Epilogue
Alec lay in the soft morning light that streamed through the chamber’s open window and slowly ran his hands along the soft flesh of Sorcha’s back.
After eight months, the crisscross of scars had faded into thin, white lines, but they would always remain there, serving as permanent, stark reminders of darker times.
“Dinna dwell on it, Alec,” her soft voice murmured from the pillows.
He smiled. The lass was uncanny. “Ye truly are a witch,” he said, leaning over and nuzzling the back of her neck before dropping a kiss upon her naked shoulder.
She sat up sleepily, her long red hair cascading over her breasts and spilling over her belly, swelling with the child they’d conceived in Heather House—a girl, Christine had told them.
“I dinna need to be a witch to know what you’re thinking when ye touch my scars and snuffle in my ear,” she teased, her eyes sparkling from beneath the auburn tumble of her hair.
“I’m the Earl of Eglinton, lass, and the Montgomery of the Montgomerys, a fine and ancient clan,” he replied, puffing his chest in mock protest. “I dinna snuffle.”
“Aye, but ye do,” she laughed, tickling his bare chest.
He growled, grabbing her hands to kiss each fingertip. “Ye know what happens when ye touch a Montgomery in such a manner,” he warned, a naughty smile curving his lips. “Now, I’ve a mind to pin ye against the bedpost.”
“Aye, and what is taking ye so long?” she asked in her stead.
He caught her close, intent on making good on his threat, but a sharp knock on the chamber door interrupted his lustful intentions.
“’Tis Taran, my lord,” a voice said. “He’s arrived and is waiting in the hall.”
Reluctantly, Alec released Sorcha, and they shared a mutual look of curiosity.
“Taran?” he repeated, puzzled.
With a sigh, he buried his face in the curve of her neck and delivered one last kiss before heaving himself out of the bed to slip into his shirt.
Throwing his plaid over one shoulder, he stalked to the door but paused before he opened it to look upon his wee delicate wife once more.
Aye, a bonnier lass didn’t walk the earth.
His throat tightened with tenderness as he watched her slide awkwardly from the bed to slip a soft, blue gown over her shoulders.
Catching his eyes upon her, she shooed him on. “Go!” she said with a half-smile. “It must be urgent, aye?”
Blowing her a kiss, he strode out into the passageway leading to Eglinton’s main hall.
“My lord,” a Cunningham maid curtseyed as he passed.
“Aye, but ye have a bloom on your cheeks this morning, Meg,” he teased, sending the woman a broad smile. “The rumors of Edward Strongbow must be true, aye?”
“My lord!” she blushed, quickly covering her smile with her hands.
He merely laughed, taking the steps two at a time to the level below, nearly running headlong into the dour-faced Edith Montgomery. Her eyes lit in concern at his haste. “Tell me, ‘tis not the lady, my lord?” she queried, worried and catching his sleeve.
“Nay, nay, Edith,” he quickly assured the woman, disentangling himself from her grasp. “Sorcha is well. Feel free to pester her as much as ye please.”
She nodded, gathering her skirts in her hands to hurry up the stairs as two Cunningham women began whispering behind her back.
“Edith will drive Lady Sorcha to madness with all that coddling,” one clucked.
“Let’s pray she has twins to keep that woman busy, aye?” another chuckled, but rather fondly.
A smile played over Alec’s lips. It hadn’t been easy, but clan relations only improved by the day. He strode into the great hall to see Taran standing before an arched window, arms crossed and his feet planted wide apart. The set of his shoulders announced bad news.
Alec frowned and hurried to join him. “And what ill tidings do ye bring, cousin?” he asked, directly to the point.
Clenching his jaw, Taran faced him with his dark brows drawn into a thick, brooding line. “I leave on the morrow,” he replied in a deep voice. “For England.” The stress upon the word conveyed the wealth of his disgust for the place.
“England?” Alec repeated, cocking his head to one side.
