Epilogue
ONE YEAR LATER
By the time Emma reached the stable yard, it was already happening.
Men were speaking over one another in low, strained voices while the cow lay on her side in the straw, flanks jerking with each effort. Blood streaked her hind legs, and the smell hung thick in the hot air. A stable boy knelt by her head, his hands hanging uselessly, eyes too wide.
Emma dropped to her knees by the cow’s hindquarters before her mind caught up. She ignored the way the straw scratched through her gown and shoved her sleeves to her elbows. Her hair was tied back tightly so nothing could fall over her face.
A year ago, her body would have locked. The red on the cow’s legs would have swallowed everything else. Her vision would have tunneled, and her knees would have given out.
Today her hands stayed steady.
“The head is there,” Jenny said, calm as if this were the most casual thing in the world. She crouched beside Emma and pressed a folded cloth into her hand. “We help her breathe through it.”
Soon, the calf was delivered. It was the most beautiful thing Emma had ever seen.
“Look at you,” she cooed, staring at the calf with nothing but joy in her heart. “I will call you Joy. You look like a Joy.”
Isobel came to her side, gown darkened where it had caught the mess. “Well?”
Emma took the cloth and wiped her wrists. Her fingers trembled now that the work was done, but it was only the body catching up, not terror.
“Yes,” she said, her voice level. “I am ready.”
Isobel’s smile was quick and bright. She squeezed Emma’s hand tightly, then turned to help Jenny rub the calf dry.
Emma pushed herself to her feet. The first step was shaky. She went to the pump yard and washed until her skin felt like her own again. Clean water, rough soap, simple things. Then she changed into a fresh gown and riding cloak and crossed the inner courtyard.
The castle no longer felt like something that had dropped on top of her life. She had now found her place and could live properly in it without worrying about anything else.
She mounted her horse without thinking twice about it, and a groom passed her the reins.
“Me Lady,” he said.
The road to the shore curved between low green hills while the green grass brushed the horse’s legs.
The air was thick with the salt of the sea and the faint sweetness of the sandy banks.
People looked up as she rode past, their hands lifted.
A woman nodded and went back to her washing.
No one crossed themselves at the sight of the pirate’s English wife.
At the dock, the world narrowed to wood and water and work.
The men there shouldered crates toward a ship at anchor while others spread out nets that required mending. Emma spotted an old man writing numbers on a board, and a part of her wondered if this was the easiest job they could find for him.
“Me Lady,” one of the men greeted, lowering his head in a short bow.
Emma smiled. “Has anyone seen my husband?”
The man gestured to the end of the pier, and Emma turned in that direction.
Logan stood there, his shirt open at the throat, speaking with two old sailors. He turned as if he had felt her before he heard the horse.
The warmth on his face still managed to surprise her. He had kept his jaw clean these past weeks; the hard pirate lines were still there, only clearer.
“What mischief are ye bringing me at this hour?” he called over the sound of the waves.
Emma swung down from the saddle, and the horse pushed its nose against her sleeve. She laid her palm on its neck until her breathing slowed.
“None,” she replied. “For once.”
He glanced past her up the track, as if expecting a goat or a stray hen to appear at her heel. When he saw there was only her, his shoulders dropped an inch.
“What brings ye here, then?” he asked. “Have ye changed yer mind about ships?”
Emma crossed toward him, the planks shifting under her boots. “I came to tell you something.”
He gave his men a quick nod, and they retreated without a fuss. He stayed where he was, close enough now for her to see the pale line on his forearm—the mark of an old fight.
“All right,” he murmured. “Tell me.”
She thought of the straining cow, of the calf on the straw, of her own hands in that mess, steady when they needed to be.
“A year ago, I could not look at blood without shaking,” she began. “I was sure if I carried a child, I would die before I met it. Or be left to do it alone.”
“Aye.” His eyes never left her face. “I ken.”
“This morning,” she said, “I helped bring a calf into this world.” The corner of her mouth twitched. “There was blood. I stayed anyway.”
He held her gaze for a long moment. Then he shook his head once, as if he could not quite believe her and was proud he had to.
“Ye have more courage than me, Emma,” he praised.
She let out a breath that was almost a laugh. “It is not courage. It is enough of fear. I am tired of letting it choose for us.”
The hard lines around his eyes softened. “So ye are ready now,” he said. “For what comes.”
“For home,” she answered. “For you.”
She took his hand and brought it to rest low on her belly. His knuckles felt solid through the fabric. Her belly was still flat, nothing yet to see, but she felt the change in her body all the same.
“I am with child,” she announced.
Logan did not move. His fingers spread a little, careful, as if the wrong pressure might hurt her.
“Are ye sure?” His voice came out rough.
She smiled, small and certain. “Yes.”
For a moment, the dock fell silent. The waves, the screams from all corners, and the sound of the occasional seagull all faded into the background.
“Look at ye,” he murmured, a smile resting easy on his face. “Walking straight at the thing ye feared and dragging me along with ye.”
“Well, someone must,” she quipped.
He let out a short, shaky laugh. Then the space between them vanished. He pulled her in and kissed her there on the pier, with tar under his boots and salt in the air.
A few men nearby whooped and then found reasons to turn away. Once, they might have jeered. Today, they kept their mirth to themselves.
Emma did not care who watched. When they broke apart, she rested her forehead against his.
“I love you,” she said. The words sat steady in her mouth.
“I love ye too,” he answered. “And I cannae wait to meet our dear little boy.”
She looked up at him. “Really?”
He shrugged. “What? Ye daenae think it is going to be a boy?”
“I think it is too early to tell.”
“‘Tis never too early.”
She laughed in response, and his hand stayed on her belly.
Behind them, the ship rocked where it was tied, held instead of calling him away. Ahead, the path up to the castle waited, stone catching the light.
A life was coming, and she couldn’t be more excited to meet it together.
The End?