Extended Epilogues

“He’ll be coming,” Niven assured his uncle, as they waited in the downstairs Macaulay castle chambers.

The laird had got them crowded into one of the side rooms – which was still formal, but slightly less grand than the hall used for banqueting.

Deva looked at him, unsurely. This was a family room, used for their most intimate moments, the stuff that took place when the clan’s eyes were not upon them.

Usually, birthdays and other high days were celebrated here. But when Rory had announced a meeting, Niven had expected something a little more formal. However, from the mysterious smile his uncle was wearing, he wasn’t sure what to think.

“Och, yer brother,” complained Rory, his roguish smile breaking out at last, “He’ll be late to his own funeral. What is it this time? Woman trouble?”

Niven glanced to Deva, wryly. Besides her, their two children, Iona and Islay tugged to her skirts. Seeing the close proximity of his daughters, Niven held back from what he was going to say and just shrugged, sheepishly.

But there was something in his uncle’s demeanor he couldn’t counter. He wasn’t sure what it was. Perhaps it was in the way he kept glancing over towards the door, as if he was expecting someone to come in.

Then, the door opened. And Niven, full of expectation watched as a couple of servants and another woman, maybe about thirty years of age, with long, red hair entered the room. Niven didn’t know who she was, but she might have been the new lady-in-waiting for the Lady. Allyth had recently left, leaving a huge space in the Macaulay keep.

Niven scanned his uncle’s face, as he glanced across the room. For a moment, something illuminated him, and he wondered if his brother had finally appeared. But no-one else came.

Rory turned his attentions back to the children. “So then, are ye wee princesses ready to be the queens o’ the tower?”

The two girls squealed in joy, as their great uncle lifted them up – one in each arm – and flew them about the room.

“Aye, uncle, an’ I’m going to chop yer head off!” promised the youngest girl, little Iona.

Laughing, Rory put the pair down, suddenly tiring. “Well, I’d better stop then!” he said.

Deva beamed at the sight of her girls playing with their great uncle, but Niven could see that she seemed every bit as perplexed as he was about what was really going on.

“So then, uncle,” said Niven, wondering how he was going to broach this point. “It’s nice to meet here but tell me what is the occasion?” he asked, “Hogmanay has been an’ gone, an’ it was yer birthday only last week…”

His twinkling brown eyes met his uncle’s sincerely. He could tell when his uncle was hiding something from him. Then he tensed.

What if there was something wrong? His uncle had been getting out of breath a lot recently. An instant stab of panic ran through him.

“Uncle, ye are keeping well, aren’t ye?” he asked, questioning Rory closely.

Now that he scrutinized his graying skin, he began to worry the more. Yes, it was hard to tell in the flickering candlelight, but he had noticed deeper rings around his eyes and a pallor creeping into his cheeks.

The last few years had been tumultuous. Two children in quick succession, and a load of adventure. Niven’s role had taken him further into the Highlands, constantly meeting with nobles from the clans.

And Deva had only grown more beautiful. It seemed that motherhood suited her, her rosy complexion glowing day by day. Niven went to stroke her hair, he did it instinctively, sometimes without even knowing it.

“Ye would tell me if ye weren’t well,” asked Niven, beginning to worry. But to his frustration, Rory did not reply. Infuriatingly, he turned and changed the subject, something he was wont to do very often!

“Nae, nae, Niven,” he dismissed, with a wave of the hand, “I need to ken how ye are, in yer new role as ambassador for the Highlands…”

“Och, braw,” said Niven. And he meant it. Things had never been better, but there were just sometimes when he wondered if his uncle was waiting for something. Niven never knew quite what that feeling was, but he knew Rory was looking for it.

…And now this mysterious meeting, tucked away in one of the backrooms in the keep. Although the girls were having fun, and Deva laughed raucously at his uncle’s terrible jokes, Niven couldn’t help but wonder.

“So… Fingal…” Rory said, sidling up to Niven and speaking into his ear, “I hear all went balls up wi’ the latest strumpet!”

“Uncle!” said Niven, not because he was shocked, but because Islay was so close beside them. And if it was one thing she had it was a questioning mind!

“What’s a strumpet?” she asked, as quick as flash, as they both laughed. All the same, Niven quickly stepped away.

If Deva heard she would have his guts on a plate. Iona looked at her father, with the same perfect smile that her mother had. Niven felt a prickle of pride. He still could not believe he had produced two such beautiful children.

“Och, she gets her wits from her mother,” said Rory, with a quick aside to Niven, “An’ perhaps my side, as well,” he added.

Niven moved away, as the girls went to play with a dolly that the new lady-in-waiting had brought in. Niven smiled, as he watched them play. The youngish woman with them seemed vaguely familiar from somewhere, he was sure he had met her. But try as he might he could not place her. For a minute, he wondered if she was actually a noble, the azure of her robe was so pure.

But then he lifted his attentions back to his uncle, who now fixed him with his most serious face.

“Well, like I said, Niven, I am waiting for yer brother, I mean, I cannae be saying this twice, nae at my age…” he teased. Rory glanced at him with a curl in his lips, playing with him again.

“Saying what twice…” said Niven, in exasperation. Then he stopped, as the door fell open, and in stumbled Fingal.

“Och,” he said, slightly unsurely. Fingal moved towards them, a wide grin plastered to his face, but although he smiled, his eyes were bloodshot and broody.

“There ye are!” said Fingal, coming over. He embraced Deva and excitedly greeted the children. Both the young girls ran excitedly over, jumping and climbing on their uncle.

“Och, one at a time,” moaned Fingal, bowled over by their sheer force. Deva gave Niven a look, which he registered as her being a little uncertain.

And Niven could detect the strong scent of liquor on him as he came close. But before he could think to speak, his uncle clapped his hands together.

“At last,” said Rory, smiling through the afternoon sunlight, “We are together at last, an’ I must tell ye something important… it’s about ye, Niven, an’ Fingal…”

Deva’s blue eyes went intrigued to his. But Rory just twinkled at her.

“An’ what the plans are for after I go,” he said. A cold horror came into Niven’s heart.

“Uncle,” he said, “What do ye mean…?”

Deva fastened her hands anxiously to Niven’s, as the girls looked pale. But Rory just laughed. Caressing the side of Iona’s cheek, he smiled.

“Nae fash, it’s not that, I mean, how ye will cope after I leave the clan…” his voice trailed off into a pause.

“Leave?” said Deva and Niven together. Fingal looked so stunned he dropped his jaw out.

“Aye, leave,” said Rory. Then from the center of the room, the lady in the azure dress came closer. “To marry,” he continued. She walked over, her long red tresses contrasting sharply with the blues of her dress.

Deva hid a smile under her nose, as Niven watched in amazement.

“This is my new bride, Lady Aileene of McBain…” he fastened his hands into hers. Deva and Niven looked at each other, dumbfounded.

Then Deva laughed. “Congratulations,” she said, courteously greeting the lady.

Besides her, Niven couldn’t help marveling. “Well, ye wily old goat, ye’ve always got something up yer sleeve, but moving away?”

Rory smiled, then tapped him on the shoulder. “Well, it was always likely to happen one day, I had to let one lucky lady have me!” he said.

But then his smile faded. “However, I cannae go until I’ve got that lad settled with a lassie of his own!” he said, indicating Fingal.

Fingal watched, from the other side of the room, sipping from a dram. He couldn’t hear their conversation.

“Nae, I cannae go until he is all ready to be married, an, Deva, Niven, I set ye the task o’ finding him a wife!”

Deva stared at Rory in cold panic, as Niven felt laughter arising in his throat like no other.

“Och, well, that’s nice an’ easy!” he said, bringing his hand to Deva and smiling at her slowly, “He’ll nae go anywhere then!”

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It had been two years almost to the day since Marion and Eiric had married, and it was only then when her beloved cousin Mary could finally come to visit them. Marion was standing by the castle doors, holding her son in her arms, as he had just begun to crawl and had a knack for crawling away faster than anyone could run behind him, while Eiric and Edan were talking about Mary.

Marion had warned Edan plenty of times that she was not for him, and that he should consider her as off-limits, but the man just didn’t listen. It didn’t help that Marion had grown to like him, despite her feelings of disgust when they had first met.

