Epilogue
JANE
If someone had told me a year ago that I’d be standing in the middle of a Scottish meadow, wearing a wedding dress with touches of tartan, surrounded by sheep (one of them particularly unhinged and named Hamish), about to renew my vows with a man I originally married for contractual reasons…
I probably would’ve asked what kind of hallucinogenic cocktail they’d been drinking.
And yet, here I am.
— Hold still, Jane, or I’m going to end up stabbing you with this pin, Keira scolds as she adjusts the final details of my dress.
This time, I chose it myself—and I absolutely love it.
— Sorry, I’m just nervous, I say. Which is ridiculous, considering we’re already married. It’s not like Callum’s suddenly going to realize he made a mistake and take off running across the moors.
— No, Keira confirms with a laugh. If he were going to run, he’d at least take his Jaguar. My brother has too much class to flee on foot.
— Very reassuring, thank you.
I glance at myself in the mirror, still amazed by the transformation.
My dress was custom-designed by an up-and-coming Scottish designer who captured exactly what I wanted: a piece that blends Hollywood elegance with Scottish tradition.
The ivory silk hugs my curves perfectly—thank you, Mrs. Finley’s scones for my new figure—while a McGregor tartan sash is draped elegantly over one shoulder, fastened with the silver brooch I won at the archery championship.
— You look stunning, Maggie declares as she steps into the room. My grandson is going to be knocked flat.
— Thank you, Maggie, I reply, emotion catching in my voice. For everything. Not just the compliments, but… well, for welcoming me into the family. Even when I was that clumsy American who knew nothing about your traditions.
— Oh, my dear, she says, stepping closer to adjust a strand of my hair. I accepted you the moment I saw the way you looked at Callum. Even when you thought all you felt for him was irritation.
I laugh softly.
— Was it that obvious?
— To an old woman who’s seen more complicated love stories than you’ve seen Hollywood premieres? Absolutely.
A discreet knock at the door interrupts us. It’s Jamison, as impeccable as ever in his suit, though today he wears a small piece of McGregor tartan in his buttonhole, a nod to the occasion.
— Ma’am, everything is ready, he announces with that formal dignity nothing—not even joy—seems capable of shaking. The guests are seated, and Sir is waiting for you.
— Thank you, Jamison, I say with a smile. Tell me, what do you think of the dress? Too Hollywood? Not Scottish enough?
A flicker of amusement crosses his usually impassive face.
— If I may, ma’am, your attire perfectly captures the essence of who you are: neither entirely from here nor completely from elsewhere, but exactly where you’re meant to be.
I blink, surprised by the almost poetic answer.
— Jamison, honestly, you’ve been hiding a philosopher’s soul under that British restraint, I remark, touched.
— A simple observation, ma’am, he replies, what might almost pass for a smile tugging at his lips. Allow me to add that it is an honor to serve you and Sir. You have brought… life to this house.
With that, he inclines his head slightly and leaves the room, rendering me speechless.
— Well, Keira comments, if you managed to move Jamison, you’ve officially won over every member of this household.
I take a deep breath and turn to them, suddenly flooded with emotion.
— I’m ready, I declare. Or at least as ready as one can be when about to renew vows originally spoken rather cynically in front of a disinterested civil officer.
— This time, there’ll be a lot more love in the air, Isobel assures me, handing me my bouquet of Scottish wildflowers mixed with roses grown in the estate’s greenhouses.
My mother-in-law has entered the room without us noticing.
I take the bouquet, and Isobel presses a light kiss to my cheek. Our relationship has changed so much since I decided to stay in Scotland. She’s finally accepted me. I wouldn’t go so far as to say we’re friends, but the disapproving looks are gone—and that’s a huge step forward.
Together, we leave the castle and cross the gardens to the meadow where everything has been set up.
Unlike most aristocratic Scottish weddings held in ancient churches or grand ballrooms, Callum and I chose something more intimate, more reflective of our story.
A small white marquee has been erected in the middle of the meadow where Hamish and I had our first philosophical conversations, with a breathtaking view of the hills and the castle.
Only about forty people were invited: close family, a few friends, and of course Hamish, who’s been given a special enclosure near the ceremony, decorated with flowers as if to make up for the fact that he can’t actually attend.
