Epilogue
The cool air whipped through Ailsa’s hair as the two of them rode together, the smell of the falling leaves filling her senses.
She had her arms wrapped around Tavish, careful to avoid touching his wound where it was still fresh against his side. He had insisted that he was well capable of making the journey today, and she knew better than to argue with him on the matter.
It had been nearly a week since she had ridden out to meet with Malric, but, if she was to be honest, it felt like a lifetime ago. She could still not believe she had been so quick to fall for the stories that he had tried to spin to her.
But then, she had not known the truth then.
Tavish had feared that his bloodthirsty past would render him incapable of seeing things clearly.
And, if she had to be honest with herself, maybe he was right.
When they had first been married, she had seen him as little more than a brute.
But now that she had a better idea of what lay underneath, she could see the man he truly was, and that man was one she wanted to understand deeper and deeper.
Now that Malric was dealt with, the matter of the battle that had been due to unfold had been shelved. His clan was still repairing itself after the loss of its leader, and that gave Tavish a chance to rest, not that he had taken much of it.
It didn’t seem to matter what he had been through, he had still been going out of his way to make sure that the Keep was in order.
He had reached out to Martha personally, he had told Ailsa, to assure her that she would not be in trouble for aiding her.
Any ally to his wife was an ally to him, he had promised her, and she had seemed relieved beyond words that he had not turned against her as he might once have done for her misdeeds.
Today, she had insisted that he take some time away from his study so he could get some fresh air, and he had, mercifully, agreed.
In fact, he had revealed to her a small token that he had been working on for his brother; a leaf carved from a small log that had been destined for his fireplace, and she had suggested that they ride out to leave it on his grave together.
It was bittersweet, of course, the knowledge that her old friend was gone.
But she hoped he would have taken some comfort in knowing that his death had brought the two of them together.
His brother had stepped up to take his place, and now, as his wife, she could provide him with all the support he needed to make a life of what had been left behind after Callum’s loss.
Tavish drew the horse to a halt as they reached the small cluster of stones that made up the marker for Callum’s grave.
He had not been buried in the chapel, as with most of the other Lairds of the clan, but on one of the hills that overlooked what had once been his kingdom; so that he would always be watching over his people, that’s what Tavish had explained to her.
Tavish climbed down from his horse and offered her a gentlemanly hand to do the same. As she dropped to the ground opposite Callum’s grave, she felt a stab in her chest and stooped down, laying her hand on the earth.
“I’m sorry ye’re no’ here to see the man yer brother has become, Callum,” she murmured, and she meant it.
He would have been so proud of Tavish; the man he had become, so confident and sure of himself, so proud of the status he took up as Laird of the Keep, so willing to do whatever it took to make sure that his people were taken care of.
“What are ye saying to him?” Tavish asked, his voice a little gruff.
She straightened up, reaching into his pocket to draw out the leaf.
“That he would be proud of ye,” she told him softly.
She pressed the leaf into his hand, and he closed his fingers around it, gripping it for a moment before he planted it on the rocks that made up his grave.
He touched the earth briefly, as though ensuring that his brother could feel it.
She let her hand rest gently on his shoulder; she knew she could not understand what it felt like to lose a sibling as he had done, but she could, at least, try to be there for him in the midst of it.
He straightened back up and drew her into his arms, kissing her hard. The kind of kiss that was born from the certainty of how much there was to lose in loving someone and yet, at the same time, how much there was to gain.
“Come, lass,” he murmured. “Back to the Keep. I’ve plans fer ye tonight.”
She grinned, pulling back from him playfully.
“Ye’ll have to catch me first,” she teased.
And, just as though they were children playing on the hills once more, she took off, lifting her skirts, joy twisting with grief inside her as he gave chase.
When Callum had passed, she’d thought she had lost every hope of her future—but now, she could see, it was only just starting to unfold before her.
Ailsa heard Tavish before she saw him, his familiar footsteps on the floor behind her.
She smiled to herself, not turning, as she brought the candle to the torch on the wall, lighting it and planting it at the bedside.
She was already half-undressed, draped in a nightdress that lay half-undone around her shoulders, where she had just climbed out from the bath.