It also didn’t help that he kept reminding them that he was little Hamish’s godfather. Marion had come to regret giving him that role, only because he brought it up every other day. Then again, she was happy to know that there were people around them who loved Hamish so dearly.

When the gates finally opened and Mary’s carriage came through the courtyard, Marion could hardly contain her glee. She was so happy to see her cousin again after longer than two years of being apart, as she had been the only person in England who had ever understood her, and who had stood by her side.

The door of the carriage opened wide and out came Mary, looking radiant as always in her red dress. Once her feet touched the ground, she ran to them, immediately cooing over Hamish and ignoring everyone else.

“Marion, darling, he looks just like you!” she said, as Marion handed the baby to her and she took him safely in her arms. “Oh, what a lovely little boy he is! He takes after his mother!”

“I like to think that I contributed somethin’ too,” Eiric said, and only then did Mary acknowledge everyone else, giving Eiric a dirty look.

“You . . . don’t think that I don’t know you seduced my dear cousin,” she teased. She looked the same, Marion thought, but she acted differently, as though she had matured greatly in the past two years, though that was hardly a surprise. Mary had always struck her as the kind of woman who was eager to seem mature if only to command everyone’s attention and get them to listen to what she had to say. “I’ll never forgive you for taking her away from me.”

“Ach, Mary, yer cousin is verra happy here,” Eiric assured her. “And if anythin’, she was the one to seduce me.”

Mary slapped Eiric’s shoulder with her gloved hand, tutting at him. “How dare you?” she asked in mock offense, gasping at his words playfully. “She would never, right dear?”

Marion decided to play along, giving Eiric a sly smile. “Right,” she said. “It was all because of this terrible, handsome Highlander.”

The two girls burst out in laughter, and though Eiric would never admit it, Marion could see a faint blush on his cheeks after she had called him handsome. She loved the fact that even after two years, she still had that effect on him.

“Forgive me for interruptin’, Marion, but dinna ye think ye should introduce me to this bonnie lass here?” Edan asked, rather predictably.

Mary looked at him with a curious smile, and then after a moment, she pointed a finger at him. “You’re Edan,” she said.

“Aye,” Edan replied, suddenly excited that Mary knew who she was. “How do ye ken?”

“Oh, Marion has told me about you in her letters.”

With that, Edan’s excitement was completely gone, vanishing within seconds. Marion laughed at him, shaking her head.

“Nothing bad, Edan,” she assured him. “Or at least, nothing too bad. Come, Mary, let me show you to your chambers. You must be exhausted from your travels.”

Marion led Mary inside, while her cousin still held Hamish in her arms, the two of them leaving the men behind. Marion led her to her room, which was the one across the corridor from her own, and once they were inside, Mary sat on the edge of the bed with Hamish in her lap.

“I don’t suppose that you find Edan charming,” Marion said. “He is not the kind of man for you.”

“Please, I didn’t come here to find a husband,” Mary said, waving a hand dismissively. “I came to see you and this little angel. I have no desire for a man.”

“No?”

“No,” Mary assured her. “But you seem to have found your match.”

Marion smiled at that, looking out of the window at the courtyard. Even from there, she could see Eiric, and the sight widened the smile on her lips.

“I suppose I did,” she said. “And I’m very happy here, Mary. I never thought that I would have such a life.”

“I’m glad,” Mary said. “You deserve to be happy, Marion, you truly do. After everything your parents did to you . . . well, the point is that you are happy now, and I am happy that you are happy.”

At the mention of her parents, Marion stiffened, biting her bottom lip, hands fidgeting in her lap. “Have you seen them?” she asked Mary. “Have you talked to them at all since I left?”

“I have,” Mary said. “A few times, yes. They are doing fine.”

Mary didn’t offer any other information, which could only mean that Marion didn’t want to find out about anything else, that Mary was sparing her the painful details. Marion felt as though she needed to know though, and so she couldn’t help but ask.

“What are you not telling me?”

Mary sighed, clicking her tongue against her teeth. “Are you sure you want to know?”

“Yes,” Marion said, though she was anything but certain.

“They pretend as though you are dead,” Mary said. “And perhaps you are, to them, but they never talk about you, they never mention you. Your mother wears only black. I’m sure she has made plenty of people think that you are dead, but I try to let everyone know you are actually fine, and that you write to me often. I don’t know why they do it.”

“Because pretending I’m dead is better than telling everyone that I married a Highlander, even if he is the son of a laird,” Marion said. “You know that my mother hates Scotland. She doesn’t want anyone to know I’m here. She doesn’t want to know I am one of them now, because then everyone will know she has a Scottish heritage, too.”

Mary hummed, nodding her head slowly in understanding. “I see . . . well, there is no reason to think about your mother anymore, is there? She has chosen her path, and you have chosen yours. I can say with certainty that you are much happier than she has ever been.”

“And you?” Marion asked, eager to change the subject to something less painful. “You said you’re not looking for a man. Why?”

“Because I don’t need a man,” Mary said with a small shrug. “And I don’t want a man, not yet. Perhaps soon, but not yet. I would much rather spend the time with you and Hamish than have to deal with suitors. Those Englishmen . . . they know nothing about romance.”

“Maybe you will end up finding a husband up here, in the Highlands,” Marion teased. “There is one thing I know for certain, and that is that they’re nothing like the English.”

“Perhaps I’ll be open to the idea, then!”

The two of them laughed once more, and continued to share stories, Marion about Scotland and her family, and Mary about England and their common acquaintances. It was only several hours later, when Mary could not stop yawning, that Marion insisted that she had to get some rest, and so she took Hamish and left the room, going about the rest of her day.

Mary slept through dinner, and only showed up the next morning for breakfast, but she looked refreshed and ready to seize the day. Marion sat next to her during breakfast, the two of them appeasing Edan by letting him drag them into a conversation that was peppered with compliments directed at Mary, while Eiric watched in amusement, only pretending to listen to his father as he talked to him.

Adaria, enamoured by her grandson as she was, spent the entire time with him, feeding him small pieces of food from her own plate.

While they were talking to Edan, Marion was once again overcome with joy at how her life had turned out. She was surrounded by people she loved and who loved her back, she had her husband, her friends, the two people that had taken her into their home and treated her as their own and, of course, her boy. She could ask for nothing else; she didn’t want anything else.

The rest of the morning passed slowly, with Marion showing Mary around the castle grounds. She showed her all her favourite, hidden spots, everything she had discovered while walking around alone, and then she showed her the ravens that she and Eiric were breeding and taking care of.

“Good Lord, there are so many of them!” Mary said, leaning back as one of them began to flap its wings, even though it was in a cage and couldn’t possibly hurt her. “And what is it that you do with all these?”

“Send messages,” Marion said with a small shrug. “Eiric and I have trained most of them. They are very clever creatures.”

“I’m sure,” Mary said, distaste clear in her voice. “Well, enough of these birds! Don’t you have anything less . . . feathery to show me?”

Marion laughed at her cousin’s description of the birds, tutting at her. “You never liked these things, did you?”

“I always preferred dresses and good food and good wine,” she said. “And being indoors.”

Marion didn’t want to torture Mary any longer, and so she led her away from the birds, showing her the last places around the castle, until they reached a bench at the edge of the grounds. The two of them sat there, surrounded by rosebushes and the sound of a nearby creek, the water flowing freely through it.

“I can see why you like it here,” Mary said. “It’s very beautiful, very peaceful. I don’t know if I could ever live here, but I can see myself visiting more often. I have missed you terribly, cousin.”

“I’ve missed you, too,” Marion said. “Even though I hardly have any time to myself!”

“You mustn’t allow Eiric to take up too much of your time,” Mary said, sounding wise beyond her years, as she always did. “Every woman needs some time for herself. And with Hamish, I’m sure you have even less.”

“Oh, I don’t mind it,” Marion assured her. “I love them both so much, it’s hard to imagine not spending every single day with them. Besides, they grow so fast, the children. He’ll be one soon, and it feels only like yesterday when I realised that I was pregnant.”

“I do suppose you need to enjoy it while it lasts,” Mary said. “Such darling little creatures. You must have another!”

Marion laughed, but she nodded eagerly. She did want another child, perhaps a few more, the perfect little additions to her family. She could imagine nothing better than raising a small army of Eiric’s children.

