Epilogue
Innes inhaled deeply as she sat at her desk, staring at the letter that bore her brother’s crest.
It had arrived that morning, and she had been delaying opening it since then, too worried about what would be waiting on the other side to split the seal and read it.
It had been a few days since Isobel had been sent back to the Anderson Keep. Innes had prayed that it had finally gotten through her head that Lachlan wanted nothing to do with her and that whatever twisted games she had been playing with him were well and truly done with.
But what would her brother make of it all?
These accusations were being leveled against the woman he had married, after all.
And he had clearly been enamored with her, in the way that Isobel seemed to be able to twist men with ease around her little finger.
Innes was not sure if she was ready for the possibility that Arthur might scold her for spinning such stories against the woman he loved—if he took her side with all of this…
She forced all that out of her mind and tore open the letter. She could ponder all day long, but she would be better off finding out one way or another. Bringing the letter to the desk, she flattened it out and began to read.
Dearest sister, it began.
I cannot begin to tell you how distressed I was to hear of the nightmare Isobel put you through…
Her heart rested as she read through the rest of the letter, which was blotched with large spots of ink where he had clearly let his pen linger as he tried to make sense of exactly what he was supposed to say.
She could almost picture him, the furrow in his brow, the look on his face as he tried to make sense of it all.
As much as Isobel might have attempted to push a wedge between them, he was still her brother, still the man who had cared for her and provided for her for so many years, and that care was written in every word of this letter.
He had received all the evidence they had against Isobel; the letters she had written to both of them and the notes that had attempted to coax them both into her grasp.
Even if he wanted to, it would have been difficult to deny what she had done, as painful as it might have been and as foolish as it might have made him feel.
He swore to her that he would bring Isobel to justice for what she had tried to do. His heartbreak seemed etched into the letter, and she ached for him, wishing she could have been there at his side to assure him that none of this was his fault, though she doubted he would have believed her anyway.
Towards the end of the letter, he promised he would visit when he was feeling better, though it was hard for her to imagine that would come anytime soon.
And he offered his apologies to Lachlan, too, for being so quick to judge him.
Lachlan would be glad for that, she was sure of it.
Because all he wanted in the world was for her to be happy, and nothing could have made her happier than knowing that her brother and her husband were finally on the same page—even if it had taken the awful betrayal of Isobel to make it happen.
By the time she finished reading the letter, the ink had been marred by a few happy tears.
Her heart was full, as much as it hurt for her brother.
And she knew she had to find Lachlan to tell him about this.
He had been fussing over her something awful the last few days, since she had returned from the river, no matter how much she tried to assure him that there was nothing for him to concern himself with.
She wandered along to his study, only to find it empty.
It wasn’t until she caught sight of him through the window that she realized where he was, down in the gardens, amongst the late blooms that filled the ground.
She could not help but smile, seeing him down there.
In some ways, he looked so out of place, a Laird amongst the daisies, but she would not have had him any other way.
Making her way down the stairs, she paused for a moment in the archway that led to the garden, watching him where he stood amongst the lavender, chrysanthemums, and echinacea, the scents mingling in the air.
He stooped to pluck daisies from the ground, filling his hand with the white and yellow blooms, until he caught sight of her out of the corner of his eye and straightened up.
“By the Saints,” she teased. “My fearsome Laird in a daisy patch? I never thought I’d see the day…”
“Well, since you seem to find these things so fascinating,” he remarked lightly, striding over to join her. “I thought it only fair I see what all the fuss was about for mysel’.”
She bit her lip as he drew up in front of her, all memory of why she had come to see him here in the first place forgotten. He lifted one of the flowers he had plucked from the garden and slipped it into her golden hair, nestling it between her braids carefully.
"Just like on our wedding day,” he remarked.
“You remember that I wore flowers then?”
“I remember everything about you fae that day," he responded as he slipped the daisies into her hair. “Though you look more beautiful now than you did then.”
She giggled as he finished his adornment of her, slipping his hands beneath her neck and pulling her into a kiss, the kind of kiss that made breath feel like a second thought, his mouth hungry and searching in the same moment.
The scent of the daisies danced around them, the distant sound of birds calling to each other brightening the air of the garden.
And, when he pulled back, he was smiling.
“Did you come here to tell me something, lass?”
She shook her head. It could wait. Her mind had strayed somewhere else entirely, somewhere entirely more exciting.
“Later,” she slipped her hand into his. “Come, our chambers are waiting.”
