Epilogue
One week later
"Ye need tae sit still, David. How am I supposed tae tie this properly if ye keep movin'?"
David stood in their bedchamber, trying not to wince as Elinor adjusted the sling supporting his wounded shoulder. A week had passed since Langley's death, and while the wound was healing well, it still protested any sudden movements.
"I'm nae movin'. Ye're just fussin'."
"I'm making sure you don't tear your stitches." She secured the knot, then stepped back to examine her work. "There. That should hold. But I'm serious, David, no sword practice. No lifting anything heavy."
"Nay tae anythin' remotely enjoyable, aye, I ken." He caught her hand, pulling her closer. "Ye've told me at least a dozen times today."
"And you'll hear it a dozen more if you don't listen." But she was smiling, her free hand coming up to rest against his chest. "You scared me. When you collapsed in the courtyard. I thought—"
"I ken what ye thought." He pressed a kiss to her forehead. "But I'm fine. Moira says the wound's healin' well. Nay infection, nay complications. It just needs time and rest."
"Which you're terrible at."
"I'm gettin' better." He gestured around their bedchamber. "See? I'm restin' right now. Lettin' ye dress me fer this celebration like I'm a bairn."
"You're wearing a sling, not a christening gown." Elinor adjusted his collar, smoothing imaginary wrinkles. "And you're only resting because Tristan threatened to tie you to the bed if you tried to inspect the wall repairs again."
"Those repairs are important."
"They're being handled. By capable men who know what they're doing." She met his eyes, her expression serious. "You've been wounded in battle, David. You're allowed to take a few days to recover. The clan won't fall apart without you micromanaging every detail."
"I'm nae micromanagin’."
"You sent three separate messages to Malcolm this morning about table arrangements."
"The high table needs tae be positioned properly."
"The high table is fine." Elinor's hands moved to his face, cupping it gently. "You need to let other people handle things. Just for tonight. Just for one celebration where you can actually enjoy yourself instead of worrying."
David sighed, leaning into her touch. She was right, of course. She usually was.
"Alright. Nay fussin' about arrangements. Nay checkin' on repairs. Just—enjoyin' the celebration." He paused. "But if Malcolm—"
"David."
"Right. Nay fussin'." He kissed her palm. "Promise."
"Good." She stepped back, smoothing her own gown.
She wore deep green, the color bringing out her eyes.
The bruises on her throat had faded to barely visible shadows, but David could still see them if he looked closely.
Still remembered the terror of seeing her on that balcony, a knife at her throat, dangling over the edge.
"Ye're thinkin' about it again," Elinor said quietly.
"Aye. I keep seein' ye on that balcony. Keep thinkin' about what would have happened if I'd been even a minute later."
"But you weren't." She moved back to him, taking his good hand. "You got there in time. Malcolm got there in time. The guards got there in time. I'm here. I'm safe. And Langley's dead."
"Aye. He is." David had felt no guilt about killing the man. No remorse. Langley had threatened everything David cared about, and David had ended the threat. Simple as that.
Though the nightmares suggested his mind wasn't quite as settled as he'd have liked to believe.
"Come on." Elinor tugged at his hand. "Everyone's waiting. And if we're late to our own celebration, Tristan will never let you hear the end of it."
They made their way down to the great hall, moving slowly to accommodate David's healing shoulder. Guards snapped to attention as they passed, offering respectful nods. Servants scurried by with last-minute preparations.
The castle had returned to something resembling normalcy over the past week. The dead had been buried, both MacDonald clansmen and Langley's forces. The wounded were healing. Repairs were underway on the damaged gate.
And slowly, carefully, life was settling back into its rhythm.
"Me laird! Me lady!" Malcolm appeared at the top of the stairs, looking harried but pleased. "Perfect timin’. Everyone's assembled. Just waitin' on ye."
"Is everythin' ready?" David asked, then caught Elinor's pointed look. "I mean, ye've done excellent work, Malcolm."
"Aye, well." The steward looked surprised at the compliment. "It's been a team effort, really. Lady Elinor handled most of the details."
"Did she now?" David glanced at his wife, who was trying not to look smug.
"Someone had tae, since you were resting." She squeezed his hand. "Come on. Let's go face our public."
The great hall had been transformed. Torches blazed in their sconces, casting warm light over tables laden with food.