For a few moments, the two of them fell into a comfortable silence, but then Marion saw Mary frown, eyes narrowing as she gazed at the distance.

“Who is that?” Mary asked, and Marion had to strain to see what she was referring to.

There, between the bushes, in the shadows cast by the tall oak trees, was a man, though Marion couldn’t possibly tell who it was before he disappeared.

What she did know was that he had been watching Mary, who was now nervous, her hand wrapped around Marion’s wrist.

“Come, let’s go back to the castle,” Marion said, standing up. Mary followed her eagerly, surely wishing to get away from that man.

Who was he, Marion wondered? And what did he want with Mary?

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“Caitriona! I dinnae believe it!”

It was the next day. Teasag jumped up and beamed excitedly as her friend appeared at the cottage door.

Both Teasag and Neacal leaped up immediately from their position on the bed at the front of the cottage. Until tonight, they were still guests at Gaie’s, but after the ceremony, their new house next door awaited them.

Caitriona grinned at the sight of them so obviously embroiled in a steamy pose. Quickly, Teasag straightened herself as Caitriona tried to pretend she hadn’t seen them. Meanwhile, Ualan peeked through, coyly from the doorstep.

“Please, come in, have a seat,” said Teasag, showing them into the front of the cottage and settling her guests in a chair. “So, when did ye get here?” she asked.

Everything was moving so fast, with the big day already upon them. Guests had been arriving all morning, and Teasag’s head buzzed with anticipation for the day ahead.

“Nae long ago,” said Caitriona, swishing the curls which escaped from her caul. Immediately, she fastened her arms around Teasag in a wide embrace.

Today, she was every inch the lairdess; her hair laced intricately, with just a few curls to frame her face. Teasag looked at her and sighed. It had been months since they had seen each other, and there were lots to catch up on.

But before the pair could start to gossip, Caitriona turned to Neacal.

“An’ what are ye doing here! Yer nae meant to see the bride on yer wedding day!”

Neacal glanced at Teasag conspiratorially. It was true; he wasn’t really supposed to be anywhere near her so close to the wedding.

“I do hope ye’ve nae been doin’ anything ye shouldn’t have?” Caitriona asked, with a sly glance at Teasag. Teasag felt herself blush as Ualan tactfully looked away.

“Well, there’s folk looking for ye, oot there!” grinned Caitriona, indicating the wedding party, converging in the distance outside.

Before either of them could speak, the door fell open once more, and right on cue, the chief bridesmaid came crashing into view.

“There ye are!! We thought ye’d eloped!”

Both of them turned around to find Gaie standing in the doorway. She was panting breathlessly as if she’d been running.

“I’ve been everywhere looking, an’ here ye were all the while!” she gasped, trying to get her breath back. With a quick smile to the guests, she continued inside the cottage to berate Neacal.

“Yer nae meant to be here!” she insisted, pushing him forwards in an attempt to get him to move.

Today, she was in her best green arisaid, with her unruly brown locks teased into some sort of truce for the occasion.

“I, I ken,” said Neacal, but he only had eyes for Teasag. In her flowing white arisaid, Teasag’s natural beauty shone, although she seemed to be the only one not to see it.

“Och, my hair’s a mess,” she fretted, arranging it in front of the looking glass that Caitriona had sent as a wedding present.

“Nae fash lassie, ye look braw,” said Neacal, stopping to linger a while near her. Entranced, he twirled a loose lock of her hair between his thumb and forefinger, seemingly lost in thought.

At the sensation of his touch, Teasag felt a jolt shudder through her. Inside, she physically craved his embrace, and even though the others were near, she could still feel his warm breath on her mouth, enticing her in.

In front of them, Gaie shared a grin with Caitriona, briefly amused, before flattening her face and looking stern.

“Och, ye two!” she huffed. But Teasag didn’t listen. She was way too excited about everything that was happening right then.

The last few months had passed in a whirl, and so much had happened that she sometimes had to pinch herself to believe it.

She had sold her first painting, and there were many more on the horizon. Then, there was this cottage, gifted to them by the laird.

But things in the village were so different. Gone was the knee-high grass and now they had a little garden – not much to look at yet, but with some tentative roses and shy Scottish Bluebells pushing their way through, they would soon have the cottage garden she had dreamed of.

And it was a posy of these charming blue flowers that Teasag held, clutched in her hand, ready in anticipation for their handfasting.

… That was if they ever got there, though. Because as long as Neacal was there to tempt her, there was a very real chance she would never move! “Put the poor lassie doon!” she chided. “An’ the pair o’ ye better get yer selves doon there right noo, afore they send oot a search party!”

Teasag grinned, grabbing Neacal by the shoulders and rubbing her fingers up and down his mane of shining hair.

Today, he smelt even more fragrant than ever, with his hair scented with the fresh herbal preparation that she had been given as a wedding present, and Teasag couldn’t resist running her fingers through it.

Predictably, Gaie was less than impressed.

“Och, there’s time for all that after the wedding!” she said, giving Teasag a tug and pushing her forwards. “Remember, ye’ve got guests noo! An’ a laird too!” she said, indicating Ualan.

“So can ye just try to keep yer hands to yerselves ’til then!”

***

“An’ I, Neacal, pledge to thee my troth,” said Neacal, as he placed his hand in Teasag’s, and Robert, the smithy, solemnly bound the ribbon to tie them together.

It had stopped raining in the forest, just long enough for the handfasting ceremony to be carried out. And although it was wet and boggy underfoot, Neacal barely noticed it.

All he had eyes for was his new bride. And how perfect she was.

Teasag looked into Neacal’s eyes and sighed. Her lips trembled a little at the weight of what she had to say. Stroking her gently, Neacal tried to steady her a little.

Touching the silken smoothness of her hair, Neacal almost leaned in and kissed her there and then. She looked so sensuous that it was impossible not to touch her.

Everything about today was overwhelming, and as Neacal blinked back his disbelief, he tried to get a grip on what he was feeling.

He could hardly believe that he was here, getting married to this beautiful woman.

Teasag, who would be alluring even in rags, was head to toe in a flowing silken arisaid, the likes of which he had never seen before. And it was all that Neacal could do not to fall into her arms and ravish her.

But for now, he had to content himself with holding her hand, as the silken red ribbon was wound around them both.

In front of them, the smithy smiled as he performed the ceremony.

“An’ now, I pronounce ye man an’ wife, would ye like to kiss the bride?”

It was a daft question. Neacal was straight in there, with a deep, penetrating kiss that lingered teasingly on his lips long after the cheering had stopped.

They were so caught up in each other, it wasn’t until after they had embraced fully that they slowly became aware of the silence around them.

“Put her doon, lad,” quipped Ualan, from behind.

Swiftly, Neacal looked around, a slight heat rising in his cheeks. He had quite forgotten himself, so wrapped up in the moment.

“No,” murmured Teasag. She smiled vaguely at the crowd around her but only had eyes for him. Pressing herself against Neacal, she felt a blast of ecstasy shoot through him at the warmth of her body.

Struggling to keep himself under control, Neacal sunk into her warm flesh, holding her tight, as the crowd cheered once more.

“Dinnae forget the posy, lass,” hissed someone from the crowd. When Neacal looked, it was to see Lorcal, and Gaie, hand in hand at the back.

Teasag smiled and thrust the small bouquet of blue flowers behind her left shoulder, with a raucous shriek.

“Catch!” she yelled, as all the single lasses darted towards it—all of them except Caitriona, who by some fluke caught it anyway.

“Och!” she vented, laughing at her luck. “It’s a bit late for me to get wed again!”

Tossing the posy into the air a second time, it tumbled through the sky and very nearly caught in a tree—but then landed, with a surprise flump right on top of Gaie.

Picking up the worse-for-wear bouquet, Gaie looked shocked as Lorcal grinned beside her.

Then, picking up Teasag and hoisting her into his arms, Neacal carried her along the forest path, down through the trees, and over the cottage threshold.

Feeling the sensuous thrill of her scent on his fingertips, Neacal flung Teasag onto the bed in their new cottage.

Contentedly, Teasag glanced around. Their married home was strangely familiar—yet excitingly new at the same time. That was because it was right next door to Gaie’s cottage and looked almost the same in every way.

