Epilogue
Two Weeks Later
“We’re out of lionweed again,” Delphine remarked.
“I’ll go get some,” Emma said, reaching for her shawl.
“Ye are going nowhere without an escort, lassie.”
Emma rolled her eyes. “Lachlan McCade is dead. Gregor is dead. There’s no one left to do me harm. I’ll be quite safe.”
Delphine was unmoved. “I’ve lost ye once, and I’ll not lose ye again. It would fairly kill the poor Laird.”
Emma hid a smile. She glanced down at her hand, admiring the way her ring glittered on her finger.
Moss agate. That sounded right, considering how much time she spent digging around in grass, earth, and moss for herbs and roots.
She couldn’t wear the ring while she was working, of course, so it hung on a chain around her neck.
The news of the betrothal had gone around the Keep like wildfire. There were a few people who loudly and angrily disapproved, of course. A laird marrying a healer? Not even a full healer, but an apprentice one at that? Shocking.
Thomas quite clearly couldn’t care about any of those people. Not one bit. Not, of course, that anyone was foolish enough to voice their opinions in front of him. Or in front of Emma.
Or Delphine, for that matter. Just the other day, she’d cracked a councilor over the head with her cane for insinuating that Emma had seduced the Laird with her Womanly Wiles, whatever they were.
“I’ll go and get the lionweed,” Emma insisted. “It’ll only take me a minute.”
Delphine laid a gnarled hand on her shoulder. “If ye think ye are going out alone the night before yer wedding, ye had another think coming. Ye ought to rest. Tomorrow will be a big day.”
Emma tingled at the thought of that. The idea of becoming Lady MacPherson frankly terrified her, but becoming Thomas’s wife… well, that was something else entirely.
During their two-week betrothal, there’d been no repeat of that night in poor Dominic’s study.
They’d kissed once or twice, but mostly, the business of Thomas’s recovery and the work they both had to catch up on had kept them apart.
That had been difficult, like an itch inside Emma that she couldn’t quite reach.
Thomas was so close, yet she couldn’t be alone with him. Somebody else was always there. Their wedding night tomorrow would be the first time they’d been alone since that carriage ride home from the Sinner.
Sometimes, the wedding felt like a dream. Like something surreal, and that she’d wake up at any moment and smile at how foolish she’d been.
But it was happening. Tomorrow, in fact.
The food for the vast wedding feast was already being prepared, the cooks and kitchen maids working themselves into a frenzy.
The Keep was full of flowers and garlands, every inch of the Great Hall and feasting room being decorated and prepared.
Fresh rushes were ankle-deep everywhere, and there was a constant buzz of activity and excitement.
All Emma needed to do was think about her dress, a beautiful, lacy creation of lavender-colored silk that cost a fortune to make and flattered her form perfectly.
Delphine had gathered a bouquet of greenery and various herbs for her to carry instead of traditional flowers.
Emma preferred the savory scent of the herbs, anyway.
They were bound up with a strip of sacking, which didn’t exactly go with the perfumed opulence of her dress but seemed right somehow.
All she had to do on the morning of her wedding was get up and put on that fabulous dress, along with the satin slippers Thomas had given her as a present.
The shoes were lovely, of course, but she privately preferred the solid reliability of her tough old boots.
She’d asked Delphine if she could wear them under her gown, but the answer was a disappointing no.
Well, she had to compromise somewhere.
And there was the wedding night to consider, of course. She didn’t even know where they would go. Thomas’s room, perhaps?
She swallowed hard, a pang of nerves shooting through her.
“I think I’m afraid,” she said, her voice quiet in the still chamber.
Delphine pulled her into a hug. “There’s nothing to be afraid of. You’ll make a fine wife, and an excellent mother if the fates bless ye with a child. As to being Lady MacPherson… well, I cannot imagine anyone better. A healer as a lady? That will be a fine thing.”
Emma smiled at that. “Thank ye, Delphine. That means a lot.”
Delphine moved back, cupping Emma’s face in her hands. “And Thomas will make ye happy, I’m sure of that. I’d not have let the marriage go ahead otherwise.”
Emma chuckled. “How would ye have prevented it?”
“I have my ways,” Delphine said mildly.
She didn’t elaborate, and Emma was glad she didn’t.
The day of Laird MacPherson’s wedding to a healer’s apprentice dawned fine and clear. It was a cold day, with a frost lingering over the fields and forests, the breeze sharp and icy. Still, the skies were blue, and the sun shone, melting whatever frost it could reach.
