Epilogue
Some would say that Lianae of Moray had the Kingdom at her fingertips and she threw it away.
But Lianae had won herself so much more. Praying by the rood that she would choose love over all, David mac Mhaoil Chaluim gambled and won.
So had she.
In retrospect, all of it had been no more than a calculated risk, for David mac Mhaoil Chaluim must have seen something more than Lianae or Keane had realized at the time.
And yet, David must have also known that Lianae would never allow her brother to hang and some day she meant to ask the king why he’d shown her brother such mercy, when his own brother Edgar had blinded their Uncle Donald and sent him to work as a scullion in the kitchens, for much the same offense.
In fact, now that she considered it, perhaps that was the reason, for it was said that David’s brother Edgar had died a miserable man, wasted with guilt for what he had done to his own kin.
Say what they would of him, David mac Mhaoil Chaluim was smarter than that.
He conquered less by the sword and more by his wits.
The wind whipped at Lianae’s skirts, tussling her hair.
Summer was here and the chill of winter was long gone, but, like the lands themselves, the Highland winds could not be tamed.
They blew as they blew, and if a man could not embrace the wildness of the North, it was simply not in his blood.
Lianae lifted her face to the wind and smiled, enjoying God’s caress.
Alas, her brother Ewen was dead—perished of fever soon after coming to Dunràth.
With Graeme’s help, she moved his grave to a spot high on the hill, beneath an elderberry tree.
Whatever David’s reason for sparing Graeme, she couldn’t profess to know, but she was grateful nonetheless, and her brother no longer had any will to fight.
She made her way to the beach, bouncing their ten-month-old son in her arms. She’d named him Angus, after her father. Cooing sweetly at her ear as she made her way down to the beach where Keane was busy at work on a new boat, she held Angus close.
Keane had said he’d always meant to learn to fish, and now that he had the sea to challenge him more than the loch in Dubhtolargg, he found great joy in the thought of sharing a sail with their son—but not until Angus was old enough if Lianae had any say in the matter.
In the meantime, he must be contented to share his time with her eldest brother.
She waved at the men, and Angus clearly said, “Pa-pa!”
“Aye!” she exclaimed, excited by her son’s first word.
Fat and happy as he should be, Angus clapped his chubby little hands.
“’Tis your papa! Hi papa!” she said, waving again at Keane.
Almost in answer, the north wind lifted a briny scent to Lianae’s nostrils and she inhaled deeply of the scent as she made her way to the water’s edge, much as the women of Dunràth had been doing for centuries long before her.
She never saw her charm stones again, but she didn’t need them.
Uthreda’s son was a cruel snake, but no one could ever prove he was the one who’d beset Keane that day at the foot of Dunràth’s hill, so he continued to serve David as Moray’s Earl, denying aught to do with the treachery.
The man they’d captured died later of his wounds, so they lived with a snake in their midst, keeping him at arm’s length.
As for her brother Lulach, he’d come around but once. Though even if the loss of her blood kin dampened her spirits, she had Graeme. And she had Keane… and the future of her clan right here in her arms…
“Pa-pa!” Angus said again.
“Pa-pa,” Lianae repeated with a smile.