Sighing, Teasag’s fingers explored the softness of the sheets beneath her as she turned to meet Neacal in the eye.

“Now then, Mrs. Matheson,” he said, softly. “They say it’s different after yer married….,” Neacal added a wink. “So, what say ye, we test this new bed oot?”

***

“So, what do ye think?”

Neacal’s voice came blurrily in and out of Teasag’s head. She was laid back, her head pressed into the soft sheets of the old box bed which had been gifted to her from Caitriona.

In actual fact the bed was not new, it had been used many times, but only ever by couples on the first night of their wedding. And since then, it had been handed down from generation to generation.

Just lying on it had given Teasag the shivers. Then again, just lying next to Neacal did that too.

In all the time they had been together, she still had not got used to him by her side.  Before, it had felt naughty, but now…

Teasag moaned with joy as Neacal brought his hand down on her thigh. Skillfully, he brought her to the edge of unbelievable ecstasy simply by stroking her with his fingers.

“Dinnae stop,” she murmured, lying back, with her eyes tightly shut.

Teasag could not see Neacal’s face but could picture it, with his teasing smirk and dimples crinkling as he pleasured her.

Softly he caressed her breasts, whipping her nubile mounds into a fervor with only the gentle strokes of his index finger. Teasag could do little more than to lie back and marvel at his talented fingers as they cajoled and tricked her into ecstasy.

Gradually, Neacal’s hands took on an exploratory nature, resting on the soft edges of her nether regions. Softly, she moaned as his hand reached gently inside of her.

“Dream sweet, bonny lass,” said Neacal, his other hand stroking her bosom so tenderly that Teasag wasn’t sure she could take any more.

A massive rush of sweetness enveloped her as he ran his fingers lazily inside her. He looked at her so dreamily, as if he was already riding her, and the thought of it made her gasp helplessly.

The rapture on his face said it all; his eyes taunted her with the promise of delight, and Teasag knew that there was no point in trying to resist.

“Nae,” she whispered, but she couldn’t help but lie back and give herself to ecstasy.

Neacal kissed her, sending explosions of delight bounding through her. Then, when she opened her eyes, he was naked and wearing nothing more than a curious smile.

Deeply, Neacal pressed into her with his delicate lips, leaving his scent on her skin and filling her with crazy anticipation.

He was slow to get started, placing his hardened yard in her hands for her delectation. Then, exquisitely, he teased her, his fingers dancing all over, as he pulled himself inside of her.

“Och,” Teasag gave a gasp as Neacal entered her. A sweet twitch started inside of her, and she felt herself dampen.

“That’s nothing,” Neacal promised, lowering himself fully inside and pumping her full until she could take no more.

“Neacal,” begged Teasag, already on the precipice of an explosion. Everything inside her was on tenterhooks, sweet and tender, yet taut and coil-like. At any minute, she might snap and burst with uncontrolled pleasure.

But Neacal teased her so hard that she could barely think straight.

“I love ye, Mrs. Matheson,” he whispered, nuzzling deep into her neck. Teasag gasped, as finally, Neacal poured himself inside her, leaving her thrashing about for more.

A slow, sweet ecstasy claimed her, as Teasag stopped caring about anything else in the world except for Neacal.

Then, arm in arm, the lovers lay back down as Neacal sighed.

“We promised,” he began. Teasag turned to look at him. His face was glowing with the ardor of pleasure. “We promised,” he continued. “To do a lot o’ things back there, but there was one thing we forgot…”

Surprised, Teasag looked over at him. Neacal was smiling down at her.

“We missed out this vow,” Neacal took her hand and placed it on her chest. “The one where we promise to love each other as if it was the first day we met,” he started. “Ye ken, that wild and windy day in Blackness,” he continued.

Teasag smiled, she was surprised, but perhaps she should have seen it coming.

“Aye, I ken,” she said with a smile. “An’ I do also promise to love ye like every day was my first… or last!”

There was a pause as Teasag pulled him close, imbuing herself with the distinctive smell of his body.

Beside her, Neacal lay down, snuggling on top of her. “That’s if ye can handle me, of course!”

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May 1624

It was a rather quiet morning as Blake and Arguen took their breakfast in the library. Usually, his wife was a chipper little thing in the morning, but today, she busied herself reading all recently received correspondence.

He stood near the window, surveying the garden and making plans for the expansion of the house when her voice momentarily interrupted his thoughts. “Oh! We finally have word from Douglas and Malcolm!” she exclaimed.

“Oh? An’ what do they say?” he asked, turning around and looking at his wife. Arguen was absolutely deserving of the endearment “angel”, especially this far along in her pregnancy. She was due at any time this month, and she was ready. The pregnancy had been without complication so far, but there was always the birth, and both of them were quite nervous for that.

“The marriages are annulled. King James II was particularly angry,” she said, scanning the letter.

“As he should be,” Blake said, turning from the window and sitting in the chair at the table across from his wife. “An’ now we can have a real, proper wedding, with clergy an’ all. ”

“I’ll always consider the handfasting our real wedding,” she said lovingly.

“Aye, an’ so will I, but this will solidify our union in the eyes of the law. For that, I’ll be especially grateful.”

“Aye, yer right. I just–” she groaned and grimaced with a hand on her stomach.

Blake looked alarmingly at her. “Are ye well, my love? Is it time?” he asked.

She shook her head. “Nay, just some pains. I think it kicked again. We’ll have a strong wee bairn at this rate,” she said, settling back down.

He smiled amorously at her. Arguen’s strength and patience was incredible to him. “Does the letter say anythin’ else?”

She scanned the parchment again. “Erm…Cataline is awaiting trial at the Old Bailey. And…ooh, Blake, this is excellent news,” she said.

“What? What is it?” he asked. Her excited tone had now made him eager to hear more.

“King James II took Cataline’s dowry and divided it. Malcolm gets half an’ ye an’ I get half. ‘Tis a sizeable fortune, is it not?”

Blake nodded, his eyes wide with amusement. “Aye. Cataline came from a wealthy family. This is most generous indeed.”

“Ye ought tae write tae the king an’ thank him,” Arguen mused.

“Aye, I will. ‘Tis the least I can do.”

At that moment, Mirellain burst in with a doll in hand. “Mama!” she cried.

“Aye, my sweet?” Arguen asked.

“Will ye come play dolls in the garden wi’ me?” she asked.

“Of course, dear. Just give me a moment tae get up.” As Arguen rose from her chair, she felt an unpleasant sensation in her nether regions, and heard a splash on the floor. Water began to soak the front of her skirts.

Both Blake and Arguen froze for a moment. They both knew what that meant.

Blake sprang into action first. “Mirellain, Mama cannae play right now. She has tae go tae bed,” he said delicately.

Mirellain frowned. “Why? ‘Tis daylight,” she pointed out.

Arguen groaned aloud. “Aye, sweet one,” she managed between breaths, “but I cannae play now. I’m about tae have yer brother or sister,” she said.

“Now?” Mirellain asked, bewildered.

“Aye, now,” Blake said firmly. “Mirellain, please go find Mrs. Kinney. Ask her tae come up here. Then tell James tae go find the midwife. Ye hear me?” he asked.

Mirellain nodded. “Aye, Papa. I’ll save Mama!” With that, she ran out of the library to go complete her tasks.

When she was gone, Blake wrapped an arm around Arguen’s back and guided her with his other one. “Can ye walk?”

Arguen made a shaky, wish-washy motion with her hand. “‘Tisnae comfortable, but I can make it tae the bed,” she said.

“‘Tis a’right, my love. Soon we’ll have another child, eh?” he said, trying to keep the mood light so she didn’t worry.

“Aye, but…” another cramp hit her, and she groaned in pain. “I just need tae make it tae bed an’ get out of these skirts,” she said, chest heaving.

When they were finally back at their chamber, Blake helped undress her until she was in nothing but her shift. She paced around the room rather clumsily until Mrs. Kinney came in.

“Oh, ye poor dear. Are ye quite ready?” she asked.

“I reckon I have not a choice,” Arguen hissed.

Mrs. Kinney immediately went into action. “Blake, fetch me some hot water and rags from the kitchen and a pitcher of wine. Hurry. There’s no time tae lose,” she barked.

