Extended Epilogue
“Wherever could you be taking me?” Emma asked with a laugh as Grant reached back for her hand.
He squeezed her mittened fingers and smiled. “Ye’ll like it. Patience.”
Emma let out an exaggerated sigh and he grinned to himself, then adjusted the heavy pack pressing into his shoulder. The path was too steep and slippery for any horse to come through. Even their visit had caused McWirthe to raise an eyebrow.
The snow lay in thick drifts under the pines around them, though the path was well worn with the tramp of boots. Up ahead, there was a lookout point where a few men were always posted. Beyond, though, in a secret glen, was their destination, where he already knew his staff had been hard at work since he’d returned to Banrose with Emma as his intended.
Though the stars were now out, clouds lined the horizon, and Grant knew it would storm soon. So, they could not tarry, even when Emma exclaimed over the view, looking back to Banrose Castle to the East.
“Do you not mean for us to return tonight?” Emma asked, puzzled, and adjusted her fur-lined cloak. She cast her eyes around and bit at her lip. “I confess, husband, I thought you knew that you married a Lady—you cannot mean for us to kip under the stars in the snow.”
“I ken what ye are,” Grant said. “Although, I daenae think that is quite how ye wanted me to see ye when we are alone these nights, love.”
Emma’s lips popped open even as her eyes gleamed with mischief and Grant laughed as she kicked snow at him.
“I promise ye shall be comfortable and warm,” he said. “And verra pleased with yer surprise.”
“So long as I get there without turning blue, I suppose,” Emma said. “Though this is lovely. I’ve never been out in the snow like this. It’s exciting.”
Grant smiled to himself. Sometimes, Emma’s surprise or enjoyment of things he never thought of warmed his heart like nothing else. For all that she was cultured and had traveled a good deal, there was still so much of life that she had not experienced. It had been a velvet-lined existence, comfortable but narrow. Here, she could bloom, and experience life fully.
I shall always make sure of it, wife, Grant quietly promised her.
They continued and Grant caught some her excitement. Finally, they’d come to the penultimate moment of their wedding month. He was pleased that he’d thought to plan something for when their guests left, and Emma would be missing her family and friends.
They’d come west of Banrose’s village and castle, where the hills swelled from hills to mountains, and one could behold all the land and its waters, one could find a stone house tucked among the trees. It had once been a lonely outpost, then, at the whim of some former Laird, had been converted into a holiday retreat.
It had fallen into disuse, until Grant had taken up the Lairdship. He’d set about having it cleaned and created for practical purposes, a place to retreat to in case the worse came to pass.
Instead, when the best came to pass—instead, he decided to craft into a gift for his bride and their future generations. Here, they could be Emma and Grant, and forget the world below for a while, where they were Laird and Lady Miller.
He glanced down, noting the gray, brooding loch, and then, when they’d climbed higher, both paused to take another look. Then, he led them down a curving path, the pines crowding close, and up another incline, where the stone house stood, its windows reflecting the fire within.
Grant gave a sharp whistle, and an answering one came a moment later. Good, the lads knew he was here, and to give them space. He glanced at Emma, who was staring around in amazement, from the break of the trees that showed the distant loch and mountains, to the sweep of the clearing, and the mountains above.
“How is there a house here?”
“Oh, one of my grandmothers had truck with faeries, ye know,” Grant said with a wink. “They built her this house in exchange for her sweet deeds and care of the wild things. Would ye like to see it?”
Emma’s blue eyes danced with mirth, and she nodded, then let out a delighted laugh as Grant swept her up into his arms. With ease, he carried her up to the door and got it open, then set her down. But not before stealing a kiss.
With a sigh of relief, he put down the heavy pack, and rotated his shoulder. Emma, meanwhile, stepped in, and gazed around, even more amazed than she had been outside.
“Oh, Grant.” Her eyes moved around the stone room, cozy and warm, with firelight flickering on the walls. The furniture was sturdier, but meant for longevity, with inviting furs and cushions. Odds and ends were on the tables, with fresh pine boughs on the walls, and it did feel a little bit fae.
Which Leo and Grant had discussed, a bit drunk on whisky late one night—whether their brides did have a bit of Fae about them—especially when they were in the wood.
Perhaps it couldnae be seen until they came to Scotland, Leo had said, and Grant had agreed.
“Thank you,” she said and turned to him with a kiss in her eyes.
“Dinnae look at me like that just yet, wife, we need to sup and get off these furs.”
When they had taken care of the business of removing boots and layers, and changed into more comfortable clothes, Grant was pulling out their meal while Emma darted around. She exclaimed over the view from the windows, the walls, the fireplace, and the couches.
