Epilogue
The Ladies’ Marriage Prospects Bulletin
A newly married wife must conduct herself with grace and moderation, remembering that her chief ornament is obedience.
She should speak gently, laugh only at her husband’s wit, and manage her household in such a way that her own hand is invisible and his appears masterly.
Above all, she must strive to preserve the illusion that her happiness depends entirely upon his—whether or not it truly does.
Ava woke up just after dawn, wrapped in the softest warmth that was part tartan and part Highlander.
Before she even opened her eyes, a thrill of happiness buzzed through her, and a smile spread over her lips that still tingled from being kissed over and over again.
The room smelled faintly of smoke and something headier.
.. A scent that reminded her of just why her body ached in ways that were both unfamiliar and tantalizing.
Memories of the day before came slowly, like the tide rolling in, until they crashed with a delicious thrill. The castle. The way his hands had learned every inch of her. His mouth… The way his voice had broken on her name as bliss consumed him.
Gavan’s body stirred, his arm shifting where it rested on her waist. Ava rolled over onto her other side, where she found her husband staring at her in that half-hazy, dreamlike state that gave him a rugged and delicious expression.
His hair was mussed, and his tanned skin was exposed from his shoulders to his hip.
Gavan winked at her, a rakish smile on his lips.
“Good morning, wife,” he said, his voice still rough with sleep.
She tried to summon something clever, something teasing, but all she could manage was a quiet, “Ye’re staring.”
“Any man would be addled no’ to.” He ran a finger over her bare shoulder. “Especially with all this… skin ready for the taking.”
Wicked heat filled her cheeks, and she scooted closer, lifting a leg over his thigh. “Flatterer.”
“Truth-teller,” he countered, leaning in to press a kiss to her lips. The simple gesture unraveled her more than any of the wicked and delicious kisses from the night before.
She nestled closer, feeling the solid warmth of him against her, and wondering if this was why her friends were so happy. That they basked in the glow of waking up to their husband's naked and adoring bodies each morning.
Gavan reached for her, his fingers trailing over her hip, and her breath hitched.
“Gavan,” she murmured, a quiet warning, or perhaps an invitation.
His thumb skimmed over her inner thigh, slow and deliberate. “Are ye… sore?”
Sore, nay. If anything, she was gloriously alive and tingling.
“No,” she whispered, meeting his gaze.
Gavan’s expression darkened with desire. His eyelids lowered at half-mast, and his gaze shifted toward her lips.
“Ye undo me,” he said quietly, as though confessing a secret.
Before she could answer, he gripped her buttocks, hauling her against him, and kissed her with a hunger that left no doubt of how badly he wanted her again.
She answered in kind, her hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer as the tartan coverlet slipped onto the floor. The morning light poured across their skin, laying witness to her body arching to meet his, his hands retracing every inch of her body that he’d branded the night before.
“Last night,” she breathed against his lips, “I thought nothing could be better than that.”
His smile curved against her mouth. “Then I’ll just have to prove ye wrong.”
When he entered her again, it was slower, deeper, as if they had all the time in the world to learn each other this way. She clung to him, her legs wrapping around his hips, her fingers digging into his shoulders as the steady rhythm built between them.
“Ye’re mine,” he murmured against her ear, a vow more than a claim.
“And ye’re mine,” she whispered back, her voice trembling with the weight of it.
The world fell away again. No castles or estates, no whispers, no careful facades. Just them, tangled together in a sunlit bed, bodies and hearts unguarded.
Afterwards, they stayed wrapped in each other, limbs entwined, his hand tracing idle patterns over her back, her cheek pressed to his chest.
“Do ye regret any of it?” he asked after a while, his voice quiet but edged with something vulnerable.
Ava tilted her head to look at him. “Only that it took us so long to figure out we were meant to be.”
The muscle in Gavan’s jaw flexed, like he was contemplating what to say, or maybe overwhelmed, but when he spoke again, his words were simple. “Good. Because I dinna intend to stop proving that ye were right to choose me.”
Emotion welled in her chest, and Ava was afraid to speak for several breaths. But finally, her throat loosened, and she smiled. “Ye need no’. I know I was right. I’m always right,” she teased, leaning up to kiss him again.
Gavan chuckled as he leapt from the bed and tossed her over his shoulder, twirling in a circle until they both fell back to the bed laughing and dizzy.
* * *
The days that followed blurred into something out of a dream. A life Ava had never dared imagine for herself, unfurling like the pages of a story she’d only just begun to read.
On their second morning at the castle, Gavan took her riding across the moors, reminiscent of the wild sort they’d once stolen as reckless adolescents.
The landscape stretched endlessly around them, the tall grasses bowing in the wind, the sky so wide it felt like they were riding straight into forever.
“Keep up,” she called over her shoulder, deliberately goading him.
His laugh was low and unrestrained. Seconds later, Gavan was at her side, his stallion matching her mare’s pace with infuriating ease, this calf brushing against hers. “Ye always did like to think ye could outrun me,” he teased.
“I nearly did,” she retorted, grinning despite herself.