Blake nodded vigorously and did as he was told.

“Wine?” Arguen asked.

“Aye,” said Mrs. Kinney, “sometimes it helps the babe ease out. And ‘tis never good tae have the father in the room. All he does is worry and make the mother even more worried. But soon the midwife will be here, and we’ll help ye, a’right?”

Arguen nodded. There wasn’t much she could say at this point–she just had to grit her teeth and get through the pain.

~~

After Blake delivered the requested items and ushered the midwife into the chamber, he found Mirellain standing outside the door, her eyes shining with tears.

“Papa, why is Mama crying?” little Mirellain asked, her pouty bottom lip quivering, as Blake scooped her up and carried her out of the house. Those big bright eyes were watering with unshed tears, and he hated to see his little girl so upset.

“Mama doesnae feel well right now,” Blake answered as best he could. How was he supposed to explain the gruesome details of childbirth to a five year old?

“Will she be better soon?”

Blake smiled ruefully. “Aye Mirellain, very soon.” He thought he had soothed her, but the little girl began sobbing into his shoulder.

“I dinnae…I dinnae wike it when Mama cries,” she blubbered. Blake stroked her blonde curls and soothed her the best he could.

“I dinnae like it either, sweet lass.”

When they were finally in the garden, he tried to deposit her on the blanket to play with her dolls, but she refused to let go. Occasionally, a scream would pierce the air from the castle. Both Blake and Mirellain would cringe at the sound, and her little hands would cling even more fervently to his shirt. He tried humming one of the lullabies he’d often heard Arguen sing to her, and surprisingly, it worked. In a few moments, Mirellain was fast asleep on his shoulder.

He would have loved nothing more than to be upstairs, supporting Arguen in whatever way possible, but he knew that fathers in the birthing room were a distraction.

“What’re ye two doin’ out here?” James asked, strolling into the garden.

“Mrs. Kinney an’ the midwife told us tae wait elsewhere,” Blake explained. Just then, another screamed pierced the air, and he grimaced.

James gave his best sympathetic look, offering his support. “She’s in good hands, lad. The midwife an’ Mrs. Kinney ken what they’re doing.”

Blake didn’t really know what to say. He didn’t know much about childbirth, but he trusted Mrs. Kinney. And Arguen’s strength…God, that woman was strong when she was under stress.

The three of them didn’t know what to say to each other. They only listened to the screams that interrupted the silence, cringing as they did so. Blake began to pace back and forth, his arms crossed over his chest, his brow furrowed angrily, and he looked up with concern every time he heard Arguen scream. Blake didn’t know how long this went on, but it felt like hours.

As the evening approached and darkness began to fall on the garden, the three of them decided to make their way into the library.  After a few more hours passed, they realized they weren’t hearing screams anymore. They all waited with bated breath, and suddenly, a helpless cry arose in the middle of the dark night. Blake bolted up from his chair and scurried to the door, only to be met by a smiling midwife.

“Can I see them?”

“Yes, yer lairdship. I think ye’ll be pleased,” the midwife said.

Blake bolted across the corridor, and the sight that greeted him was almost too much for him to bear.

Arguen was propped up on pillows, covered by clean sheets, holding two little white bundles in her arms. She looked so absolutely worn out. Dark circles had formed under her eyes, and she looked like she hadn’t slept in days. Still, her eyes brightened at seeing her husband.

“My love,” she whispered, beckoning him to her bedside. “We have a daughter and a son,” she said, beaming through her exhaustion.

He approached her timidly, as if he were afraid that one little sound would upset the peaceful scene. He looked upon the bundles—twins, it would seem–and held his breath. Their eyes were closed, and their little rosebud mouths were slightly open as they slept. From what he could tell, one had his dark hair, and the other had her fair hair.

“Do ye want tae hold them?” she asked, looking up into her husband’s warm dark eyes.

He nodded vigorously, unsure of what to say in this moment. All words had escaped him.

He sat in a chair directly beside the bed, and the midwife helped place both babes in his arms.

The little bundles stirred at the change of position. He did his best not to move, and gazed lovingly down at the little babes. One infant grasped onto his finger as she stirred and refused to let go. A tear of pride slid down his stubbly cheek at the sensation, and suddenly, he was crying.

“Blake, are ye crying?” Arguen asked, her voice still weak. She was also on the verge of tears.

“I…they’re beautiful,” was all he managed. His wife laughed lightly as he turned to look at her, a helpless smile on his tear-strewn face.  After a few minutes of crying together, Blake finally regained composure. The infant let go of his finger, and the midwife returned the babes back to Arguen’s arms.

“What shall we call them?”

Arguen paused and cocked her head, looking down at her babies. “Something regal. Something beautiful. I’ve always liked Isobel and Iain,” she whispered. “My babes,” she breathed, kissing the infants on their foreheads.

Blake nodded, and wiped away a stray tear. “Welcome, Isobel an’ Iain Mawr,” he said, his voice breaking again.

At that moment, Mrs. Kinney brought in Mirellain, who approached the bed with trepidation.

“Can I hold?” Mirellain asked, crawling onto the bed.

“When they’ve had some rest, ye can hold them,” Arguen answered.

Mirellain stuck out her pouty bottom lip. “Can I sing a lullaby?” she asked, her chubby little face brightening at the prospect.

“Softly,” Arguen acquiesced.

The little girl began to sing the very same lullaby that Blake had hummed to her in the garden.

Blake settled in a chair by the hearth with his son, gently rocking back and forth as he gazed down at his tiny little nose and lips. Iain was resembling Arguen so far, with what seemed to be her fair hair.

His gaze turned to his wife and daughters as he sat. Mirellain was curled up under the blankets next to her mother, while Arguen held their new daughter. She stroked their hair and kissed their foreheads. She caught Blake’s gaze and mouthed, “I love you,” to him. A wide grin split his face. He was so proud of his beautiful, happy family.

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Domnhall made his rounds through the newly built village with pride filling his heart as children played in the fields, some of them running up to him and others standing by shyly. The clan had expanded again, with their population increasing, he had needed to build another village to accommodate them. The adults greeted him as he passed, they were busy going about their daily life, with the men coming home with rabbits and birds for the night’s stew, and the women washing their clothes on washing stones outside the houses.

It had been four whole years since he had wedded Allie, and to show for it he had a prosperous clan, a happy marriage, and two sons: Riley and Rohan. Every year had been bliss, and he had been overjoyed when Allie had given him two boys at once. It had come as a surprise, but then again, they should have expected it as Allie was a twin after all. The twins did not look alike the way that Allie and Adamina had, with Riley looking more like his mother and Rohan taking after Domnhall. The only physical attributes they shared were their height and the color of their eyes, but their characters were very alike. They were both very sweet little boys who cared about their family.

The family in question was made up of himself, his sister, Allie and the boys. Stuart had left them to go to France in the same year that Allie had discovered that she was pregnant. If he had still been in the clan, or even anywhere in the Highlands, he would have stayed to see the twins. They were three years old and had just learned to walk, yet they were already so protective of each other and those that were around them. Due to their new hobby of walking around, Allie preferred to have them outside most of the time, instead of staying in the castle where they could break something or hurt themselves.

Each day was a muddy surprise of a captured frog or a rescued bird which had fallen after hurting its wing. They were compassionate and looked at the world with wonder in their big, hazel eyes.

Allie was a wonderful wife and Lady. When he had been trying to court the young ladies of the Highlands in search of a wife, he had not been optimistic about being lucky enough to marry for love. However, life had found a way to surprise him. Each day was beautiful to him, an opportunity to feel even more love than they had before. When she had been pregnant with the twins, he got to see a more irritable side of her, but he only found it amusing and not difficult. He had been married to Adamina who was not pregnant, but just purposely did her best to make things difficult and be vile.

To him Allie’s behavior was adorable and, in some instances, hilarious. He knew better than to laugh, however, because the one time that he did not hold in his amusement, she had burst into tears. He was glad that he never got to experience what a pregnant Adamina was like. Instead of asking for pie in the middle of the night, she might have demanded a war with all the neighboring clans instead.

