Epilogue
Lyon was absolutely certain it was the longest three months of his life.
But he’d survived the wait, and today was his wedding day.
It was also the day after Easter, which meant spring was coming to the Highlands, and he couldn’t help but feel renewed by this season of promise and joy and rebirth. Soon, the world around them would burst into color and song, new life would be everywhere, and the metaphors abounded.
He might’ve appreciated it more without the raging cockstand.
It had been over four months since Bonnie Oliphant had insinuated herself into his life, squeezing into his solitude and forcing it wide open.
Since she’d returned—wounded—to Oliphant Castle, this old keep had been overrun with servants, workers, and well-wishers, all creating chaos in Lyon’s carefully ordered life.
And he couldn’t be happier.
Because the servants were there to help care for Bonnie, and the workers were there to ensure the publishing house was successful, and the well-wishers…well, he couldn’t deny he liked his family well enough, even if his brothers could be arses.
“I am really quite proud of ye, brother,” Keith was saying nonchalantly as he brushed an imaginary speck of dust from Lyon’s collar. “I always suspected that falling in love would drag ye, kicking and screaming, into the light.”
Lyon shrugged off the other man’s fussing touch and folded his arms, not caring if he wrinkled his jacket and waistcoat.
“I loved Rose,” he grunted, even knowing the protest was false.
Aye, he’d loved his first wife, but the connection he had with Bonnie was far and away the most magnificent thing he’d ever experienced in his life.
But that was only because he hadn’t made love to her yet.
He’d spent every night of the last three months holding her as she slept, but soon, he’d be under the blankets with her, holding her naked body to his…
and he was sure this level of self-denial wasn’t healthy.
His sexual frustration was affecting his decision-making, for God’s sake!
“Try to smile, Lyon,” Keith hissed “Ye look as if ye swallowed vinegar.”
“I always look that way. It’s the scars.”
His brother snorted and settled at his side, arms folded in an identical pose.
The man was broader in the shoulders lately.
With Lyon “settled”—as he called the new hustle and bustle of the castle—Keith had begun to take his pugilism skills elsewhere, and was now gaining a reputation as a bare-knuckled champion.
“But ye cannae look that way today, because ye’re marrying the woman ye love,” Keith murmured. “Who, by the way, looks magnificent.”
His gaze jerked to his brother. “Ye’ve seen her? Is she feeling well? She’s no’ overwhelmed?”
“Yer bride is strong, Lyon, and fully recovered. She’ll no’ even limp down the aisle to ye, I vow. But…” Keith snorted and shook his head. “I suspect she’s as desperate for the wedding night as ye are. I’ve never kenned two people to deny themselves for so long!”
“She was wounded,” he grumbled, as he rolled his shoulders, then dropped his arms. “I didnae want to risk her healing.”
No matter how difficult it had been to keep from consummating their love.
Clearing his throat, he adjusted the sporran which rested against his kilt, preventing the tenting from being too obvious. “Besides, I dinnae need to take pointers on making love from my wee brother, eh?”
“Why? I have some good ones,” Keith quipped with a wink.
Lyon groaned, knowing his brother was finally—finally spreading his wings and finding his own future. Months ago, he’d shied away from thanking Keith properly for all he’d done for Lyon after the fire, but now that he was leaving…
“Thank ye,” Lyon blurted.
When his brother glanced at him in confusion, Lyon cleared his throat and shifted his gaze across the great hall. “Thank ye for being here with me all these years. For fussing over me and dragging me back to life and worrying about me and helping me exercise.”
He could feel Keith’s eyes on him, but the younger man didn’t say anything for a long moment. Then he cleared his throat and said, “Dinnae forget dusting yer study.”
Lyon’s lips twitched, remembering how much of a beast he’d been when Mrs. Oliphant had rearranged his papers. “Aye, and dusting my study.” He took a deep breath and shifted slightly, so he could meet his brother’s gaze. “Thank ye, Keith.”
The younger man’s freckled face split into a grin and he dropped his arms. “I was glad to do it, Lyon. Ye needed me, and I needed a purpose in life.”
“And now ye’ve found another, aye?”
Keith, always better at expressing his emotions, clasped Lyon on the shoulder. “Now that ye nae longer need me, ye mean? Now that ye’re marrying the woman ye love and have a future enriching the minds of readers across Britain?”
“Aye,” Lyon growled at the teasing. “That.”
The younger man grinned and patted his shoulder again. “I’m going to London. One of my promoters tells me I have a chance at competing against the best the country can offer. I’ll train and I’ll fight, and I’m going to make a name for myself.”
