Epilogue
T he wedding bells of Crathie Kirk can be heard for miles around Balmoral. Melodious chimes filter into the landscape as though it is as natural of a sound as the breeze in the leaves, or the bees in the heather.
The king ordered that none of the staff may remain in the castle whilst the nuptials are being held and consequently the whole of Balmoral, including the king and queen themselves, have gathered with rice and confetti. It’s a humble parish church of stone and steeples, tucked away in a pocket of pine trees, and there really is no scene more perfect for a wedding. With a ceiling made of the trees that surround it, the whole thing bows over the pews with its warm grain.
Walking down the aisle with Sophie by my side, I see him for the first time all day. Fraser Bell, my love, my piper, stands at the altar tall and proud, like an idol carved in marble, with a beauty so divine that he would be impossible not to worship. Every step towards him seems to draw more light into the room, as though it is him emitting it. Though I have spent almost every day with him for the past year, I still never tire of the sight of him. I certainly couldn’t tire of the sight of him, in his ceremonial kilt, stood so magnificently before the congregation with a tear welling in his eye.
Watching me from the moment I set foot through the door, his eyes have not left me as he observes each of my steps with such a gaze of love, I could combust beneath this stained-glass window and still feel like the most beautiful object within reach. When Sophie and I slide into the pew closest to the front, he finally steals a breath from his bagpipes and with it, offers me a wink that makes me blush just as much as it did the very first time.
When all of the guests have filtered in, including Eilidh who slots in beside Sophie with a kiss, Fraser’s playing diminuendos to welcome the groom. Jimmy walks the aisle by himself, stopping at each row to say his hellos and chat with each of his guests just a little too long so that the minister has to retrieve him at halfway to tell him the bride has almost arrived. Placing his pipes in their box, Fraser takes his place on the shoulder of the groundskeeper, where they exchange a few words I can’t hear, and Fraser plucks what looks to be straw from Jimmy’s wisping hair.
Then, after a short announcement, we all get to our feet and it is the organ that declares the bride is here. With the wooden doors thrown open, we all turn to look as she takes her first steps over the threshold. Mary Buchanan, shrouded in white, smiles her own way down the aisle, towards the man she is to love for the rest of her life. She doesn’t need anyone to give her away, nor does she need to maintain her usually stern facade. Right here, before all those who love her, she is exactly herself, and there is no doubting how Jimmy managed to fall for her. By the time she reaches him, the both of them cry silently over their smiles and Jimmy’s first order of service is to take his handkerchief from his pocket and dab her cheeks.
The ceremony ends with a kiss, and not a dry eye in the church, and the bells play us out. Following behind the bride and groom, Fraser stops at my pew to offer me his hand. We walk arm in arm, and he strokes his thumb over my knuckles in an absentminded gesture as Eilidh and Sophie filter in behind us.
When all of us gather for a photo, I finally say the words I have been holding in since the very first time I saw the way the housekeeper and groundskeeper looked at one another. ‘Would you prefer me to say “I told you so” now, or at the reception?’ Sophie shoves me playfully and Fraser kisses my hair as he shakes his head with a grin.
‘I don’t think Cupid is quite trembling at the thought of losing his job just yet.’ Sophie chuckles. ‘But I am glad it was this one you got right.’
‘I hope you both haven’t forgotten about our bet?’ I look between my boyfriend and best friend with a mischievous glint in my eye. Sophie’s face contorts in confusion, whereas Fraser, clearly knowing what I’m referring to, widens his eyes and scratches the back of his neck with a cough.
‘Bet?’ Sophie says innocently.
‘That was just a joke, right?’ Fraser tries to laugh, though when I wiggle my eyebrows with intent, his voice cracks a little. ‘ Right ?’
‘Remember many moons ago when I swore blind that we’d see old Jimmy and Mrs B married and you two Debbie Downers thought I was insane?’ My grin only tightens.
‘Of course. How could anyone forget?’ Sophie rolls her eyes.
‘Well don’t you remember that we made the bet that if they married within two years you two would streak through the maze?’
Fraser pales and Sophie’s mouth drops open with the recollection.
‘Incredible.’ Eilidh bursts into laughter as the other two share a look of fear.
‘I shall be cashing in my bet before the week is out,’ I say, winking.
Before they can protest, someone clears their throat to make an announcement to the crowd.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, the bride and groom invite you to continue the celebrations at Braemar Community Centre. Please make way for your transport.’ The minister steps aside as Hamish and DeeDee canter up the country track, manes sleek, ribbons braided into their tails, and hauling a wagon filled with bales of hay.