He and Allie had both changed a lot over the years. She had gotten rounder after her pregnancy, her curves filling out nicely. Her hands were softer and had less ridges since she no longer did manual labor and took care of herself more. Her skin had gotten fairer too, as she no longer had reason to be out in the sun too long. She had also taken to tying her hair back in a ponytail, something she learned to do because otherwise the boys would pull out all her hair when they tried to play with it. It had become a habit now after the time when Riley had snatched several strands of her hair right from the roots, bringing tears to her eyes.

He too had changed; he had added some extra weight to go with the age of being in his prime, but he exercised with the men every day to make sure that he kept in shape and could still draw her gaze when he was shirtless in the sun. His hair was longer now as well, and unlike Allie he did not tie it back, sometimes teasing Allie about how he had more luscious hair than she did, and she would retort that the boys would snatch him bald one day. He instead played a game with the boys to see if he could unclench their fists from around the strands of his hair before they could rip them off his head.

As he walked through the village, he could not help but wish that he had brought them with him. The air was light, and he could smell the nearby river as well as the faint smell of smoke from someone who had started their cooking early. Allie would love to get out of the castle and see the place and he just knew that the boys would love to play around in the grass with the other children.

The newly built village made him remember the village that had been burned down during his run-in with Bruce, the Laird of the McAlfie clan. The village had been rebuilt very quickly and his people had been able to return to their lives, but thinking of that time was still rather difficult as a lot of things had happened. They all tried to look back at the past with nothing but smiles, but not everything could be smiled about.

It was because he remembered all the pain that Bruce had caused so vividly that he was uneasy with the news that he had gotten the month before. It seemed that Bruce was gathering support from the English for the McAlfie clan, and although he did not do anything else than build business relations for the prosperity of his clan, Domnhall was worried.

He had made a promise to Bruce that the next time he attempted to harm him or his clan would be the last, but Bruce, despite being defeated, had stubbornly refused to back down, claiming that he would get his revenge one day. It was because of this that Domnhall could not help but feel restless. The English were a formidable lot. If they were incited by Bruce to bring a fight to him, who would he call on to help him fight? None of the Lairds would want to risk themselves like that.

The Buchan lands were prosperous and McAlfie had eyes on them for several years, even before Domnhall was born. For Bruce, however, it had become more than a feud over lands, it was personal, and the lands were an excuse at most. He hoped each day that Bruce was just becoming less petty and more mature as he continued to get news of his alliances without there being an attack on his land, but his gut told him that he was most likely wrong.

If he fell behind and ended up with less advantages and strength, he knew that Bruce would attack him. It was because of this that when he got a letter from a Lord in England whom he had done business with once before when his father was still alive, he had been excited. However, the contents of the letter had only given him another thing to be troubled about.

He walked past a tree and balked to find Elspeth sitting there, singing calmly to the little girl curled up beside her. He was rather startled to find her there as he had not come with her, but then again, his sister loved the people and was usually in their midst. He let out a heavy sigh. She was another person that made him worry, but for a completely different reason.

His sister was twenty-four now, ripe for marriage and should have begun entertaining suitors, but she had no interest. He knew that four years ago she had been a victim of his first wife’s abuse several times in the presence of her suitors. After that she had stopped entertaining suitors at all. He had let her be, thinking that she was going to be fine as she was still young, but four years had passed, and nothing had changed yet.

He wanted to make her choose for herself without him giving her a push in the direction he wanted. He thought about the letter from the English Lord again. It had reached him a week ago, but he still was not sure how to respond. The Lord wanted an alliance and remembering Domnhall from when he had done business with his father, thought the best way to make it happen was for there to be marriage between his sister and the Lord’s son.

If he was being honest, it was God sent. He had just begun to worry about getting her to marry and settle down, and with Bruce acting up again, it came at a time when he really needed it. He had been wanting to have the conversation with her for a while, but he had worried that she would be too upset, especially since it meant that she would need to leave the clan and go all the way to England.

She glanced up then, noticing him standing and watching her and her face lit up with joy. She waved at him, motioning that he should join her. He almost felt guilty, knowing that if she knew what he was thinking, she would have been less enthusiastic to greet him. Looking around he sighed. There was no better time than the present to tell her.

He steeled himself as he headed for his sister. Elspeth had to marry as soon as possible.

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“Here, take this parcel. Cook’s filled it full of bannock cakes and an’ other things for the journey.” Caitrìona pushed the knapsack towards Teasag, from the threshold to the McCallum castle.

Uncertain, Teasag looked at what Caitrìona was holding, peering through her heavy woolen hood. It might have been July, but it was, as ever, raining.

Now a lairdess, Caitrìona looked even more radiant. Her thick black hair was clipped neatly into a French hood glimmering with pearls and gemstones, making her every inch the laird’s wife. Teasag gazed up at the sweeping white arisaid and tartan sash across her shoulders with awe.

“Ye should get into the keep,” said Teasag, her voice hiding her envy of Caitrìona’s intricate French hairstyle. Her already natural curls had been set to good effect at the front of the heart-shaped hood, whilst at the back, her locks were twisted inside the bejeweled head-covering.

“The rain will ruin the crimping,” she said. And she should know. It had taken hours to set Caitrìona’s hair right.

“Och, nae fash! Yer my auldest friend here, an’ I’m coming to see ye off, although I heartily wish ye werenae going!” Caitrìona announced. She might look like something out of Queen Mary’s court, but it wasn’t going to stop her from hitching up her skirts and fighting with Teasag if that was needed.

Caitrìona handed the large knapsack to Teasag, heaving with every kind of sweetmeat imaginable. Into her opened palm, she placed a silver coin.

“Take it,” said Caitrìona.

Teasag stared down at the shining coin. “Och, I couldnae,” she said, pushing it back to Caitrìona. But when she looked, there was steel in Caitrìona’s eyes.

“Aye, ye could, ye can, an’ ye will!” insisted Caitrìona, and Teasag could see that she was not going to let go of this one. Grudgingly, she took it.

“Thank ye,” she said. “Both of ye,” she added. Although Ualan was not present that miserable morning, Teasag knew that the gifts had really come from him. “An’ I’ll pay ye back every penny!” she said fervently.

“I dinnae want paying!” said Caitrìona, suddenly hugging her friend. “I just want things to work out alright for ye.”

“They will,” said Teasag assuredly, fighting back the tears. “Once I reach my brother in Blackness, I will send message to ye!” she said. Her words sounded resolute, but inside, her heart wavered.

Although she was all set on leaving, a little part of her was still unsure. Everything she knew was in this village.

“I still dinnae ken why ye have to go,” said Caitrìona miserably. “There’ll always be a room for ye here!”

“I ken,” said Teasag. “An’ I’m grateful for everything ye’ve done for me, especially on making me head housemaid…but…” Teasag faltered.

She did not want to seem ungracious. Caitrìona and Ualan had done so much for her since their wedding, but all her thoughts were set on leaving. She chewed her lip, wondering how to broach the subject. “But, if I dinnae leave, then I will ne’er ken if I can find my fortune…like ye did,” she explained.

Caitrìona softened. “I, I ken,” she said fondly. “But just make sure ye remember to visit us!”

“I will,” said Teasag softly. The pair hugged again, and she set off on the lonely path that led through the glen.

###

“It’s just to the left, an’ inside there, Miss,” said the young cartman, pulling up in the narrow side street.

Warily, Teasag got out. They had been on the road for many hours, and now she was weary. Although she had not yet reached her destination, it was impossible to go any further now.

It wasn’t hard to find the tavern. Even without the lad’s directions, the raucous noise from inside the White Hart Tavern made it clear where it was. And if there was any doubt, the smell of spirits spilling out into the rain outside was a giveaway.

For a moment, Teasag dawdled on the threshold, deliberating. If there could have been some way to reach her destination sooner, she would have taken it. But it was impossible to travel further tonight, and it was either this or sleep in the streets.

Spurred on by this thought, Teasag steeled herself and pushed open the oak door.

The thickly-packed barroom came to an almost total standstill as she picked her way through it. Sweating slightly, Teasag kept her head firmly down as she made her way to the bar. But this didn’t stop the heat from dozens of eyes bore into her.

The room was crowded and filled with the thick musk of men and whisky. Even without looking, Teasag knew everyone was looking at her, but she did not flinch as she reached the bar.