“Close the door,” she murmured, without looking back at him. And, as she shrugged the nightdress from her shoulders, she finally dared breathe the words that she had not had the nerve to all this time.
“And… and give me everything this time, Tavish. Dinnae be gentle with me. Not tonight.”
She felt him move behind her, his strong arms wrapping around her bare body, and her eyes fluttered shut as she drew in a sharp breath.
“Are ye sure you can manage that, lass?” he murmured, kneading against the soft puff of hair at her mound.
She swallowed hard, but then nodded.
“I’ve known I can since the moment ye followed me the night before our betrothal and told me that ye were the danger I should fear,” she confessed, finally turning to him, slipping her arms around him.
She felt utterly exposed, but instead of being a fearful thing, she found it oddly thrilling.
He kissed her, his tongue lancing into her mouth like the tip of a blade, and she could feel him stirring against her hip already, her words clearly thrilling him.
He scooped her from the ground and strode towards the bed, pinning her against the bedpost as he drew her legs around him.
Softly sinking his teeth into her bottom lip, a dark grin curled up his lips as he pulled hard on it, a drop of blood pooling at its edge.
“Tell me to stop, lass. If it’s too much for ye.”
“Don’t ye dare stop,” she breathed back.
And, at last, he seemed to believe her.
He kissed her again, harder this time, pressing his hips forward to her so she could feel the full weight of his want for her.
She raked her arms along his back, down his body, pulling aside the leather belt that held his kilt and letting it pool on the ground below them.
His hands grabbed for her hips, her thighs, her belly, hard enough that she was sure he would leave marks.
But, for once, it didn’t frighten her. She had seen his darkest parts, the parts he had tried to keep hidden from her—that he was willing to die or kill for her. And she knew that there was nowhere she was safer than in his arms, no matter what he wanted to do with her.
He parted his legs slightly, bracing himself against the floor so that he could drive up and into her, and brought his manhood to her entrance before thrusting deep inside of her.
She cried out, the sound echoing off the walls of stone around her, as hard as he felt within her in that instant. He growled and pressed his face into her neck, breathing her in as he bared his teeth against her.
“That’s it, lass,” he encouraged her, his voice throaty and low once more. “Show me. Show me how much ye want me.”
She moaned again, and he caught her face roughly in his hands, so roughly that the pain of her split lip rose for an instant and was salved when he kissed her once more. The fullness within her felt almost overwhelming, but with every touch, he convinced her that she could take him with ease.
She folded her legs around him, gazing down into his eyes, their foreheads pressed together as they watched each other in the throes of pleasure.
The muscles in his legs flexed with each motion, his hands keeping her pinned in place, his fingertips digging into her roughly.
“Dinnae hold back, Tavish,” she murmured to him. “I can take it.”
And that, it seemed, was the last thing it took to move him to the very edge of his control.
He let out a near-animalistic grunt of pleasure and began to move into her even harder than before.
His face in her shoulder, teeth against her collarbone, the pain soothed by the endless pleasure he was sending coursing through her.
Her thighs were beginning to twitch, her eyes beginning to blur, and all she could think of was this man. This man, who consumed and filled every part of her, who demanded so much of her but then gave so much in return, she couldn’t find it in herself to care a single bit.
She bucked against him, letting herself down on top of him completely as the rush of pleasure coursed through her.
Words that she had never heard before from her own lips poured out of her, and he drove himself into her a few more times.
The lewd sound of their flesh coming together was the only thing she could focus on, until…
Until, at last, he made her his once and for all, claiming her with a rush of sound and tension.
He pulled her back from the bedpost and moved them to the bed, letting himself down on top of her like he wanted to be sure he had taken every inch of her for himself.
Panting, the two of them came to stillness.
She could feel a slight ache at her collarbone where he had bitten her, and she was certain that tomorrow she would wake up with bruises where his fingers had sunk into her flesh. But she didn’t care.
Her soldier, her man of war, she was able to withstand everything he had in him. More than withstand it—enjoy it, adore it.
“I love ye,” she murmured.
And, without lifting his head, he returned the sentiment.
“I love ye too, Ailsa.”
This wasn’t war. This was surrender. And it was the most perfect thing in the world.
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