I shake my head with a laugh. ‘Of course,’ I whisper to myself.
Sneaking away from her photographer, the bride – Mrs Mary Campbell – grabs something from the trailer and makes her way towards us. After exchanging congratulations and kisses, she hands me a pair of gloves and an umbrella with an amused grin.
‘Got these just for you, hen … since Jim told me off the last time.’ The memories of my first day in Balmoral come flooding back: the damp hack on Hamish’s back, my frozen fingers, my angst against the world, and my cluelessness as to what was to come. Squeezing Fraser’s hand at my side, I know that even if the heavens open and our dresses and suits get soaked, the real storm passed long ago, and anything by his side is no more than a drizzle.
When all of the guests begin to pile into the wagon, I spot a familiar face amongst them. ‘Viscount Theo Fairfax?’ I call to my cousin as he helps a redhead onto a bale. ‘Taken to crashing country weddings now?’
‘Cousin, cousin, cousin.’ He leaps down and embraces me. ‘Do you really think you were the first pain in the arse our family had banished to Balmoral in hopes Mrs B and the wilderness could straighten you out?’
‘I hear it didn’t work for you. Wasn’t it the Tower of London they sent you to after that?’ I chuckle, remembering the papers from two years ago when he disappeared from the face of the earth after being caught playing dress-up in some muddy field.
Flashing his ring finger, adorned with a gold engraved wedding band, he smiles a soft, genuine smile. ‘Worked out just perfectly if one may say so.’
‘Good,’ I reply, taking another look at his redhead, then at mine as he mingles with his sister and my best friend. If one rogue royal can get his happily ever after, then perhaps there is hope for the rest of us.
With cousin Theo restless to get back to his wife, I take this moment alone to watch Fraser from a distance. With my work in the community centres still expanding and taking me up and down the country, there is nothing greater than coming home to Scotland, home to him. It didn’t take the king long to request for him to transfer back to Balmoral, especially after my particularly public declaration (of which he was rather proud and insisted that it was his influence that had made it so).
But things aren’t quite what they used to be. With Jimmy finally taking some time for himself and his new bride, he realised he needed a little more help in the grounds. And so, Fraser Bell became Balmoral’s latest stable master, with a promise to the king that he would continue his Piper to the Sovereign duties during the summer months when the family holiday in Scotland. I like to think that both of our dreams came true in Balmoral. After a long day, there is no greater comfort than heading home to our little cabin in the woods, and lying down on the rug together before the log burner where we can say anything we want, or nothing at all.
Life with Fraser Bell is peaceful. There is no need for flashy parties, or great displays of wealth. I am the richest woman in the world knowing that I get to wake up next to him every day in our little pinch of paradise.
My parents haven’t bothered to trouble me since I ‘humiliated them’ at the Ghillies Ball last year. Though I invite them to visit my home in the Highlands, I know they won’t ever come. And I’m almost glad. I have found my own family in Balmoral. Mrs Buchanan – sorry, Mrs Campbell – is more of a mother than I could have ever asked for, and she still scolds me for asking her to do my washing every now and again. I have found sisters in Sophie and Eilidh who make sure to stop by every weekend for a Sunday roast and a hand with planning their own wedding. Jimmy is the father/grandfather figure anyone could dream of. And my heart is too full to be troubled by the empty space left behind by my mother and father.
I hardly think of Kitty. The last I heard of her, she had begun an affair with Atticus Beaumont and the scandal of it all sent his fiancée packing back to Liechtenstein along with his chances at finally getting his royal title. Feeling nothing for him, or Kitty in fact, I am only glad that no innocent woman has been handed the sentence of having to spend her life with Atticus.
Wandering up to the group again, I wrap my arms around Fraser’s waist and look up at him with a grin of admiration.
‘What are you so happy about?’ He chuckles, brushing a strand of hair from my brow.
‘Just you.’ I kiss his cheek, and the piper blushes under my touch.
It turns out fairy tales don’t actually come close to an accurate representation of love. My love for Fraser Bell is far more than any sonnet or speech or love story could ever contain. Love can’t be bundled up into words or song. My love for him is the trees; it is the ground beneath my feet; it is Scotland, the pearl of the world, and a pocket of the universe too beautiful to be retold.
Bad days will still happen. Just because I am loved, it doesn’t mean my sadness is suddenly eradicated like a villain defeated once and for all. The villain will return, for a sequel, a trilogy, maybe even a franchise. But each time that villain is weaker. Each time, I am better equipped for battle. And each time, I have faith in the knowledge that happy always comes after.