Epilogue Muireall
A sennight later
I stood in the stone chapel, my heart fluttering as the scent of heather garlands and beeswax candles filled my lungs.
Sunlight streamed through the narrow windows, casting golden beams across the worn flagstones at my feet.
The cream-colored gown I wore, with its delicate embroidered thistles trailing down the bodice, rustled softly as I shifted my weight from one foot to the other.
Never in all my careful planning had I imagined myself here, about to wed a man I loved with all my heart.
My life had been forever altered by whispers from beyond the grave.
The whispers came again now, a gentle chorus that no longer frightened me but instead felt like a comforting presence at my back. I closed my eyes briefly, allowing the voices to wash over me. Some spoke words I couldn’t quite catch; others simply hummed with approval.
“Are ye nervous?” Guinn whispered beside me, her small hand slipping into mine. She looked so beautiful in her green gown.
I squeezed her fingers gently. “Aye, a wee bit,” I admitted. “But ’tis a good kind of nervous.”
Bess, standing on my other side, looked up at me with solemn eyes. “Da says his heart might burst from happiness.”
My throat tightened at her words. These lasses, who had first welcomed me when their da could not, had become as dear to me as if they were my own flesh and blood. I bent down, mindful of my gown, and pressed a kiss to Bess’s forehead. “I feel mine could burst as well,” I whispered.
The doors at the back of the chapel creaked open, and I straightened, my breath catching in my chest. Munro stood framed in the doorway, the sun behind him casting his tall figure in dramatic silhouette.
He wore his finest plaid, draped over one shoulder and secured with a silver brooch bearing the Ross crest. His dark hair still dripped from a swim in the loch and curled around his neck.
He filled the space and commanded attention.
Our gazes locked across the chapel, and the rest of the world seemed to fade away.
The voices of the dead receded to a gentle murmur as Munro began his walk toward me, his steps measured and deliberate.
Emotions played across his face—pride, wonder, and a vulnerability that few ever saw beneath his warrior’s exterior.
My heart swelled with love so fierce it nearly stole my breath.
“Murieall,” he said, my name a caress on his lips as he reached us.
I placed my hand in his, gathering comfort from the strength in his fingers as they closed around mine.
“Ye take my breath, lass,” he said, as the priest stepped forward.
Father William cleared his throat and began. “Who stands as witness for Murieall Buchannan?”
“We do, Father,” my parents and Bruce said from the right of me.
I glanced at them and smiled, my heart swelling with happiness again to see them here for the wedding, so clearly glad for me.
“And who stands for the—”
“James does, Father,” Munro interrupted. “Now get on with it. I want to make the lass mine now.”
Laughter filled the chapel, and I grinned at Muro’s impatience. I felt the same way.
Father William scowled at Munro but immediately launched into the ceremony. The traditional words washed over me as Munro and I stood facing each other, hands joined, and suddenly Lisette’s voice was in my head.
Be happy, sister. Live without fear.
I smiled at her words and then blinked at the sudden pressure on my hands. I looked at Munro and found him grinning at me. “’Tis yer turn to say the words, lass.”
I bit my lip that I’d missed his words while listening to Lisette, but at Munro’s chuckle, I was certain he knew and understood.
My heart pounded as my eyes held his. “I give to ye my vow, my body, my life. I will stand beside ye in joy and sorrow. In sickness and in health until death parts us,” I said.
The silver quaich was brought forth, filled with sweet mead. Munro took it first, raising it to his lips before passing it to me. I sipped from the same side, the ancient ritual sealing our bond. As I handed the quaich back to Father William, Isabella whispered near my ear.
Love him as I did. Heal him as I could nae. Be the mama my lasses need.
“I will,” I said. The priest frowned at me, and Munro cocked his eyebrows. “Isabella,” I whispered and tapped my ear.
Munro’s smile was that of a man who was at peace with his loss now, and a great sense of peace settled over me as well.
Father William raised his hands and said, “Ye are as one now, joined together in body, vow, and spirit.”
Munro’s hands cupped my face with exquisite tenderness, and then his lips claimed mine in a kiss that spoke of promise, of passion, of a future I had never dared imagine for myself.