Then she chided Grant for not asking her to help, and they had a merry feast by the fireplace, feeling a bit like mischievous children.
“This is for us, when we need to slip away from all our duties,” he said. “And for ye. ‘Tis not a grand London home, to be sure.”
“It’s better,” Emma said, her chest rising and falling. “I can breathe here—I never knew how constricted my life was until…” Her eyes met his. “You, honestly.”
Grant wanted to kiss her, but he made himself stop and stood. Offering a hand, he pulled Emma up and led her to the corner, where a cloth was draped over a bulky bit of furniture.
“One last surprise,” he said, his voice sounding even huskier than usual. Nerves prickled in his stomach. She might think him a daft fool—all his men and even Mam had, though Kyla had laughed and approved.
“Grant—no, I… You’ve done so much—” She gasped as he pulled off the cloth and revealed what was underneath. He turned to see her lips parted as she stared and then reached out a shaking hand.
“D’ye like it?” Emma shook her head and swallowed, gazing at him. “I mean, I’ll have another made for the Castle come spring, but I thought…” Inwardly he cursed. “Was it foolish to bring it here?”
Emma suddenly threw herself at Grant, wrapping her arms around him and digging her fingers into his shirt. It made him think of the first time they’d ever embraced, how she’d held on with surprising steel. He wrapped his arms around her and chuckled.
“Ah, see, I did know best. I kenned that ye would like it.”
“Like it?” Emma whispered. “You daft, wonderful man. I love it. I love you.” She surged up and kissed him, leaving Grant dizzy. “I simply do not understand how you did this.”
She turned back to the pianoforte, gleaming in the corner, waiting for its player.
“Well, it took a fair bit of effort,” Grant allowed, thinking of the hell it had been getting the damn thing up here from Banrose, piecemeal, then cleaning it and getting someone to tune it. “Worth it.” He paused, gazing at Emma, the picture she made, standing with a hand on the pianoforte, in profile, and committed it to memory. “Play for me?”
Emma looked at him with shining eyes and a tremor in her smile, even as she asked in an arch tone, “Was that your ploy, Sir?”
“Aye,” Grant rumbled and took a step closer.
But Emma nimbly stepped around him and reached for the keys, her fingers loving and clever. Grant swallowed hard. He had not realized that seeing Emma like this would cause his body and blood to burn with want.
And then she started to play.
The music swept through him and Grant sank into a seat, never taking his eyes off her. She started sweet and powerful, the lilting notes dancing over his skin. It made him think of blue and gold hues, mingling on a drowsy afternoon, and then silver as a warm night came down.
Emma then played a tune red and rollicking, that made his blood leap and heart pound. He gripped his knees as he thought of the wild joy of riding fast on a horse at a bloody sunset, with the wind in his hair, and then it turned to a warmer hue, as his castle rose in the distance.
She played a melody that seemed to wrap itself in soft green vines, the huge of spring and new beginnings, the hope and wonder of what would come with the season’s turn…
Grant thought he’d never grow tired of listening to her. He could not believe this was the first time he’d heard her play. She could’ve played for the Queen—perhaps she thought she might—and yet would it have sounded as magnificent and powerful in the belly of a busy, frothing city as it did in the heart of wild, endless mountains?
He glanced to the window and noted that the snow was coming down.
And then, a note that lit a spark in his chest. His gaze darted back to Emma, who was the picture of a demure, obedient wife, even as her fingers began to tease out a sultry, come-hither melody. Grant felt his pulse thundering as he gripped his knees and stared at Emma. Where on earth had this minx learned to play such a tune?
At that moment, she glanced up and winked.
Grant was moving before he knew it, moving to stand behind Emma, and capturing her face—the pianoforte falling silent, but the song between them roaring to life as he kissed her. Hard and unyielding, with want and music pounding through his body.
“I love ye,” he whispered harshly between his kisses. He tilted her head back more, and Emma reached for him, her hands around his wrists, tugging at him. But he teased her, keeping her on that bench until he could find some semblance of sanity, and then he picked her up with ease.
Emma gasped and shrieked as Grant lifted her over his shoulder, marching toward their bedroom. He told himself he needed a free hand, and she chided him, then laughed as he tossed her on the big, comfy bed.
Quickly, he set about stoking up the fire, which he should have done before, lighting a few candles, and then closing the door. When he turned back, he went still, staring at his wife, reclining on the bed, her clothes shed all around her.
