Epilogue #2
It could have gone on forever, had a pounding, demanding knock on the castle door, not ceased the music and then the dancing.
Lachlan and Aila exchanged weary glances.
James rose to his feet and nodded to a few of the men stationed on the perimeter of the wall.
Oliver moved just enough to plant himself in front of Sorcha, nearly eclipsing her with his broad shoulders.
Creaking hinges and the sound of one of the servants opening the door drifted in.
“I do not care what I am interrupting. You will let me pass! I have traveled too far to be stopped now.”
The insistent voice ushered in a sense of dread into the Great Hall.
Oliver’s hand settled firmly on the dagger he wore on his belt.
Sorcha reached for hers likewise. They were all so absorbed in waiting for the owner of the voice to appear that no one noticed the rustling happening on the outskirts of the room.
Pounding footsteps grew louder until the man appeared at the threshold of the Great Hall.
He looked to be a simple man, clothes plain and well-worn, but just as well-kept.
Bags, dark and large, hung under his eyes, proving that he had spoken true in regards to his travels.
Sorcha could have sworn she had seen the man before, but couldn’t place him.
“What is the meaning of this?” Lachlan demanded, stepping forward to fulfill his role as Laird. “We are in the midst of a private celebration and ye, a stranger, come barreling in? What is yer purpose in coming here?”
“Forgive my intrusion,” he spoke, addressing the room as he scanned it. “But I have ridden a very long way in search of someone. She was supposed to be here.”
Lachlan tilted his chin up, studying the man through his lowered eyes.
“Who is the lass?”
Before the man could answer, a flash of pink, soft and dreamy, burst through the crowd, flinging itself at the stranger.
“Brandon!”
He caught her, holding Laura tightly by the waist, burrowing his head into her neck.
“Ye are alive,” she cried, gripping him just as tightly. “Ye are here.”
Isobel and Graham stepped forward, as did James and Taryn. They hesitated to put an end to the reuniting, however, as this was the most emotion Laura had shown in the last two weeks.
“You made it,” he said at the same time. “You survived. You were fast enough to escape.”
“The stable master,” Sorcha whispered, finally placing where she had seen Brandon before.
Stepping forward, Oliver close at her heels, Sorcha put a hand on Laura’s shoulder.
“I take it this is the man we are all indebted to?”
“Indebted?” Lachlan exclaimed.
“Sorcha, what are ye saying?”
“Who is this?”
“How do ye ken who he is?”
The questions streamed in all at once. Slowly, ever so slowly, Brandon eased Laura to the ground, though she stayed tucked in at his side. She peered up at Sorcha sheepishly, while Brandon studied the bride warily.
“You are Dudley’s stable master,” Oliver blurted out, having put the pieces together himself.
As soon as the Baron’s name was mentioned, the room shifted into something tense. Every man reached for his weapon, every guard stood at the ready. Children hid behind their mother’s skirts as the women backed away from the traveler.
“He is the one who gave me those letters,” Laura said, loud enough for the room to hear. “He put me on Dudley’s fastest horse, gave me all I would need to make it here. It is because of him that the battle was won.”
She looked up adoringly at the man, who returned her smile with one of his own, albeit a bit more strained. Sorcha smiled to herself.
“This is the man ye told me about, then?” she asked Laura, earning a blush from her friend.
“Och!” Taryn jolted. “The gloves. This is the glove man!”
All three girls had heard Laura’s tales of love.
She had unwillingly, at first, shared them over a bottle of whiskey, late one night when they had finally sat Laura down and asked her to tell her story.
Tears and giggles and swoons at Brandon’s heroics had been the order of the night.
But none of them were naive enough to think the stablemaster had survived Dudley’s wrath or that he would ever show up at Kincaid Castle looking for her.
Laura fished into her pockets and pulled out the leather gloves. She pressed them into Brandon’s hands with a flush.
“They kept me safe and warm,” she told him. “But now that ye are here, I dinnae need them any longer.”
Seemingly unable to stop himself, Brandon swung Laura low, dipping her over his leg.
With his cap covering their faces, he kissed her.
Cheers erupted from the room, laughter, and joy replacing the tension.
When the couple stood, Laura pink from her ears to her fingertips, Lachlan clapped Brandon on the shoulder and welcomed him in.
“Come, have a mug of ale. I say ye deserve that verra much. My men will see to yer horse. Ye will have a room here as long as ye need it. I only ask that ye tell me how ye managed to out the devil!”
Laura beamed. For the rest of the night, her smile didn’t shift an inch. Nor did her place at Brandon’s side.