I insisted he wear a bow tie, but Callum wisely pointed out that, in all likelihood, Hamish would eat it—and that I probably didn’t want my ovine witness choking mid-ceremony.
As I approach, the small crowd rises. And there, at the end of the makeshift aisle lined with lanterns and wildflowers, stands Callum.
My Cal. In his traditional McGregor kilt, his dark jacket perfectly tailored, he’s simply breathtaking.
But what moves me most is the expression on his face when he sees me—that mix of awe, love, and pride lighting up features that are usually so reserved.
At his side stands Ewan, his best man, who gives me an encouraging wink.
On the other side are Keira—who clearly sprinted ahead of me to take her place—and Savannah.
My best friend was probably the most enthusiastic about this wedding 2.
0. She arrived weeks early to help with preparations and even briefly considered moving to Scotland…
before eight straight days of rain changed her mind.
The music guiding me down the aisle isn’t the traditional wedding march, but a soft Scottish melody played by a string quartet, woven with the clear notes of a lone bagpipe. It’s both solemn and joyful—exactly like this day.
When I reach Callum, I notice his eyes are shining. Callum McGregor—the man who never showed emotion when I first met him—is on the verge of tears… in front of everyone.
— You look absolutely breathtaking, he murmurs, taking my hands in his.
— You’re not so bad in a kilt yourself, I whisper back with a wink.
The village pastor, a jovial man with a white beard who looks suspiciously like Santa Claus, clears his throat to begin the ceremony.
— Dear friends, he begins in a thick Scottish accent, we are gathered here today to celebrate the renewal of Callum and Jane’s vows. Their story is, like many Scottish tales, full of unexpected twists…
I can’t help but stifle a laugh. Unexpected twists? That’s a British understatement if I’ve ever heard one—like calling the apocalypse “a bit of bad weather.”
Callum gently squeezes my hands, his gaze never leaving mine as the pastor continues speaking about love, commitment, and the mysterious paths fate sometimes takes.
— Callum and Jane have chosen to write their own vows, the pastor finally announces. Callum, would you like to begin?
My husband—my real husband this time, not just on paper—pulls a small card from his pocket. His hands tremble slightly, and it moves me more than I can say. The Callum from a year ago never would have let a hint of vulnerability show.
— Jane, he begins, his voice steady but emotional, when you came into my life, everything was planned, organized, predictable. I had clear goals, proven methods, and a well-defined vision of my future. And then… there was you.
He pauses, a smile tugging at his lips.
— You, with your contagious enthusiasm, your constant humor, your ability to turn every disaster into an adventure.
You burst into my orderly world like a hurricane in high heels, tearing through every carefully laid plan, forcing me to rethink everything I thought I knew about life, about love, about myself.
Soft laughter ripples through the crowd, and I feel my cheeks flush.
— I married you for reasons that seemed perfectly logical at the time.
A practical arrangement, beneficial to both of us.
What I didn’t anticipate was how essential you would become to my happiness.
How every day by your side would make the very idea of a life without you not just sad—but unimaginable.
His voice wavers slightly, and I draw in a deep breath to keep my own tears at bay.
— Today, I’m not simply renewing vows spoken before a pastor.
I’m making you a new promise—deeper, truer.
I promise to love you unconditionally, to support you in all your dreams, to build with you a life filled with adventure and laughter.
I promise to be your partner, your friend, your confidant—and sometimes, when the situation calls for it, the man who stops you from causing diplomatic incidents with neighboring clans.
That last remark sparks a wave of laughter, a clear reference to a recent disagreement over property boundaries—and my, let’s say… rather direct approach to inter-clan diplomacy.
— I love you, Jane Elizabeth Carter-McGregor. Not because a contract tells me to—but because my heart leaves me no other choice.
There are emotional sniffles in the crowd, and I fight not to completely fall apart. I never would have imagined Callum capable of such eloquence, such a declaration.
— Jane, it’s your turn, the pastor prompts gently.
I swallow, suddenly nervous. How do you follow that? I take out my own card, but at the last second, I slip it back into my bouquet and decide to speak from the heart.
— Callum, I begin, when we first met, I thought you were the most exasperating, rigid, and thoroughly Scottish man I had ever encountered.
Laughter ripples through the crowd, and Callum smiles.