Epilogue
THREE WEEKS LATER
Arran’s mother burst into his bedchamber, flustered and flapping like a chicken that had spotted a fox in the henhouse.
“What’s wrong?” Arran whirled around at the intrusion, the worst possible explanations running through his mind.
Had Victoria decided against the marriage?
Had her father coerced her into returning to England during the night?
Was she unwell, perhaps? Was it her sister who had imbibed a little too much wine at the feast last night?
He waited for his mother to speak as she bustled around the room, oblivious to his stern glare.
“Maither?” he snapped.
She halted, staring at him. “What?”
“What are ye doing in here? Is somethin’ the matter?”
“Oh… what? Nay, there’s nothin’ the matter,” she replied with a waft of her hand. “I’ve been looking for that brooch of yer grandmaither all mornin’, and as I couldnae find it anywhere else, I thought I would search in the one place I havenae looked.”
He knew the brooch she meant and also knew exactly where that pin was. However, he was less than inclined to tell her, considering she had almost given him an apoplexy.
“Yer bride looks beautiful,” his mother sighed, clasping her hands together. “Och, I was worried I’d never see the day where ye’d be married, and nae just married, but wed to someone ye love! I couldnae be happier if it were me own weddin’ day. Now, that brooch—where is it? Have ye seen it?”
Arran smiled at her as she continued to rush about the room, opening boxes and drawers in her desperation to find the adornment.
She had not had a happy wedding day, by all accounts, and had not had a particularly happy marriage either.
It was no great secret that she had lived for her children, and rather preferred it when her husband was away at war, not bothering her.
But it cheered him to see that his joy could bring her such joy, too.
So much so that he decided to put her out of her misery.
“Kristin has it. She’s wearin’ it for the weddin’, and I doubt ye’ll be able to tear it off her unless ye’re braced for a battle.”
His mother halted, her hands coming to rest on her hips. “That little… I told her that I planned to wear it! She must have snuck it from me room when I wasnae looking. I kenned I had it in me jewelry box.”
She hurried back out, and silence descended once more—the quiet after a storm.
Arran chuckled and shook his head, before turning to the mirror and adjusting his own brooch, pinned in place at his shoulder: a new piece that he had had made by a silversmith from the nearest town, depicting the lion of England and the unicorn of Scotland with a stone of blue agate, the color of Victoria’s eyes, in the center.
This is the start of everythin’. He took a breath. This is the start of a new era for us all.
Thanks to Victoria, he had reconsidered his position regarding the territories that his father had stolen.
What was the point of having more land than he knew what to do with, especially if he had to keep fighting to keep it?
And what was the point in fighting if it took him away from the only things that truly mattered to him—his bride and his family, and his clan?
A lot had happened in the past three weeks.
He and Victoria had worked together to send out letters to the leaders of the “conquered” towns and villages and territories, inviting them to have sovereignty over their lands once more.
The territory of Clan MacLeon might have shrunk, but the feeling of joy and peace within the clan had swelled to mighty proportions.
Who would not celebrate the fact that the men would not have to ride out and risk their lives year after year?
As for the issue with Charles Rowley’s death, Victoria’s father had been the one to smooth over any contest or trouble.
He had gone to the bastard’s family first, explaining that there had been a duel, enacted to defend the honor of two young ladies.
He had rehearsed what he would say for days, to the point where even Arran knew the speech word for word, but, as Victoria’s father told it, the family had needed no more than that simple explanation.
Apparently, Charles’ own brother had just nodded and said, “It was always going to happen, one of these days. It was simply a matter of when.”
He had even offered to pay some degree of compensation to the “young ladies” in question, but Victoria’s father had refused the offer. Then again, the younger brother was not going to complain too much when Charles’ death meant a tremendous inheritance for him.
As far as any of them now knew, the story had not appeared in any papers, other than a small obituary that read: Charles Rowley, the Right Honorable Earl of Ashbrook, deceased. A bland end to a wicked life.
“Are ye just going to stand there admiring yerself all day, or are ye goin’ to get yer arse to the church to marry that sweet, sweet lass?” Kristin’s voice rudely interrupted Arran’s thoughts as he glared at her reflection in the mirror.
“Does nay one knock in this place?” he muttered as he turned to face his sister. “And ye ought to hide. Maither is out for yer blood after she found ye’d stolen her brooch.”
Kristin waved the remark away. “Then, let’s hurry on and make sure we’re the first to the church. Indeed, ye should be there already. It willnae be long before Victoria sets off.”
“Where’s Ruby?” Arran realized with a start that the baby was not in her mother’s arms.
Kristin sighed. “She’s with Neil in the courtyard, waiting for us! Now, move yer arse!”
She headed back out, and with a weary chuckle, Arran followed her. He would not allow any interruptions or anything at all to ruin this day.
“You look so happy this time,” Melody said, tears in her eyes, as she led Victoria toward the waiting carriage. “In truth, I do not think I have ever seen you so happy. Not for years, at least.”
Victoria smiled. “It is as surprising to me to be so full of joy. I hardly know what to do with myself. Indeed, I remember all the ladies of the ton warning me that I would be anxious, and that marriage was not quite the stuff of dreams, but that I would be happy enough when all was said and done. They were very mistaken. It can be the stuff of dreams if you are marrying the right man.”
“Oh, I do hope that I can find such a man,” Melody sighed, as she helped Victoria and her elaborate gown into the carriage, for their father had already gone on ahead.
“I imagine the two of you have… feminine things to chatter about, and I already have a headache. I shall await you at the church,” he had said with a smile, quite recovered from the injury that had almost taken his life.