Firelight licked over her naked body and Grant moved toward her, hearing her music in his head, and he all but snarled as he held her face. But it was also a desperate sound and something in her eyes softened as she smoothed her hands down his chest, probably noticing the shake of his hands.
“I need ye to know what that meant to me, Emma,” he rasped. “I—music and singing, that was me whole heart as a lad.” He kissed her then as Emma’s eyes flared with understanding and compassion. When they broke apart, he whispered, “And ye have given it back to me. How I love ye.”
“I only played what was in my heart because of you, Grant,” Emma said. “Because of how I love you.”
At that, Grant’s restraint broke, and he kissed her hard, demanding her pleasure in submitting to his ministrations. He wanted her to feel what she did to him, how she did it to him, and how he would remind her of that for the rest of their lives. He tasted and stroked her sweet mouth, then her jaw, her neck, and lower, tracing his lips over her every curve and swell.
Making her cry out as he nipped and laved at her breasts, loving their firm heft, and how they fit so well in his big hands. Then her waist and round stomach, and lower, until he knelt between her legs, and kissed her there. Loving the way that she moaned and cried for him, begging for him as he teased and tormented his pretty Sassenach wife to the edge of madness.
Finally, Emma arched up, screaming out her release, and he was glad for the distance. As she lay, dazed and breathing hard on the bed, one hand on her chest, he set about shedding his own clothes. He was rock hard and needing her and quickly set about flipping her onto his stomach.
Emma gasped and glanced back at him, then wriggled her bum when she saw her husband was also naked. He gave her lovely arse a few smacks and Emma shrieked with laughter, then mewled as he kneaded those firm muscles.
“Still think ye want a gentle husband, milady?” Grant teased as he gave her a shallow and teasing stroke. Emma gasped, then attempted to glare at him over her shoulder. But he wound his hand in her dark hair and caused her to arch her back. “Or d’ye want a Scottish devil?”
“You,” Emma bit out and tried to press back, but Grant splayed his hand on her lower back. “I want you. Now. Please.”
With that, Grant laughed to himself, then slowly slid his hand on her back to one of her trembling thighs and curled his hand around it. With ease, he lifted it, so that her knee was on the bed, and then tugged her head back more.
“Ye have me, Emma,” Grant murmured, leaning forward to kiss the back of her neck as she took short, gasping breaths. “And I shall make sure ye never forget that.”
With that, Grant surged forward, into her silken heat, and lost himself. He tried to hold himself there, but the fire in his blood demanded more—as did Emma, crying out. And so, he ravished her, unyielding, a wild rhythm that pounded between them. Until it broke and he came with a roar, while Emma shuddered and climaxed beneath him.
He let her up, wondering how every time, it seemed to grow more intense and when she turned, they surged toward each other. For a moment, they kissed, then he needed her again. Grant lifted her and threw her higher on the bed, clambering after her.
“I promise you this, husband,” Emma said as he gazed down at her, her dark hair tossed across the pillows and her blue eyes dancing with laughter and mischief and love. “I shall never forget such a thing so long as I live.” She reached for him, tugging on his hair. “But just to make sure…”
And with a low laugh, the Laird of Banrose intended to ensure his Lady kept her promise—as he would always keep his.
Later, as they lay twined and exhausted, but so, so happy, Emma snuggled up to him.
“Have you thought of any names for our children?”
Grant’s entire body blazed with happiness, and he went up on one arm. “Are ye—what?”
Emma blinked and then laughed. “No—not yet.”
“Oh,” he said and held her closer. “Nay, but…” His heart throbbed. “I shall—starting right now.”
“You had better,” Emma said. “With all your promises, a babe may come to us this very night.”
Grant wanted to laugh even as his throat went tight with a joy that could not be uttered. He never thought he’d want anything more than Emma and peace for his home, but the castle overrun with little ones, their laughter, dark hair, blue eyes or green…
“Well, we must catch up, then.”
Emma tilted her head, puzzled. “To Agnes and Leo. They’ve got a year on us already.” Grant moved and pinned his wife down, grinning at her as she squirmed and laughed. “Perhaps if ye had not been so obstinate as to say ye would never live in the barren north with a–”
His teasing was interrupted because Emma had pulled him down for a kiss and then whispered, “Good thing you were a Laird—and that I was wrong.” She gave him a smoldering look. “Now, do kiss me already.”
As Grant bent to do just that, a strange and thrilling premonition filled him—a kind of sense that Emma seemed to share. Though they did not speak it in words, they sensed that tonight they had started toward that future.
And indeed, though they could never be certain, they always believed the first of their many children came to them that perfect, snowy night in the mountains.
But then, there were so many happy nights in those mountains.
The End.