The chapel erupted in cheers and applause, but I heard only the beating of my heart and Munro’s whispered, “Mo chridhe,” against my lips.
I returned his kiss with the fiery passion blazing through me and whispered back, “My heart.”
Later that night, after the wedding feast and celebration, the heavy oak door of our bedchamber closed behind us with a soft thud that seemed to seal away the rest of the world.
I stood in the center of the room, suddenly shy despite everything we’d already shared.
Candles flickered in iron sconces along the walls, their golden light dancing across the stone and casting long shadows into the corners.
The hearth fire crackled and popped, sending a wave of warmth against the evening chill.
Munro moved to stand before me, his eyes reflecting the flames as he gently reached up to remove the small flowers from my hair, each touch deliberate, reverent.
“We are husband and wife now,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver down my spine. “I can scarcely believe it.”
“Nor I,” I whispered, my chest squeezing at the thought. Though we had lain together before, tonight was our first as one.
Munro’s fingers worked the pins from my hair, releasing it to fall around my shoulders.
“I dreamt of this last night,” he confessed, his gaze never leaving mine as he set the pins aside.
“Of taking ye as my wife, in our chamber, in our bed.” His hand cupped my cheek, thumb tracing the curve of my lower lip.
“Without ghosts between us. Or secrets. Nae any bargains born in shadows.”
I leaned into his touch, my eyes drifting closed for a moment. “Nae more careful plans,” I added softly. “Only this. Only us.”
When I opened my eyes again, the raw emotion in his face nearly stole my breath.
Gone was the guarded man who had first regarded me with suspicion.
Gone was the guilt-ridden da who had kept his daughters at arm’s length.
Munro was fully present and willing to lay his soul bare for me alone to see. I was humbled and grateful.
His lips found mine in a kiss that began gently but quickly deepened with hunger.
I responded in kind, my arms winding around his neck as I pressed myself against the solid warmth of his body.
Unlike our first time together, when need and desperation had driven us, this was unhurried, each touch an exploration rather than a conquest.
My fingers fumbled with the brooch securing his plaid, and he helped me remove it, the heavy wool falling away to reveal the tunic beneath. I placed my palm against his chest, exhilarating in the strong, steady beat of his heart through the fabric.
“I can feel yer heart,” I said, looking up into his eyes. “It matches mine.”
His smile was tender as he reached behind me to begin unlacing my gown. “’Tis how it will always be,” he said. “I would give my life for ye,” he vowed, the words fierce.
The gown loosened beneath his skilled fingers, then slipped from my shoulders to pool at my feet in a whisper of fabric. The shift I wore beneath was thin enough that I might as well have been naked. The way his eyes darkened as he swept them over me sent pleasure rippling through me.
“I do nae want ye to give yer life for me,” I said, lifting his tunic to press my lips to his thundering heart. “I want ye to share yer life with me.”
“Aye, I plan to, lass,” he said, a devilish smile coming to him. “I’m going to share my body with yers every day of our lives as well.”
Heat bloomed in my cheeks at his open admiration, but I didn’t turn away or try to shield myself.
Instead, I pulled his tunic upward more, and he leaned over to aid me in getting it off him.
Once I dropped the tunic, I kissed his chest again, but this time I trailed my tongue along his hot skin, which made him suck in sharp breath.
“I nearly lost ye,” I murmured against his skin.
“And will nae ever take for granted the gift of yer life entwined with mine in bed,” I said, winking, “and out.”
His arms encircled me, drawing me against him until my cheek pressed to his chest and I could hear the quickened rhythm of his heart.
“Ye saved me from my grief, from the man I was becoming,” he said, stripping away his last bit of clothing.
I took his lead and shed my shift. My nipples hardened instantly with desire, and I thrilled when his body responded in kind.
With a growl that contained the hunger strumming through me, he lifted me and, cradling me against his chest, he carried me to the bed.
It dipped under our weight as he settled me gently in the soft furs, then came to straddle me.
Encased by his powerful thighs, he leaned down and caught one of my nipples in his mouth.
I hissed with the extraordinary sensations the simple circling of my nipple with his tongue caused me.