“And now Auntie Sorcha has married an English lord. But dinnae fash, Mum. He is the good kind. I think it will be helpful for us to have an ally in Lord Blackwood. He insists that we call him ‘Uncle’ instead of ‘Lord’. I try to remember, but sometimes it still feels weird.”
Arran looked up at the painting that hung proudly over the mantle.
Lachlan had placed the gilded frame there, in his study, alongside Sean’s favorite whiskey and Anna’s favorite books.
A small wooden rabbit that Lachlan had whittled for Arran’s lost baby sister sat on top of the mantle beside them.
It was a tribute to Arran’s family, his first family anyways.
Given so that he could come talk to his parents anytime he wanted.
The boy had found himself longing to assure his parents that all was well halfway through the wedding feast. Guilt for celebrating had eaten at him until he snuck into Lachlan’s study to gaze up at the portrait of his parents.
“I hope ye dinnae mind that we are happy,” he told them softly.
“I think it is what ye would want for me. For all of us. Uncle Loch is a good Laird. And Auntie Aila loves me well. I think ye would have liked her, Mum. She sneaks me sweets when Uncle Loch is nae looking. And he has let me continue training. He says I need it if I am going to be Laird one day. Can ye imagine? Me? Laird. But Uncle Loch says that I am his eldest son, so it is my right.”
He paused for a long moment. For the first time in years, he felt his age—young and frightened, but still hopeful for what the world would hold for him.
“Maybe, if it would be all right with ye, and if it is all right with them, I could call Uncle Loch and Auntie Aila ‘Mum and Da.’ I think they would like that. And it would be less confusing for everyone. Especially since Elsie and Christopher have started calling them that.”
“I think they would understand if ye wanted to call us that. And we would be honored.”
Aila’s gentle voice, coming from the doorway, had Arran spinning around. His cheeks flushed, embarrassed that he had been caught talking to his parent’s portrait.
“But only if ye want,” Lachlan added. “Ye can call us whatever ye would like. We will love ye all the same.”
Arran nodded slowly, bashfully. Lachlan and Aila stepped into the room, closing the door behind them. To his surprise, they didn’t address him, but spoke to the painting as he had been doing.
“I ken that we never got the chance to meet,” Aila said softly, “but I like to think that I ken ye both well already. I see yer strength and kindness and bravery in yer son every day. I see yer smile and yer humor in his eyes. He is the most wonderful lad, and I swear to ye both that I will love him and raise him as if he were my own. I will try to do right by ye. I will try to do ye proud.”
Her vows made tears build in his eyes. Arran tucked himself in between Aila and Lachlan. He held her hand tightly, while Lachlan put a strong hand of his own on the boy’s shoulder.
“Sean,” Lachlan started, his voice gruff with emotion, “ye have always been my brother. Anna, ye my sister. I cannae imagine what this clan will be like without ye in it, but it is a great solace to me that Arran is here to continue on in yer legacy. I made a vow to ye on his christening day that I would protect him with my life and love him with my whole heart, and I intend to fulfill that promise. Though he will always be yer son, he is mine now too. And I thank ye for the honor of sharing him with ye.”
Tears streamed down Arran’s face, unimpeded. He clung to his parents, their love healing a deep fracture in his heart.
“Arran,” Lachlan said, swinging the boy into his arms for a hug. “We have something to tell ye.”
The little family sat on the two chairs in front of the fire, Sean and Anna peering down at them all, with Arran perched in Lachlan’s lap.
“We mean every word, lad,” Lachlan promised. “Ye are our family now. There is nothing that could ever change that.”
He nodded.
“We hope that ye will be all right, though, with our family changing a wee bit,” Aila hedged.
“What do ye mean?” Arran asked, drying his face and looking at Aila.
“Ye are going to be a big brother before Christmas.”
He blinked, slowly at first. And then he bounded from Lachlan and threw himself at Aila.
“Do ye mean it? Truly? A new bairn! Do ye think he will play swords with me? Will I have to change any of the nappies? I could sleep in the nursery and help take care of him at night.”
“We dinnae ken if it will be a wee lad or a wee lass, but we ken ye will be the verra best big brother.”
Nearly bouncing off the walls with joy, Arran asked a hundred more questions. Lachlan and Aila could only laugh. Three children and one on the way, a growing clan, more allies than the Kincaids had ever known. They were in for a lifetime of adventure.
And Arran could not be more thrilled about it. For he knew that they would do it as it was supposed to be—together.
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