Suddenly overwhelmed with pride for his younger brother, Lyon dropped his arms, reached out, and pulled Keith into a tight embrace, causing them both to grunt.
He pounded the redheaded man on his back, and felt Keith exhale and sink into the hug.
“I’m proud of ye, Keith,” he murmured. “I dinnae have cause to be—”
“Dinnae be stupid,” his brother interrupted, poking him in the side. “Ye’re the one who let me practice against ye all these years.”
Keith’s practice of the pugilism skills he’d learned at school were what had kept Lyon alive. Without the constant competition, the drive to push his muscles and body and mind to heal, Lyon would have wasted away after the fire.
He knew the truth; he owed his brother far more than he could ever repay.
“Anything ye need,” he announced gruffly, pulling away far enough to clasp Keith’s shoulders and pin him with a serious glare. “Money, introductions, anything. Ye tell me, and it’s yers.”
His younger brother might be illegitimate, but he was the son of an earl, and understood how beneficial such connections could be. His wry smile told Lyon as much.
“Thank ye, brother. I’ll take ye up on that. I’m going to win on my own merit, but getting into the right clubs and bouts would make things faster at least.”
Lyon patted him on the shoulder, then dropped his hand, swallowing past the lump in his throat. “Thank ye, Keith. For everything. I…I love ye.”
The other man’s brows rose. “And I love ye. I figure I’d better say it now, since ye’re obviously feeling maudlin and willnae mention it again.”
“I’m no’ feeling maudlin.” Lyon settled back into his folded-arms pose, scowling at nothing at all across the great hall. “I’m getting married today.”
“Och, aye, and ye’re full of all sorts of emotions.” Keith’s shoulder knocked against his, and Lyon had to swallow down a smile. “Like love. For me.”
“Aye, but I’ll no’ repeat myself, ye arsehole.”
“Noted, ye wee dobber. Now, are ye ready?”
“Ready for what?”
Keith chuckled. “Ready for the rest of yer life. Because here comes yer bride, and the wedding will start soon.”
Perhaps he said more after that, but Lyon had stopped listening at “Here comes yer bride,” and whirled about to see, aye, Bonnie descending the stairs in that beautiful, stately manner of hers.
She looked…magnificent.
The gown she wore was a simple white one, thanks to the fashions the queen had started, but his bonnie lass didn’t need anything fancy to look like royalty. She held herself as if she possessed all the confidence in the world, and he knew that was what made her so beautiful.
The wounds on her head had healed, and now her scalp was a rough patch of scars, which he assured her would improve in time.
Tiffany kept bringing her strange ointments and foul-smelling unguents to rub on the scars to soften them, but Lyon made certain to kiss them daily and assure her she was still beautiful.
A compliment she regularly brushed off with a laugh, but if she could love him, burns and all, then she’d have to accept he loved her scars as part of her.
Now they were either both beauties, or both beasts, and they chuckled often, arguing both sides of the debate.
Today, she’d covered her scars with a magnificent turban—white, of course—set with blue stones, which matched the sapphires she wore around her neck and on her ears. Lyon was absolutely certain he’d never seen anything more perfect as his bride descending the stairs to him.
Somehow, he’d arrived at the bottom of the steps to reach her, and when she stepped into his arms, he kissed her. The whole thing felt like a dream…or a fairy tale. Heaven knows there must’ve been some amount of magic to have brought them together so perfectly.
“Are ye ready, my love?”
Smiling, she linked her arm through his. “For ye, Lyon? Always.”
Bonnie shivered as her husband—husband—began to gently unwind the elaborate turban Tiffany had taken such care with. Seated in front of the mirror, she watched Lyon’s reflection as he took care with his task.
“How long do you think everyone will celebrate downstairs?” she asked quietly, and was rewarded by a twitch of Lyon’s lips, even though he didn’t look up.
“Frankly, I dinnae care. I trust Keith and Da and Mrs. Oliphant to keep them in line. Are ye sure ye dinnae mind hosting such a small celebration?”
“No, it was perfect.”
It had been. Bonnie knew she’d remember her wedding day for the rest of her life.
Only their families had been present—she’d even invited her mother, who had bragged about her daughter “catching” the laird’s heir, even though everyone, including Bonnie, had ignored her—and the wedding had taken place in the castle’s great hall.
The celebration was there too, but there was limited space, what with their new publishing house taking up half the great hall.
She cleared her throat. “I have a gift for you, husband.”