Behind the wooden bar, the taverner glanced up. When he did, Teasag almost yelped in shock. The unfortunate man’s face was covered in pockmarks and pimples. And although not old, when he smiled, he revealed a complete absence of teeth.

“What can I get ye, Miss?” asked the man wearily. He was perhaps thirty-five years old, but his sagging skin made him seem older. “Yer nae from around here, are ye?”

“Nae,” said Teasag bluntly. “I’m here for the night an’ need to take lodgings,” she said, quickly looking around. All the eyes in the barroom were still firmly on her, and when she turned around, the men watching didn’t even pretend not to stare.

“That’s nae problem, darlin’,” said a man, suddenly, nudging her from behind. In an instant, his hot hands were upon her behind, making her freeze uncomfortably. “Ye can be my guest if ye like, an’ it won’t even cost ye anything!”

A raucous laughter gathered force, rippling through the packed barroom and sending the drinkers further towards her.

“Och, come an’ sit wi’ me, darling!” another said, his hands coming up beside her and attempting to get under her arisaid. Furiously, Teasag beat them off.

“Nae,” she cried ferociously, but inside, her scared heart was beating in triple time. This was just as she had feared. The last thing she had wanted to do was to come into a strange tavern alone. But with nowhere else to go, there had been no choice.

“Och, dinnae be like that, sweetheart,” said another, sticking his flushed red face straight at her. His arm hovered near, making a cack-handed attempt at squeezing her rear. Slowly, he smiled a bawdy grin at her, his crooked teeth showing. “Noo then, yon maid, what say ye get friendly wi’ me an’ my friends?”

All the men around her guffawed as she pulled back, trying to avoid their hands. The red-faced man came closer, pressing his enormous belly right at her. Incensed, Teasag swiveled around, almost striking him.

“Dinnae ye dare!” she cried. “Tak’ yer hands off me! Landlord! Control yer men!”

General laughter rippled around the barroom. Evidently, no one was going to do anything. Realizing that this was a mistake, Teasag grabbed her drink and tried to beat a retreat back through the packed tavern.

Except she couldn’t. Immediately, something firm and fleshly pressed into her. When she looked up, she saw the red-faced man. He had boxed her into a corner by the wall, and his rotund belly made it impossible to get by.

Writhing to get free, Teasag spat in the man’s eye. Instantly, he raised his hand to slap her.

“Get off her!” said a voice from behind. Then there was mayhem.

Behind her, there was some shoving and a yell as a pair of hands yanked the red-faced man out of the way.

“Get out afore I wring yer miserable neck!” the unseen man said. Still getting her breath back, Teasag struggled to compose herself.

“Come on,” the man said in a soft but confident voice. His sturdy hand led her away, gently to a nearby seat. “Let’s sit ye doon, lassie, an’ get a wee dram inside ye!”

Even before she looked at him, Teasag felt she could instinctively trust the owner of this voice. He was so softly spoken and kind, nothing like the men who had tried to grab her.

“Th-thank ye,” said Teasag, still a little shaken. She looked over to the young man for the first time, offering him her hand.

He was roughly six feet in height, with shiny brown hair which fell to his shoulders and the most sparkling pair of eyes she had ever seen on a man. She guessed he must be her age, in his early twenties.

“Well, ye seem to have caused quite a stir, young lassie?” he said, sitting her down and casting his piercing almond eyes over her. “That’s usually my job – giving folks something to fash about!”

Teasag didn’t know what to say and just cast her eyes down. The lad laughed slightly.

“Just as well I was here, is’t nae?” he said, cockily, casting his vivid blue eyes at her.

Teasag felt herself falling into his gaze.

“I, I – yes it was, sir,” she said stiffly. She still wasn’t sure who the lad was. From his clothes, it didn’t seem he was of the , but then from his well-finished plaid and sprightly pair of ghillies, he wasn’t a pauper, either. For all she knew, he could be the son of a local landowner. Either way, his self-confidence impressed her enough to tread carefully.

“It’s nae fash, Miss,” he said pleasantly, but something in his tone suggested he was highly amused. When she glanced up, he grinned mischievously. “But I cannae get ye a drink if I dinnae ken yer name,” he said.

“I’m Teasag,” she said primly. “An’ who are ye?” she tried to be proper, but the lad’s handsome features meant she gazed for rather longer than she needed to. His bright blue eyes seemed to laugh at her, but she didn’t know why.

The man smiled, showing off his pearly teeth, making Teasag wonder afresh if he were a noble, as they were so perfect. And as she looked closer, she couldn’t help admiring his soft skin and sculpted cheekbones, giving him a graceful, yet determined air.

“Och, me? They call me Neacal,” he said with a dark smile. “Ye’ll soon find out about me.”

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The Cameron keep was a sight to behold. Ishbel had never visited it before, and seeing it for the first time made her gasp, her lips stretching into a smile.

Angus smiled when he saw her own smile, wondering if he would ever get tired of seeing the beauty of it, though he doubted that he could ever get tired of anything relating to Ishbel.

“This is it, lass,” he told her as the two of them stepped off their carriage, Angus helping her by taking her hand in his.

Ever since Ishbel’s belly had grown a little, she had been finding it difficult to enter, and exit and carriage, and Angus couldn’t blame her. He didn’t know what he would do if he would have to walk around with that kind of weight in his stomach, and just the thought of it made him glad that he wasn’t the one who had to be pregnant.

He still felt sorry for Ishbel, though, and he wished he could take away her pain every time that her back or her feet would ache, or when the morning sickness would kick in, leaving her nauseous for hours every day.

Thankfully, it had been a while since she had had any morning sickness, and their trip to the Cameron keep had been rather pleasant. It helped that it was a short trip, after all, and it also helped that Ishbel was excited to not only travel but also to finally see Vanora again.

It had been years since the two of them had last met each other, after all, and Angus was happy that they would finally have a chance to catch up.

Before the two of them could take more than a few steps, Donal and Vanora appeared by the castle’s entrance, rushing to greet them, Vanora holding their youngest, Ewen, in her arms, while their first-born, Ronald, ran excitedly behind them.

Both of them stopped dead in their tracks, though, when they saw Ishbel, and Angus couldn’t help but laugh at the shocked, stunned look on their faces.

“Ye didnae tell us that yer expecting a bairn!” Vanora shrieked, partly excited and partly exasperated with Angus. “Ishbel! Yer with bairn!”

“Yes, I know!” Ishbel said, laughing softly as Vanora approached her, pressing a kiss on her cheek since she didn’t have a free arm to embrace her.

“I wanted it to be a surprise for ye,” Angus said with a small shrug. “So I didnae tell ye in me letters.”

“A little warning would have been nice, Angus,” Vanora scolded him, but the smile on her lips made her seem much less threatening than she sounded. “Weel . . . the important thing is that we ken noo. Come, Ishbel . . . it’s so verra nice to see ye, but ye must be tired and hungry. Come, I’ll have the servants prepare some food for ye.”

“What about me?” Angus asked with a pout, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Ye get nothing for what ye did,” Vanora teased, before she and Ishbel disappeared into the castle, leaving Angus and Donal alone.

The two of them looked at each other for a few moments before they pulled each other into a hug, patting each other’s back.

“Congratulations, lad,” Donal told him. “I see ye and Ishbel have been verra busy. It hasnae been that long since ye married.”

“As if ye waited with Vanora,” Angus reminded him, and the two of them burst into laughter. “How are ye, Donal?”

“I’m good, Angus, I’m verra good,” Donal said. “Tired, always running after me lads, sometimes trying to rule . . . ye ken how it is,” he joked. “Or ye will soon, once ye’ll have a bairn of yer own.”

Angus had been excited since the very first moment that he had found out about Ishbel’s pregnancy. He couldn’t stop thinking about it, and he couldn’t stop smiling, but when Donal uttered those words, he couldn’t help but feel as though there was a weight on his chest, preventing him from breathing.

Donal must have noticed, Angus thought, as he put a hand on his shoulder, looking at him with a small, concerned frown.

“Are ye alright, lad?” Donal asked him.

“Aye.” Angus nodded, a hand coming up to rub at his chest. “I just realized that I’ll be a father soon. Donal . . . I dinnae ken anything about bairns. How will I be a father if I dinnae ken anything? How did ye do it?”

