Epilogue
“Mama, Mama, Mama.”
Alina straightened from over the seed bed
she’d been planting, wiped her soil-covered hands on her apron, and
turned in time to brace herself for the onslaught of her son
barreling into her legs.
“What is it, Owain?” she laughed, snatching
him up and twirling him around.
“Da wet me wook in pie gwas.”
“He did?” she said as he squirmed out of her
arms. “What did you see in the spyglass?”
“I see wagon. I see Unco Wen dwive
wagon.”
“You saw Uncle Owen driving the wagon?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Mama, Mama, Mama.”
Alina grinned as her daughter came skipping
into the greenhouse. “What is it, Oona?”
“I see wagon in pie gwass.”
“Did you?” She scooped up her daughter and
nuzzled her neck, eliciting girlish giggles. “Was Uncle Owen
driving the wagon?”
“Uh-huh.” Oona wiggled her way out of Alina’s
arms and started inspecting the herbs that had made it through the
winter. “What dis?”
“That,” Alina told her, “is fennel.”
“Is fenny?” Oona said, whisking her toddler’s
fingers though the herb’s ferny leaves.
Alina laughed lightly. “So it is,” she said.
“Fenny ferny fennel.”
“Fenny fenny,” Owain repeated. “Fenny fenny.”
He started chasing his twin sister around the planter boxes, the
sound of their high-pitched laughter music to Alina’s ears.
They’d been born on the first day of spring
three years ago tomorrow, exactly one year to the day their parents
had first met. Owain, the first born, had curly brown hair and eyes
the color of rain, like his father’s, MacKay eyes. Oona, the second
born, had auburn curls, a light dusting of freckles across her nose
and cheeks, and the green MacLeod eyes. They were the light and
heart of not only their parents’ lives, but of the entire
household. Alina and Roark gave thanks to the gods and the fates
for them every day.
Alina laid a hand over her belly and smiled.
There would be another child come the autumn, a boy child she’d
seen in her dreams, with his grandfather’s white-blond hair and
green eyes flecked with gold and grey. A child she would tell Roark
about tomorrow night as they celebrated the fourth anniversary of
their first meeting.
“Dada,” the twins said in unison.
Roark walked into the greenhouse and met
Alina’s smiling gaze. He grinned, slow and easy, and Alina’s
insides melted.
“I’m told Owen is arriving,” she said as the
twins ran up to him, squealing with delight as he scooped them up
and tucked one under each arm.
“Aye, the Sea Hawk sailed into port
this morning,” he said, jiggling his progeny up and down. “Owen
said he’d be bringing three barrels of whisky for the glass panes
for Siusan’s new greenhouse.”
“Was Siusan with him?”
“She was riding in the wagon with him,” he
said, setting the twins down to run around. “Cullen was riding
Damon.”
The Sea Hawk was Owen’s trade ship,
built two years ago with the proceeds of his whisky trade with
Alina’s father and other Northland ports, as well as North Shore,
Thorn Bush, and Yew Tree keeps. After hearing Jerrik’s and Alyssa’s
stories, Owen had made sure to build a horse pen on the deck, as
Roark had done with The Swan, a wedding present from Alina’s
parents Kerry and Kerwin captained together.
The MacLeods were now as well known for their
whisky and horses as the MacInneses were for their horses and
glass. One of the first things Roark had done after becoming laird
was to build a glass-making shop. If Alina ever needed to find her
husband, that was the first place she looked, even though he had
plenty of craftsmen working it for him.
“Come, children,” she said, holding out her
hands. “We should get cleaned up and ready for our visitors.
Grandmama Brianna and Granddad Ronan will be here any time
too.”
“For our birfday?” Owain asked.
“Yes,” Alina said, taking hold of their
hands. “For your birthday. Shall we go tell Ompa Jerrik, Oma
Alyssa, Uncle Anders, and Auntie Rose her parents are here?”
True to her MacLeod blood, Rose had taken one
look at Anders at Roark and Alina’s wedding and that had been that.
They’d been betrothed within a fortnight and married at Silver
Water Keep two moons after their betrothal. Their son, Jerrik, had
been born ten moons later, and Rose was four moons along with their
second child.
Both families traveled to North Shore Keep
every spring to celebrate the twins’ birthday and visit for a
fortnight, along with Roark’s parents and his Uncle Bryce and Aunt
Jeanine. From the moment Ronan had given Roark his sword to fight
Rigil and Delling, their rift had mended, and Roark’s parents were
frequent visitors since the twins’ birth.
Jenny had chosen to live and work at Yew Tree
Keep, deciding it would be too painful to stay at North Shore with
her memories of Leif and what she’d done. She’d be coming down with
Bryce and Jeanine, and Peg and Craig were beside themselves with
their daughter’s and granddaughter’s pending arrival.
Gwyneth had guilted Munroe into marrying her,
and the last anybody had heard, they were living at a keep on the
west coast where Munroe was a man-at-arms for the local laird. Word
was that they were miserable together and childless. Alina tried
hard not to gloat, but was glad that no child would have to grow up
with Gwyneth as a mother.
Owain swung Alina’s hand. “Yet’s go tell Oma
an Ompa dat Unco Owen coming.”
“Yesh,” Oona said. “Yet’s go tell Oma an
Ompa.”
Roark held open the door to the greenhouse as
the twins ran out toward the manor house, where Peg stood outside
the door, waving them over. He wrapped an arm around Alina’s
shoulder and pulled her in close, nuzzling her neck. “You were in
the orchard this morning,” he murmured. “You smell of cherry
blossoms.”
“And you smell of horse,” she teased. “How’s
Etain’s new colt doing?”
“Nursing well and gaining weight according to
Gare,” he said. “I swear Artur knows the colt’s his. He put up such
a fuss when Etain went into the brooding stall Gare and Fergus had
to move him into the stall next to it.”
Alina glanced over at the paddock where Ash,
who’d grown into a fine, deep-chested stallion, grazed alongside
Smokey, Beasty, Brynja, and Flame, Brynja’s and Artur’s yearling
foal. She looked back over her shoulder at the panes of glass on
her greenhouse shining in the last of winter’s afternoon light, at
the vegetable garden’s soil, newly turned over in readiness for the
greenhouse transplants. She gazed lovingly at her husband’s
profile, his broad forehead, high cheekbones, and strong jaw. She
touched her fingers to the earth-kissed skin on his forearm and
smiled into eyes the color of rain.
“If you could say or do anything you wanted
without fear of consequences or repercussions—”
“I’d be exactly where I am, telling you I
love you, Ali girl. It’s all I’ve wanted since the day I first set
eyes on you racing along the beach, legs bare and mane flying.”