The high table had been decorated with autumn flowers and MacDonald colors. And the hall itself was packed, every clansman who could attend, plus representatives from allied clans who'd sent men to help defend Keppoch.
A cheer went up as David and Elinor entered. Men and women rose to their feet, applauding, shouting welcomes.
David felt heat creep up his neck. He'd never been comfortable with this kind of attention, even after years of being laird.
But Elinor seemed to shine in it. She smiled and waved, acknowledging familiar faces, looking every inch the Lady of Keppoch she'd become.
"Speech!" someone called from the back. "The laird should give a speech!"
Others took up the call. David shot Tristan a look—his friend was grinning, clearly enjoying David's discomfort.
"I hate ye," David mouthed.
Tristan's grin widened.
David raised his good hand, and the hall quieted. All eyes turned to him, expectant.
"I'm nae much fer speeches," he started, and several people laughed. "But I want tae thank ye. All of ye. Fer defendin' Keppoch. Fer protectin' each other. Fer provin' that this clan is more than just stone walls and sharp swords."
He paused, gathering his thoughts.
"We lost good people in that battle. Brave men and women who gave their lives tae keep our home safe.
We'll honor them. Remember them. Make sure their families are cared fer.
" His voice roughened. "But taeday, taenight, we also celebrate.
We celebrate survivin'. We celebrate comin' taegether when it mattered most. And we celebrate the fact that Keppoch still stands. Still strong. Still ours."
Another cheer, louder this time. David waited for it to die down before continuing.
"I also want tae thank me wife." He turned to Elinor, who looked surprised.
"Lady Elinor showed more courage and strength than anyone had a right tae expect.
She tended the wounded. She fought off attackers.
She refused tae hide or cower, even when it would have been easier.
" His hand found hers. "She's made Keppoch a home in ways I never could have alone.
And I'm grateful. Tae her. And tae all of ye fer welcomin' her. "
Elinor's eyes were suspiciously bright. She squeezed his hand hard.
"So eat!" David called out. "Drink! Celebrate! Because we earned this!"
The hall erupted in cheers. People began settling into their seats, reaching for food and drink. The musicians in the corner struck up a lively tune.
David and Elinor made their way to the high table, where Tristan was already seated along with the other council members.
"That was a good speech," Tristan said as they sat. "Surprisingly emotional fer ye."
"Shut up."
"I'm serious. Ye actually showed feelings in public. I'm proud of ye."
"I'm goin' tae stab ye with me fork."
"Ye'd have tae reach it first. And with that shoulder—"
"Tristan." Elinor's voice held warning. "Stop tormenting him or I'll tell everyone about what ye did at the Cèilidh."
Tristan's eyes widened. "Ye wouldnae."
"Try me."
"Fine. Fine. I'll behave." But he was grinning. "Though I maintain that David needs the teasin'. Keeps him humble."
"I'm plenty humble," David muttered, reaching for his cup.
"Ye're really nae."
The meal progressed with the comfortable chaos of a clan gathering. Food was passed, stories were shared, laughter rang out. David found himself relaxing despite his earlier tension, enjoying the warmth and camaraderie.
Several people approached the high table to offer personal thanks—warriors who'd fought beside him, families whose homes he'd protected, survivors who wanted to express their gratitude.
David accepted each thanks with grace, though he insisted he'd only done his duty.
"Ye did more than yer duty, me laird," one older clansman said. "Ye gave us somethin' tae fight fer. Reminded us why we call this place home."
After the man left, Elinor leaned over. "You're uncomfortable with praise."
"I just did what needed daein'."
"You led them through a siege. You fought off an army. You killed the man who'd been terrorizing us." She touched his face gently. "It's okay to accept that you did something remarkable."
"Ye did remarkable things too. I'm nae the only one."
"I know. But tonight's about honoring you. About the clan showing their appreciation." She smiled. "So try to enjoy it. Even if it makes you squirm."
David was about to respond when he noticed a commotion near the entrance. The doors opened, and a familiar group entered.
"Well," Euan MacLeod said loudly, his walking stick tapping against the floor as he limped in. "I see ye started the celebration without us."
Behind him came Calum, Archibald, and Lachlann—the other Covenant brothers, all grinning.
David stood, wincing at the pull on his shoulder. "What are ye daein' here?"
"What daes it look like? We came tae celebrate." Calum embraced him carefully, mindful of the injury. "Though by the looks of ye, the celebration nearly didnae happen."
"News travels fast."