“I see no reason why you should not, now that everything is taken care of,” Victoria insisted, her skirts settling as she sank onto the squabs. “Although, do be wary of anything that seems too good to be true, and be warier still of charming gentlemen.”
Melody frowned. “Is Arran not both of those things?”
“His charm is of the rough sort; it is not contrived,” Victoria explained. “And we have been through enough that it is not too good to be true; it is just… good. So very good.”
She blushed a little at the memories of all the nights they had spent together, in his chambers, in her chambers, in the gardens, in the hunting cabin by the loch, in the library.
But Melody did not need to hear about that.
Victoria might have become more worldly, thanks to her beloved, but Melody was still innocent of such things, and, being her older sister, Victoria wanted to keep it that way until necessity dictated otherwise.
“Yes, so we have all heard,” another voice joined in, heralding Emma’s late arrival.
Victoria’s best friend had been beyond distracted since she had arrived at MacLeon Keep two days ago, her gaze drawn like a magpie to something shiny, only instead of silver, it was tall, muscular, soldierly Scottish men that had her chirping excitedly.
It had gotten to the point where Victoria had to keep reminding Emma that it was rude to stare.
Right now, however, it was Victoria’s turn to blush. “You have heard nothing. Do not say such things in front of impressionable minds.”
“My lips are sealed.” Emma pretended to turn a key against her mouth, flashing a wink at her friend.
“Goodness, how I envy you. I have half a mind just to stay here indefinitely after the wedding, but alas, my father would never permit it. He claims to be a liberal man, but I had a hard enough time convincing him to let me attend the wedding; he would collapse in a fit if he heard I never intended to return. A pity to have to abandon such… fine sights.”
Melody frowned, oblivious. “I think it looks rather like the Chiltern Hills.”
At that, Victoria and Emma erupted into laughter, which only made Melody’s frown deepen.
In the end, the poor girl rolled her eyes and stared out of the window, watching the pretty moorland drift by as the carriage took them toward the church.
But there was a small, secret smile on her face, as if she might have understood more than she let on.
All Victoria knew was that she was so very glad to have her sister and her best friend with her again, the two women having formed a friendship of their own during Melody’s unexpected stay with Emma.
Indeed, Victoria would be forever grateful that her friend had been exactly the savior they had needed, though she had never doubted that Emma would be.
Some twenty minutes later, the carriage came to a halt outside a quaint church of gray-quartz sandstone, with a gleaming slate roof.
Emma did not wait for the footman, as she booted open the door and helped Victoria down herself, with Melody following after.
Together, arms linked, the three of them passed through the gate of the churchyard and down a path of crushed seashells until they reached the sisters’ father, who looked very glad about his decision to travel alone.
“We will await your grand entrance,” Emma said, leaning in to kiss Victoria’s cheek, before she darted through the church doors. As they opened, Victoria heard the faint sound of animated chatter, igniting the first flutter of nerves in her stomach.
Melody smiled and kissed Victoria’s other cheek. “I wish you all the happiness in the world, dearest sister.”
With that, she followed Emma into the church until it was just Victoria and her father waiting at the top of the porch steps. Victoria had assumed they would wait in silence until the fiddler played them in, so it was a surprise when her father spoke.
“Are you happy, my dear girl?”
Victoria smiled. “Abundantly, Father.”
“Good. Good, I am glad of that.” He paused.
“My wedding day was the happiest of my life. I think of it, even now. I… wish your mother were here to see you looking so beautiful, so happy, though I am certain she is watching us from above, rather pleased that you have managed to get me to see sense, at last.”
With a hand on her heart, her other in her father’s grip, she nodded. “I miss her, too.”
It was the first time that he had willingly spoken about the wife he had loved and lost, and though Victoria would not get too far ahead of herself, she had a feeling that everything that happened really had been the start of her father’s recovery.
Not just from his injury, but from the grief that had driven his bad behavior for far too long.
“Shall we?” he asked as the fiddler began.
Victoria nodded. “Yes, lead me to my beloved.”
They walked into the church, greeted by rows of smiling faces, all people who had come to celebrate the joyful, unexpected union between Arran and Victoria.
But Victoria barely saw them, her eyes flitting straight to the handsome, towering man at the end of the aisle.
A man smiling back at her, his green eyes ablaze with such love that it knocked the air out of her for a moment.
She could not get to him fast enough.
As her father handed her over to Arran with a tear in his eye, Victoria felt as if a missing piece had been put back in its rightful place. She had missed her beloved, even though they had only spent one night apart since her return.
“Ye look remarkable,” Arran said. “Beautiful.”
“You look rather handsome yourself,” she replied, grinning.
Just then, she noticed the brooch pinned to his shoulder. It was new. Forgetting that she was in a room full of people, she reached out and touched it, skimming her fingertips over the shape of a lion and a unicorn, and the smooth blue agate in the middle.
“For us,” he said.
She nodded. “For us.”
The priest took that moment to welcome everyone, forcing Victoria to turn her attention away from that beautiful emblem of their love for each other.
But she did not turn her attention away from Arran, keeping her gaze fixed upon him, and his on her, as they recited their vows, binding themselves together in the eyes of God.
It was over so quickly that Victoria was tempted to ask if that was it. Then again, their vows were just a public declaration of what they had already pledged to one another in private.
“It is me privilege to pronounce ye man and wife,” the priest said. “The Laird and Lady of MacLeon. Ye may now kiss yer bride.”
As Arran bent his head to do just that, Victoria whispered, “I rather like the sound of that.”
“As do I,” he whispered back with a grin as he took her in his arms and kissed her for the first time as his Lady and his wife. The moment that marked the beginning of the rest of their lives.
Together.
The End?