He chuckled but made no move to stop her, allowing her to lead him up the stairs to their room once more. The late afternoon sunlight made the place look alight with gold, and, as he drew her into his arms properly, the letter from her brother was all but forgotten.
“If only ye’d kenned how much I longed fer you on our wedding day,” he whispered, as his lips traced her cheek. “The things I would have done to you, given the chance…”
“Well, you have it now,” she teased him. “So show me. What would you have done?”
“I would have stripped that dress from you, for a start,” he murmured.
His hands slid along the back of her gown, finding the ties that kept it shut, and made quick work of pulling them apart, pushing the dress so that it pooled around her feet and left her in nothing but her underthings.
He paused for a moment, letting his gaze stray all over her body, a low growl sounding at the back of his throat before he tore aside the flimsy fabric and lifted her from her feet.
She laughed as he carried her towards the bed, the only thing still left upon her body the flowers that he had placed so delicately in her hair, turning her into the version of herself that he had wanted so badly.
And, as he laid her down, he pounced on top of her, his mouth coming to her neck.
He wished to taste the very spot where her pulse beat beneath her skin.
“And I would have touched you like this,” he whispered into her ear, as his hand coaxed her legs apart, finding that most sensitive part of her that ached whenever she was in his presence. She gasped, letting out a small noise as she did so, and he pressed a kiss to her lips.
“Aye, and that’s the sound I imagined you would make,” he teased as he moved his fingers inside of her, his manhood swelling at her hip, flooded with the very same desire that he’d had to contain on that fateful night.
Her body was rising now, pushing up against him, her fingers in his hair as her locks splayed out around her, dotted with the white petals of the daisies where they still clung to her braids.
“Though I couldnae have restrained myself fer long,” he admitted, as he climbed astride her, pushing his knee between her legs as he wound his fingers around hers. “I would have craved more… more than you’d been willing to give me back then.”
Her chest was rising and falling now so swiftly she could almost feel the heat of her breath in her throat. How was it that, after all this time, his touch still thrilled her as much as it did? It was as though her body had been tuned to the key of his voice, playing only for him.
She drank in the sight of him as he knelt up between her legs, drawing her hips up to meet his as he pulled aside his kilt.
His manhood stood proudly as he took himself into his hand, guiding himself towards her, not taking his eyes off her for a moment, wanting to enjoy every moment of her reaction.
He thrust into her in one motion, and she cried out. The sound sparkled in the sunlight around them. His hips flexed into hers, and he let out a deep groan, he could feel it throbbing through his veins just the same way she could hers.
“Lachlan… Dinnae stop!”
She reached for his face, cupping it in her hand so she could guide his eyes down to her, and he turned his head to plant a kiss against her palm before he began to move inside of her with more intent.
“Och, lass. There is no end to my desire fer ye.”
She could already feel it, the pressure building within her, but it was not the desperate, hurried kind that she had been stuck with for so long.
No, this took its time. It was lazy and slow in how it grew in the deepest parts of her.
Unhurried, she rocked herself back against him, admiring how the light picked out his features, the sharpness of his jaw, the way his brown hair curled down to his shoulders.
He slid his hands from her hips to meet hers, the two of them interlocking fingers in the same instant as though they could reach each other’s minds.
When it came to matters of the marital bed, sometimes, she thought she could; she could reach inside of him and see exactly what he needed and exactly when he needed it.
He squeezed her hands, smiling at her as he continued to move within her, eventually letting himself down on top of her so that there was no space at all between their hungry, wanting forms.
She wrapped herself around him, closing her eyes as she felt his breath on her neck, and let herself be swept away by the sensation.
He brushed his lips along her neck, over her chin, and planted them once more on her mouth, his tongue coaxing out hers until they were speaking that private, perfect language into each other’s mouths, their bodies connected in the deepest way imaginable as she felt the fire crackle and burn within her, until…
Until, finally, she shuddered in his arms, the sudden rush of sensation almost more than she could take.
She gasped against his lips, and she felt them curl into a satisfied grin, as though he was pleased that he had taken her over the edge.
With a few more deep thrusts, he reached his own release inside of her, grunting like an animal as he marked her as his once more.
When he stilled, that smile was still on his face. It was almost beatific, so full of love for her she felt her heart might burst. Even now, it seemed a miracle that a man like him could look at her like that, like she was the best thing that had ever happened to him.
“I love you, Innes,” he spoke low and true. “More than I’ll ever be able to tell you.”
“Well,” she teased. “That went a long way to proving it, my Laird.”
With a laugh, he kissed her again. And, as the day moved to evening outside, she let herself sink into him completely.
Thank you so much for reading my novel!