A good day for a wedding.
The ceremony itself went by in a rush of serious tradition that Emma hardly understood.
A laird’s wedding wasn’t like the wedding of two peasants.
They were married in the Great Hall, with all the courtiers and officials present, along with their families.
Dominic was there, of course, as well as Veronica and Colby, beaming proudly.
The local people crowded in after them, all craning their necks to get a glimpse of the spectacle.
Emma kept her head up and smiled. She waved before she remembered her green-stained fingers and hastily dropped them again.
But the people had already seen them.
“She is a healer!” somebody cried, and the crowd broke out in applause and cheers.
Blushing, Emma turned back to Thomas, who was grinning.
“They like ye,” he murmured, his voice low. “They have good taste.”
One of the chief councilors, Tabitha, greeted her personally with a wide smile. The others seemed a little shocked and confused by the whole thing. Maybe they hadn’t expected Thomas to actually go through with the wedding.
Riley sniffled into a handkerchief for the whole ceremony, and Delphine beamed with pride as if it were her own daughter getting married.
“I now pronounce ye man and wife,” the priest announced, and the room exploded into cheers and applause.
Emma laughed at the raucous shouting, stepping closer to Thomas. His hand found hers in the folds of her silk skirts.
“Shall we have a breather before they serve up the feast?” he murmured. “Nobody will know if we go missing.”
A flash of desire, white-hot and aching, shot through Emma. She swallowed hard, her throat suddenly dry.
“Are ye sure we won’t be missed?” she asked nervously.
“I’m sure of it,” he said confidently. “Besides, I want to show ye our new bedchamber.”
“Good Lord,” Emma gasped. That was all she could manage. “Good Lord.”
“Do ye like it?” Thomas asked, a hint of nerves in his voice.
She took in the fine set of apartments once again, trying to find a way to describe the opulence.
Thomas had decided that they should have a new set of chambers all of their own. That way, she wouldn’t have to move into his room and try to make space for herself.
The apartments he’d chosen were low-ceilinged so as not to prove too difficult to heat.
There was a good-sized parlor room packed with furniture and lit by a large, crackling fire.
The bedroom was slightly larger, dominated by a vast four-poster bed.
There were furs and drapes of velvet everywhere, and the bed itself was piled high with quilts, feather beds, and blankets.
“I just want to run and jump onto that bed,” Emma murmured. “It looks so soft.”
Thomas was suddenly behind her, his warm breath whispering over her neck, his hands sliding around her waist.
“That could be arranged,” he murmured, his voice a low growl.
The flame of desire, which had been somewhat dampened by the tedious ceremony and being watched by everyone so intently, came soaring back, delighted.
Emma’s breath hitched in her throat. She leaned back against his firm, solid body, closing her eyes and resting her head against his shoulder.
His arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her close.
The bouquet slipped from her loose fingers, landing with a soft shush on the thickly carpeted floor.
The bouquet released a powerful herby scent, and she breathed in deeply.
“Ye smell of lavender,” Thomas whispered, his lips hovering behind her ear.
“That’ll be the lavender,” she responded, smiling. “I spent a lot of time rolling around in the woods, ye see.”
“I’d love to join ye sometime.”
She giggled at that, reaching up and behind herself to cup his chin.
“I don’t think we’d gather enough herbs to please Delphine if ye came with me. What’s worse, ye might roll around and crush them.”
“Crush them! I am not that heavy.”
“Oh, ye are.”
“Only because ye are as light as a feather.”
Emma snorted. “I am not. Actually, I—”
She was cut off by Thomas sweeping her off her feet without warning, hauling her effortlessly into his arms. She gave a squeak of surprise, flinging her arms around his shoulders to steady herself.
“I wish ye would give me some warning!” she said breathlessly.
Thomas cackled. “Then I ought to warn ye that ye are about to know what it feels like to fly.”
“Wait, wait….”
He tossed her easily into the air, and she landed on the pile of quilts on the bed. She gave a squeal, sinking further down into the soft opulence than seemed possible.
Thomas leaned over her, suddenly hesitant. He reached down, his fingertips grazing her jawline.
“Ye know, some people are saying that ye are a witch, and ye have cursed me?”
Emma rolled her eyes. “Aye, they’re the ones that think water flows uphill.”
He chuckled. “Good point. Still, I sometimes think they have a point. Since the moment I met ye, I’ve thought of nothing but ye. It’s intoxicating.”