside. A ribbon.
Amara blinked. “What’s this?” But she knew what it was. It was Daisy’s. One of the ribbons that Amara and Mabel had helped her to embroider months ago.
“She made me keep it,” Rhys said, his voice low. “Said I should wear it until we were wed. And now that we are…” He gently tied the ribbon around her wrist, letting his fingers linger on her skin. “It belongs to ye.”
Emotion swelled in her throat.
Rhys’s eyes darkened, heating her whole body. “Ye deserve everythin', Amara. Everythin' I have, everythin' I am. And I plan to spend the rest of my life makin’ sure ye ken it, lass.”
She exhaled slowly, pressing her forehead to his. “I love ye, Rhys.”
“And I love ye, Amara.”
Rhys stood then, and offered her his hand. “Come. Let’s go to bed, wife.”
“Aye, lead the way,” she said, taking his hand and letting her lead her through the keep, leaving the ceilidh behind.
She could still hear faint laughter trailing up from the courtyard.
“Ye’re quiet,” he said softly as they took to the stairs.
“I was just… lettin' it all sink in,” she murmured and slowed her step a beat.
Rhys stepped closer and rested a hand on the small of her back. “And how does it feel?”
She looking up at him and smiling. “Oh, it’s incredible. We’re married now.”
He leaned in, chuckling, and brushing a kiss to her temple. “Nae quite...”
At the top of the stairs, they slowed to a stop. The fires were all low in the keep, and the wind outside had picked up, gently caressing the ceiling tapestries like a lover. Somewhere, faintly, they could hear Billy and Myles singing off-key and very much drunk. And the musicians played on.
They both smiled at each other, clearly soaking it all in together, and he held her hand with that quiet strength of his, thumb brushing hers, as though tethering them both to something holy.
“Our home,” he said, his voice was warm and steadfast. Speaking the words that had been right on her mind.
They moved then, as one, in step, hand-in-hand, through the twists and turns of the corridors. The darkness somehow not dark enough for them to lost the way to their rooms. They both knew the way.
The sounds of the ceilidh melted away as the door to their chambers clicked quietly behind her.
“Ye seem nervous,” he said, voice like honey dripping down her spine delectably.
“Aye, I am, a little,” she admitted.
That pulled something fierce from him. His calloused hands ran up her arms slowly, carefully. “Do ye trust me?”
She did.
He met her halfway, lifting her chin with gentle fingers. “Wife.”
“Aye, husband,” she whispered. “I trust ye.”
“Ye have me heart, forever, lass,” Rhys said, and then he kissed her.
Amara moaned against his mouth, fingers fisting in his shirt. He walked her backward, one careful step at a time, until her back hit the edge of the bed. Then he lifted her like she weighed nothing, and laid her on the coverlet, following her down, mouth never leaving hers.
She pulled his shirt off first, palms splaying over hard muscle, old scars, and new scars. He pressed kisses down her throat, across her collarbone, down the line of her bodice, pausing to look at her.
“Let me see ye,” he murmured.
She let him.
He undid the tiny buttons with a kind of reverence, eyes dark with want but hands patient. Her dress slid away, and her chemise followed, leaving her bare to him in the firelight.
Rhys exhaled something that sounded like a prayer.
“God, lass… Ye’re destroyin’ me.”
Amara smiled, breathless. “Ye’re still overdressed.”
He shed the rest of his clothes without a word and hovered over her.
Then everything else fell away.
He kissed her and worshipped her. He touched her like he already knew every inch of her, and he had but this felt new, he was exploring. Memorizing.
And then his mouth closed around one nipple, her back arched off the bed.
“Rhys —”
“I ken,” he whispered, moving lower. “Let me, Amara.”
His mouth found the place between her thighs, and her cry was raw, and needy. Her fingers twisted in his hair as he licked her slowly, deliberately, like he had all the time in the world to taste her and never meant to stop.
He slowly slid one finger inside of her, and she clenched so tightly that she felt Rhys sharply inhale. Then he slid in another. And it was Amara’s turn to lose her breath wildly.
When she broke apart on his tongue, he groaned low and possessive, lapped her up like an addict, and then kissed his way back up her body.
“I love how ye sound when ye come,” he said roughly, lining himself up at her entrance. “I want to hear it again.”
She met his eyes. “Oh god, Rhys — Please —”
He didn’t hesitate. Their bodies met perfectly, and she felt him shudder with the effort of keeping still once he was fully inside her.
“God,” he rasped. “Ye feel like fire.”
Amara wrapped her legs around his waist, her heels pressing into the backs of his thighs.
He thrust into her in with deep, rolling thrusts that stole her breath and rebuilt her with every pass. His hands tangled with her fingers as his rhythm increased. She felt every inch of him, every tremble, and every vibration of his chest he let slip when she throbbed around him greedily.
They moved together, bodies slick with heat and sweat and desperate wanting. When her climax came, it hit with earth shattering force. It was lightning that struck her whole body and left her barely shaping her gasps around his name.
Rhys’s rhythm broke, and he spilled into her with a low, feral moan, rolling her hips higher off the bed, as he buried himself inside her as deep as possible.
They lay there, tangled and panting, for a long while, wholly undone.
Eventually, he rolled onto his side, pulling her with him, not letting her go.
She rested her head on his chest, listening to the steady thud of his heart beneath her ear.
“Well then, we are quite married now. Forever,” she whispered.
“Forever, my love,” he said, a smile in his voice.