“Ye nearly did a lot of things.” He shot her a sidelong look, sending warmth rushing through her that even the chill morning air couldn’t cool.
When they stopped on a bluff overlooking the loch, Ava felt free, like she’d left behind more than just the eyes of society. She’d discarded that part of herself that always watched from a distance.
They rode down into the little village. Ava insisted on stopping for ices, even though the wind off the hills made the idea entirely ridiculous.
Gavan watched her lick the strawberry ice from her spoon, his eyes widening with a hunger she’d come to recognize. “I think we need to get ye home, before we scandalize the other patrons.”
“Aye,” she said, taking a bite with exaggerated delight, with an extra lick.
Evenings in the castle became their sanctuary. They’d curl up by the hearth in their bedchamber, the firelight flickering over Gavan’s broad shoulders as he read aloud to her. Sometimes it was poetry or a novel. Sometimes, whatever dull estate papers needed urgent attention.
One night, she dozed against him while he read, only to wake with a blanket tucked snugly around her and his lips pressed softly to her hair.
“Go back to sleep,” he whispered, as though the world beyond their little cocoon didn’t exist.
After nearly a fortnight of bliss, Gavan gave her a gift. Nothing ostentatious, nothing for show. Just a small, leather-bound journal. A gift that she would treasure forever.
“I thought ye might like a place to put all your plans,” he said, half-teasing. “Or to write about how often I frustrate ye.”
Ava traced the embossed letters on the cover, too moved to speak for a moment. No one had ever given her something so meaningful.
“I love it,” she managed, her throat tight.
“Good,” he said softly, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Because I want ye to fill it with everything. Every thought. Every dream. Even the ones that scare ye.”
And, of course, there was the loch. They returned to it more than once, sometimes just to sit and watch the sunlight ripple over the surface, sometimes to brave trying to boat again.
This time, when the boat wobbled and she shrieked dramatically, Gavan only laughed and reeled her in until she was tucked into his lap, which she was pretty sure was his plan all along.
“Menace,” she muttered, though she didn’t exactly try to move away.
“Wife,” he countered, and the word sent her heart soaring.
* * *
The castle was silent, save the soft hiss of the dying fire. Ava lay curled against Gavan, his arm a solid, comforting weight around her, their skin still warm from where they had pressed tightly together from an evening of lovemaking.
Ensconced in her husband's arms, the castle could have come under attack, and she wouldn’t have noticed.
All that existed were the walls of their bedchamber, the softness of their mattress, and the heat of Gavan's touch. The way his whispered confessions in the dark unraveled her until she couldn’t tell where she ended and he began.
This quiet with Gavan was one she never thought she’d know. Not just the absence of noise, but the peace of it.
“Ye’re still awake,” Gavan murmured, his breath stirring the loose tendrils of her hair.
She smiled faintly against his chest. “So are ye.”
“I was thinking,” he said, his voice low and thoughtful.
“Dangerous,” she teased softly, tracing idle patterns against his forearm. “What about?”
“Our future.” He didn’t hesitate, didn’t dance around the word like so many men she’d known.
Her hand stilled. “Our future?”
“Aye.” He shifted slightly, propping himself up on one elbow so he could see her better in the firelight. “What ye want for it. What we want for it.”
Her throat tightened at the weight of it. “I dinna know if I’ve thought that far ahead,” she admitted. “No’ really. I’ve spent so much time arranging everyone else’s lives, I dinna know if I ever truly believed I’d get to choose my own.”
“Ye do,” he said simply. “Ye get to choose everything. With me.”
She let out a shaky breath, staring at the way his fingers brushed hers, gentle and grounding. “What do ye want, then?” she asked. “For us?”
“Peace,” he said without hesitation. “A home full of laughter. A place where ye never feel like ye have to play a part but can be yourself.” His thumb stroked across her knuckles. “And children. Someday. As many as ye’ll allow me.”
Gavan’s words, the idea of the future they were building, and the family they might create sent something profound and unexpected spiraling through her. Warmth, fear, and a hope so big it made her chest ache. “Children,” she repeated softly.
“If ye want them.”
She smiled faintly, imagining a tiny Gavan riding a pony, hell-bent for leather, and a wee Ava giving chase. “I’d like that. Someday.”
“Then someday it will be.”
She studied him in the flickering firelight, memorizing the way the shadows softened his strong features, the openness in his gaze. “I think ye’ve made me the happiest lass on earth,” she asked.
He grinned, leaning down to press a kiss to her temple. “That is all I could ever want.”
Ava’s chest swelled, her heart thudding behind her ribs. She tucked herself closer to her husband, letting the steady beat of his heart lull her. “I love ye, Gavan,” she whispered into the quiet.
Gavan tugged closer, his arms around her back, and he met her gaze with the same heated need and emotion as her own. “And I love ye, too, my sweet matchmaker.”
Ava smiled, knowing that love wasn’t a fantasy to arrange for someone else. It was hers. Tangible. Fierce. Real.
And at last, she had her happily-ever-after.
* * *
Thank you for reading THE SCOT’S PERFECT MATCH !