Epilogue
ONE MONTH LATER
“Is this nae a wee bit… bit much?” Megan hazarded, staring around the thickly decorated Feast Hall.
The table groaned under the weight of the food—at least twice as much as what had been set out for the cèilidh—their betrothal meal.
Fresh tapestries were hung on the walls, and the rushes were ankle-deep.
Handfuls of dried herbs hung everywhere, filling the place with a deliciously savory scent.
There were flowers too, countless flowers, wound into the garlands and greenery that draped over every conceivable surface.
“Too much?” Flora echoed, frowning and patting her belly. She was nearly due to give birth, but was determined to wait until after the ceremony. Privately, Megan wasn’t sure that babies tended to wait for anything at all, but then, Flora was very determined.
“This is a celebration of Laird MacCulloch’s marriage, Megan,” Flora continued sternly. “To ye. It must be somethin’ to remember for years to come. We’ve spared nay expense.”
“Aye, it will be remembered when one of us drowns in all these rushes,” Megan commented with a snort. “They’re knee-deep in places.”
“Ach, ye exaggerate. Besides, rushes get trampled flat in nay time. Everybody is coming to yer weddin’.”
A flash of uncertainty rolled through Megan. The wedding would take place in less than an hour, in the Great Hall, with everybody watching. The whole clan would be there.
Her sisters, too, would be there. They hadn’t yet met Ryder.
“Are ye all right?” Flora asked gently. “Ye seem preoccupied.”
“Aye, I’m just nervous. Were ye nervous, Flora, on yer weddin’ day?”
“Of course,” she responded with a grin. “Everybody is. In fact, if ye arenae nervous, it’s generally thought to be a bad sign. A sign that ye daenae understand the weight of marriage.”
“I think I understand it,” Megan huffed. “I’m the last of me sisters to marry. In fact, I…”
“Megan! There she is, lasses!”
Lily’s voice echoed through the empty hall. Megan flinched, spinning around, and there they were. Her three sisters. Lily held out her arms, and the four of them all rushed together.
Valerie swept Megan into her arms, lifting her completely off the ground. Lily started to chatter nervously, rambling about what had happened and what Megan had missed. Brigid dabbed at the corner of her eyes with a handkerchief.
Smiling to herself, Flora quietly excused herself and slipped away, leaving the sisters alone.
“Oh, we missed ye,” Valerie breathed, draping an arm over Megan’s shoulder.
“We worried, too,” Brigid added. “Lily told us what had happened, but it didnae seem right. I was all set to march here and drag ye home.”
“Well, I am glad ye didnae,” Megan laughed. “Because if ye had, I would never have married Ryder.”
“Ye havenae married him yet,” Valerie pointed out with a chuckle. Lily rolled her eyes and swatted at her sister’s arm.
“Ye truly do love him, then?” Lily asked, her voice soft.
Megan swallowed, nodding. “Aye. Aye, I do. It was a slow sort of thing. I think I disliked him at first. Nay, nae dislike, nae exactly. There was always somethin’ there, somethin’ that drew me. It didnae help that he was determined to push me away.”
Lily clicked her tongue. “Well, ye are goin’ to have to tell us all about that.”
“I surely will. But for now, lookin’ at all this food is makin’ me feel hungry. What do we say to a wee pre-weddin’ feast?” Megan suggested, grinning. “A last hurrah as the last of us Blackwood lassies marry.”
“A wonderful idea,” Valerie agreed, pouncing on a jug of wine. She snatched up four goblets, handing one to each. “But before we do that—and before ye tell us of this old diary of Da’s—I propose a toast.”
She poured out a generous goblet for each, and each woman dutifully raised her glass.
“To Da,” said Lily, smiling tearfully.
“To Ma,” Brigid added.
“To our husbands, and husbands-to-be,” Valerie added, laughing.
“To all the children we have and will make,” Brigid smiled.
Megan paused for a moment, glancing around at her sisters’ bright, smiling faces.
A bittersweet pang tightened in her chest, and she gave a soft smile.
They were happy, all of them. Their futures were bright.
Still, mourning a happy past was not a crime.
Their lives had all changed, and there was no going back.
We can only go forward.
“To us,” she murmured. “To the Blackwood sisters.”
The four sisters clinked their glasses together and drank deeply.
“Have ye been at the wine, me darling wife?” Ryder whispered.
“Why, do I seem drunk?” Megan shot back with a grin.
“Nae at all. But there is a wee bit of red wine on yer lower lip. If we were nae in the process of gettin’ married here in the Great Hall in front of God and everybody, I might kiss it away.”
Megan reddened, hiding a smile.
The Great Hall was packed with people, all craning their necks to get a good look at Laird MacCulloch and the woman who was almost Lady MacCulloch. The priest was still intoning, but soon they would say their vows, and the marriage would be official.
In the meantime, Megan was content to stand facing Ryder, her hands wrapped warmly in his.
I’m happy, she thought, biting back a smile. I never thought I could be so happy.
She knew that her sisters and their husbands were in the audience, beaming up at her.
Flora and Ewan were there too, arms wrapped around each other.
Alaina and Sophie stood on the platform.
A twist of blue flowers, picked by Sophie and cunningly woven together by Alaina, was pinned to Megan’s shoulder.
It was the nicest wedding gift she could have hoped for, because it meant something.
Sophie had been a flower girl, of course.
She had insisted, taking a basket of petals to scatter along the aisle for Megan to walk upon.
She insisted that Alaina join in, too. Frankly, Megan did not think she’d have wanted it any other way.
“I was wonderin’,” Ryder continued, leaning forward with a glint in his eye, “whether ye and I might find time to sneak away before the feast begins.”
Heat curled in Megan’s gut. With the preparations for the wedding filling their time—to say nothing of countless important guests and the business of appointing a new Laird MacAdair—they had only had the chance to share each other’s bed on a handful of occasions.
That, in Megan’s opinion, was a terrible shame and would hopefully be remedied soon.
“I am sure we could,” she answered demurely, ruining the effect by flashing a wide, toothy smile.
“Those blue eyes of yers are beautiful, me love, but I’ve been wonderin’ whether we might like to try coverin’ them up.”
She tilted her head. “What do ye mean?”
He gave a slow, hungry smile. “Well, sometimes it is every bit as excitin’ nae to see what is goin’ on as it is to see it. If ye catch me drift. And the last time I ordered ye to close yer eyes…”
“I didnae peep!”
“Nay, but ye were tempted, and I didnae do half of the things I was dyin’ to do. Just a wee suggestion, lass.”
She bit her lip, glancing apprehensively at the priest. Fortunately, the man was wrapped up in his own spiel and did not seem to have noticed.
“That sounds exceptionally intriguin’,” she whispered.
“I hope it will be,” he murmured. “I love ye, Megan Blackwood. I hope ye ken that.”
“Aye, I ken it. And for what it’s worth, Ryder, prickly wee thing that ye are, I love ye too.”
He winked. “Oh, I’m countin’ on it.”
The End?