“’Tis an errand for the king,” the highlander grated in reply. “Fetching his silver from Elizabeth. She’s late in paying.”
It was Alec’s turn to knit his brows into a line this time—a puzzled one.
“The king must need your boldness and skill with a sword. You’re keen-sighted, strong, and fearless.
There can be no better man to retrieve silver from a reluctant queen,” he offered.
Aye, ‘twas common knowledge Taran detested England, but the distaste in his current response heralded a far bigger problem. “Tell me, what bothers ye?”
“My lord!” a voice squealed.
“Aye, my lord!” another voice giggled. “Come, join us.”
Taran winced.
Startled, Alec turned to see two women bobbing and curtseying in their direction from the far side of the hall. Even more mystified, he sent a sharp glance back at the highlander now gritting his teeth.
“The king is sending them as well. One Euphemia Hay and Anne Maxwell,” Taran obligingly supplied. “Along with their fathers.”
Alec bit back a smile, understanding the situation all at once. “And does the king wish ye to choose a wife from between them?” he prompted, unable to resist adding, “Are ye not a man who swears love is not required in a marriage? I dinna see the problem.”
“I’ll not be forced into a lowland alliance,” Taran drew a swift breath of retort. He cast a dark glance at the women before adding, “And while love is not required, cousin, peace of mind is. I’ve been in their company but two days and already I canna stand the sight of them.”
Alec eyed the man’s dark, concerned brow. “Ach, surely, ye canna fear ye’ll be harnessed against your will, aye?” he teased, somewhat amused.
“By whom?” Taran lifted a scathing brow. “A donkey holds more power over me than the king.”
The quirk of amusement tugging Alec’s lip only grew stronger, but then, a voice he hadn’t heard in months played in the back of his mind.
Aye, that stone heart of yours ‘twill turn tae water soon, ye clot-heid. But ye’ll journey to find her. A Sassenach, that’s who she is. And she’ll break ye afore ye melt.
Alec cast an eye at the two women hovering across the hall, sending doe-eyes at Taran and tittering from behind their hands.
Turning back to his cousin, he chuckled, “Nay, they have no chance with ye, be at peace, lad.” Reaching over, he clapped him on the back.
“’Tis a Sassenach ye’ll bring home as wife. Do ye not recall Auld Bertha?”
Taran sent him a level look, but for the briefest of moments, a glimmer of concern flared in his penetrating blue eyes.
Talk turned to other things then, and finally, Alec left the man to brood over his ale as his two prospective brides giggled from across the hall.
Shaking his head, Alec sought out Sorcha, running again into Edith Montgomery clutching a red Cunningham plaid tightly to her bony chest. “She’s walking the battlements, my lord,” she answered in response to his question. “But take this with ye, aye? She’ll catch her death from the chill.”
“Aye, I will,” he promised the fretting woman.
The day was a rather chill one. Swirling the red plaid over his broad shoulders as a cloak, he headed out onto the battlements himself, exchanging respectful nods with several Cunningham archers posted at the tower.
He saw her then, standing a short distance away, the wind playing with her hair and the Montgomery plaid she wore blowing around the curves of her belly as if in a caress. He reached her in three long strides and slipping his hands around her waist, placed his cheek against hers.
“And whither have your thoughts fled, gràdh geal mo chrìdh,” he murmured in a low rumble.
“’Tis Gellie,” she replied softly, her gaze fixed on the myriad fall-colored leaves covering the horizon. “She asked me once if I would remember her when I was wed.”
He laced his fingers through hers and brought them to his lips. “Aye, and we do,” he said. “And we always will.”
She didn’t answer. Instead, she leaned back against him, closing her eyes and laying her head back against his chest, and he stayed there long, cradling her in is strong arms, their blue and red plaids mingling in the wind.
The End
I hope you enjoyed this book! Taran’s story will continue in
"Heather House: Witch of Threadneedle Street"
(excerpt follows)