Epilogue
Lachlan sat at the table upon the dais in the great hall.
The skirl of bagpipes and the swirl of the plaid never failed to stir his blood, and yet those very sights and sounds, here amidst his wedding celebrations at Drumocher, paled in comparison to feelings roused in him at the sight of his newly wed wife.
Helene MacLanoch. His bonnie bride. Her radiance burned brighter than the myriad candles ensconced on walls, in chandeliers, and on tables.
Pride filled his heart as he watched her follow a set sequence of steps in a Scottish reel with his mother, auntie, Grizel, and Agnes.
The sweet trill of her laughter rose above the cacophony of conversation and merrymakers.
Lachlan cast his gaze over the crowded hall, and amongst the dancers he spied Mairi and Greer, Donnie, and his parents. A sense of clan cohesion and unity filled the air. Never had Lachlan felt so content and so gratified with life.
He turned his head, again drawn to his wife.
She was dressed in a gown of MacLanoch plaid, with a contrasting embroidered silk petticoat and stomacher.
A sprig of heather adorned her upswept hair, and several long tendrils framed her face.
A dainty thin strip of lace graced her neck, the ends tied in a bow and trailing down her back.
Lachlan smiled, his heart bursting with love and devotion for her.
‘She is indeed a true beauty,’ said Cuthbert, seated beside Lachlan.
‘Aye. That she is.’
‘You know, you never did thank me.’
Lachlan reluctantly dragged his gaze from Helene to look at his cousin. ‘Thank ye for what?’
Cuthbert raised his brows and spread his hands wide. ‘For playing Cupid and landing you a wife! I’d go so far as to call it the perfect, perfect match. Wouldn’t you agree?’
Lachlan took a moment to reflect on the lengths his cousin had gone to in bringing Helene to Drumocher. ‘Aye,’ he said, nodding. ‘Ye’re right, Cuthbert. How remiss of me. Ye did indeed matchmake me with a true treasure.’
Lachlan laid his hand on Cuthbert’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. ‘Thank ye, cousin. If not for ye, I’d not be the happy and fortunate man I am today. Ye found me the fairest and most captivating bride, and for that, I’m truly grateful. Slàinte mhath.’
Cuthbert followed Lachlan’s lead in raising his glass. ‘Do dheagh shlàinte.’
After taking a sip of wine, Lachlan asked, ‘Do ye recall the tail-end of our conversation and yer parting words in the library on the day ye arrived at Drumocher?’
Cuthbert winked. ‘Imbibing your finest red comes first to mind.’ He then tilted his head back with an upward gaze. Suddenly, he grinned, snapped his fingers, and looked Lachlan in the eye. ‘I goaded you into playing one last throw of the dice.’
‘Aye, and ye said, “May the best man win.” Yer enforced risky wager of the hearts between Helene and me paid off. Acclaim is all yers, cousin. Not only were ye best man at my wedding today, but also the best man, and deservedly so, as winner of that wager.’
Cuthbert laughed and slapped Lachlan on the back. ‘Oh, I don’t know about that. I’d say we both came up trumps.’
A frown formed on Cuthbert’s face when his gaze strayed to the dance floor. ‘Although, having said that, tradition demands from my job as best man to prevent anyone from stealing your prize, including the young man who’s now taken your wife’s hand in his.’
Lachlan’s protective instincts kicked into battle mode. He reached for his dirk, shot up from his seat, and whipped his head around to see who dared to attempt kidnapping his wife.
Cuthbert howled with laughter. ‘Sit down, man. I hardly think Donnie will make off with your wife tonight, and if Helene sees you threatening the young lad with a blade again, then your marriage will be over before it begins.’
The sound of Lachlan’s heartbeat thrashed in his ears.
The mere thought of someone running off with his bride was more than he could bear.
He cursed his cousin in Gaelic for the unnecessary worry, which made Cuthbert laugh even more.
That prompted Lachlan to sit down and drink the rest of his wine with the hope it would instantly calm his nerves, but one look at Helene and his heart resumed its peaceful pulse.
Seeing her elegantly master the steps of the Strathspey, hand in hand with young Donnie, simply warmed his heart.
The lass was indeed a precious find, which led him to ponder his cousin’s marital plight.
Lachlan leaned in close to Cuthbert, even though the melodic harmonies of fiddles and bagpipes would prevent others from hearing what he wanted to say.
‘Helene and I will do everything in our power to ensure yer personal happiness. To comply with yer father’s filial demands, we’ll give thought to whom ye might marry. Perhaps a lass who wishes to protect a secret such as yer own?’
Cuthbert dipped his chin and gave Lachlan an appreciative smile. ‘You will, of course, both attend my wedding, with you as my best man.’
‘Of course. We wouldnae miss it for the world, and ’twould be my honour to stand at yer side as yer best man.
’ Lachlan indicated Cuthbert’s kilted attire with a sweep of his hand.
‘Ye look quite the handsome Scotsman in the MacLanoch cloth, ye ken. And ’tis refreshing to see yer fair hair unbound and untamed. ’
‘Yes, well, as I quoted once before, “When they are at Rome, they do there as they see done.”’
‘When ye get married, which I daresay will be in London, to which Roman attire will ye proclaim yer allegiance? England, or Scotland?’
Cuthbert shrugged. ‘Perhaps both. Only time will tell.’ He waved Lachlan away. ‘Now go and dance with your wife. Her adoring eyes are on you with a clear invitation.’
Lachlan rose to his feet, his height and stature as striking as his Highland wedding regalia.
He wore a hip-length black velvet jacket and waistcoat.
A kilt of MacLanoch tartan sat around his waist, signifying pride in his clan and lineage.
A shirt with frilled, embroidered cuffs and a diamond stock pin enhanced his overall elegance.
His plaid, woven in the same autumn hues as the kilt, was draped over his coat, gathered at the shoulder, and pinned with the green jewelled brooch that had belonged to his late father.
Candlelight caught the healthy shine of his shoulder-length russet hair.
As he left the dais and made his way to the floor, the music steadily petered out, the crowd withdrew to line the walls, and a hush fell over the great hall, with Helene at its core. All eyes were on the MacLanoch laird in excited anticipation of his next move.
Lachlan focused solely on his wife, and it pleased him to see her green-eyed gaze levelled on him. He stopped but two steps in front of her and drank in the sight of her remarkable beauty. He placed his right hand over his heart and made a slow bow. ‘My lady.’
When he straightened, Helene dipped a deep curtsy. ‘My laird.’
Lachlan offered her his hand, palm up. When his wife reached out to rest her fingertips on his palm, Lachlan bent and pressed a kiss to the back of her hand. He glanced up. ‘Shall we dance?’
‘Aye.’ Her radiant smile said it all.
Lachlan signalled the musicians to recommence playing the Strathspey, then fixed his unwavering gaze on the centre of his world.
Helene.