Epilogue
“E nough, Tom. Sit!”
Margaret Silverstein had waited long enough. Bone weary of watching her husband pace and equally tired of fashing about her beautiful son’s future, she would learn—here and now—if she could dream for her child or not. Would he have the freedom to follow his heart into medicine or perhaps music, or would her child be trapped in this wee village like his predecessors until the day he died?
She handed Tom their Laird’s diary. “Open it, husband. I’ll not wait another moment, let alone another day.”
Tom nodded, kenning she had the right of it. Beth had never been found and the ghost and the ring had not returned. He had put off reading the diary for long enough.
His hands shook as he turned the key in the bronze lock and lifted the ancient wooden cover.
The laird’s bold strokes appeared unchanged from the last he’d seen them and his heart sank.
Kneeling before him with their son clutched to her breast, Margaret whispered, “Turn to the last entry that Isaac had made, love. The one describing the Laird’s death from the infection.”
“Aye.” He carefully turned the frail pages one after the other, needing only to scan for he had the words memorized and then he stopped. He read for a moment and choked on a sob.
“What? Tom, for heaven’s sake! What does it say?”
Tears streamed down his face as he handed her the ancient tome. An unfamiliar script in fading ink covered the last page.
“Let it be known that on this day, the sixth day of April in the year of our Lord one thousand four hundred and nine, was born a healthy son, Duncan Thomas MacDougall, to Lady Katherine Elizabeth and Duncan Angus MacDougall, Laird of the clan MacDougall, Blackstone Castle, Scotland.
Katherine Elizabeth MacDougall Pudding MacDougall
PS: Love blooms. Give Margaret and the babe a kiss for me.
Speechless, Margaret reached for Tom’s hand. A plain woman with a great need and capacity for love had finally broken the curse that had shaped their lives.
Her love had set them all free.