Donal laughed at that, and he began to lead Angus inside the castle, where Angus could hopefully get a drink like he wished he would, anything to take the edge off, to make him stop panicking so much about something that was still so far away.

“I didnae ken anything,” Donal admitted. “I dinnae think I ken anything the noo, either, but it’s alright, Angus. Ye dinnae have to ken anything to raise a bairn because ye’ll have all the help that ye need. Dinnae ye worry . . . I’m sure ye’ll be a good father.”

“How do ye ken?” Angus asked, just as Donal took him to the kitchens and shoved a cup of wine in his hands, as though he had read his mind. Angus gulped it down gratefully, and when he was finished with it, he pushed his cup towards Donal, so that the man could pour him another.

It took Angus a moment to realize that every servant in the kitchen had stopped working and was staring at them, instead, but when he did, he grabbed Angus by the sleeve and dragged him back outside.

The last thing he needed was for everyone in the castle to talk about how he was terribly anxious at the mere thought of becoming a father.

“I ken because yer good at everything else,” Donal said. “I ken because yer a good friend, a good Laird, and ye’ll be a good father, too. And if nay, weel . . . then Ishbel will be a good enough parent for the both of ye.”

Angus knew that Donal was merely joking, but he didn’t even want to think about the possibility that he would be anything less than exceptional at being a father. He wanted his child to grow up surrounded with all the love that it could have, and he supposed that just that would be a good start at making him a good father.

Perhaps he shouldn’t worry so much, he thought, though it could simply be the wine talking.

“Listen, Angus . . . if I can manage with two wee lads, then ye’ll manage just fine, too,” Donal assured him, but then he paused, humming to himself. “Unless they’re twins. Then I canna help ye.”

“Thank ye for yer kind words, Donal, but perhaps we should talk about something that isnae as terrifying as this,” Angus said, wiping some cold sweat off his forehead. After his request, he and Donal began to talk about anything and everything, from their clansmen and women to Donal’s own children, and how much Ronald had already grown. They reminisced about the times when they would train under Cormag, the two of them, along with Ronald, causing as much chaos as they could when they were younger, and about the times that Euan would call Angus a fool.

Then, just as they were on their sixth cup of wine, Angus decided to talk about something that perhaps he shouldn’t have brought up at all. It was something that had kept him awake several nights, though, something that had him tossing and turning in his sleep, unable to find solace.

“Did I ever tell ye what Vika told me before she died?” Angus asked Donal, only to have him scoff at him for even bringing her up. “Nay, nay . . . Donal, listen to me. It’s important. Did I ever tell ye?”

Donal shrugged a shoulder, stalling by taking a sip of his drink. “I dinnae ken,” he said. “Ye told me many things about her that day.”

“Aye, aye . . .  but did I tell ye that she said she had secrets?” Angus asked. Even then, even as he spoke to Donal about it, he couldn’t help but shiver, a chill running down his spine at the thought of what she could have done.

“She had many secrets, Angus,” Donal reminded him. “Even her true self was a secret. I’m nay surprised that she had more.”

“She said that I would never ken all of her secrets,” Angus said, remembering back to that day. He had never managed to find out anything else, and if Vika had told the truth, then her secrets were well-kept. “What could she mean, Donal? Do ye think . . . do ye think that she’s still a threat?”

“How can she be a threat?” Donal asked. “She’s dead, Angus. She’s been dead for a long time, there is nothing that a dead lass can do to ye.”

“Nay, nay her, but ye saw what she did to Hamish,” Angus reminded him. “She controlled his every move. What if she had someone else, some like him, who would do anything that she would ask of him, even after she was gone?”

Donal stayed quiet for a long time, but Angus wished that he would say something, anything to stop the panic that was rising like bile up his throat. Talking about it out loud was somehow worse than thinking about it, and Angus found himself breathing faster, his breaths turning shallow and labored until Donal gave him a gentle pat on the back.

“Ye may be right,” Donal admitted. “Or ye may be wrong. She may have been lying, too, ye ken. Perhaps she had no other secrets, and she only said that so that she could torment ye even after her death. I am almost certain that was her last secret . . . that she had no other secrets, and that she only said that to torture ye, to make ye think about her every day. Dinnae give her satisfaction, Angus. She isnae worth even one thought.”

Angus found himself breathing easier, then. Donal was right, he thought, he must have been. Angus had been cautious once, but after Vika’s escape and her subsequent manipulation of Hamish, he was almost paranoid, taking every precaution that he could think of just so that he would never find himself bound to Vika’s sick games again.

The more he thought about her, the more power he gave her. Angus didn’t want her to have any power over him anymore, and the only way that he could make sure that would happen was by erasing her from his life, from his memory entirely. As long as he didn’t think about her and everything that she could have done to him if she were still alive, then there was nothing that the mere memory of her could do to him.

Vika was gone. She was dead, and she would never hurt him or his family again. It was something that Angus would have to repeat to himself until he wouldn’t have to anymore until the words were imprinted in his mind.

It was rather strange for him to think that Vika was finally gone for good, never to return. She had been in his periphery for so long, always lurking around a corner, always waiting for an opportunity to strike. Angus had learned to be careful with her, but now he didn’t have to be careful anymore. He could be carefree, instead, and he could finally enjoy his life without worrying that something or someone would ruin it. He could finally enjoy his time with his family, his friends, and his clan without glancing behind his shoulder every now and then, just to reassure himself that everyone was safe.

“Are ye still thinking about her?” Donal asked with a sigh. “Let it go, lad. Let her go.”

And so, Angus did. He drew in a deep breath, and then he exhaled, and just like that, he decided to stop worrying so much.

“Weel . . . shall we go join our wives before they come looking for us?” Angus asked. He had already missed Ishbel, if he were honest with himself, as the two of them had been attached to the hip ever since she had fallen pregnant. Angus hated leaving her out of his sight, and he had even noticed that his hands were always on her those days, stroking her hair or resting on her belly.

He was certain that Donal would joke about it, but he was also certain that he had been the same, too, when Vanora had been pregnant.

“Let’s go.”

Angus stood and stretched his limbs, which were aching after the long travel. Then, he followed Donal to the gardens, where Ishbel and Vanora were sitting, laughing, and chatting as Ronald ran around them excitedly.

Angus’ gaze fell on his wife. She seemed to be glowing under the afternoon sun, her smile blinding, and her gaze magnetic when it fell on him.

He had nothing to worry about; he had the perfect life and the perfect wife.

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It was a bright and sunny day, and Jane was more content than she had ever been. The laughter of the children was loud, and they ran around her skirts in the grass, but she was unbothered by their playfulness.

Three years had passed since her wedding, and life had taken a permanent turn for the better. Although she had been unsure at first about whether or not they should live in the castle with William, now it was her home. They had stayed since Suisan had left, and they did not want William to be alone since he seemed to have no plans for marriage just yet.

She and Alastair had stayed to keep him company, and they spent their summers in England just to make sure they were not always in his hair and to see her father. This summer, however, Alastair had brought them to his former home, where he had lived with his parents and sister.

The small village which had burnt down had become a beautiful field of grass. Alastair had built a little cottage where the old house stood and had left it there for years. This summer, however, he was ready to bring them there and to introduce them to his parents at their grave.

Upon their arrival, he left them standing in the field and went to check the cottage. Although he had hired people to clean it, he still wanted to check that everything was fine before he brought them in.

So Jane had remained outside with the children, sitting in the grass while they played around her. The moment was serene, and she turned her face up to soak in the warm rays, the sun was lovingly shining down on them.

“Ye look calm,” he said teasingly, returning to her side. She had to smile. Usually, she would have told the children to stop running by now. Seeing their father, the two smaller children, who could walk on their own, ran to him, Ramsey, who was three, Maria, his twin. Ivie, who was only a year old, crawled over at a much slower pace.

This was her family now. After their wedding, it was not long before they were blessed with Ramsey and Maria. Her son had her eyes, although he took everything else from his father. Alastair had shed tears the day he was born, and she could never forget the look on his face.

Ramsey was a very intelligent and strong boy with a solid moral code despite still being so young. He was just as reckless as Jane and searched for excitement everywhere. He loved books, and Alastair and William agreed to allow him access to the castle library once he was old enough. He would always run into Jane’s arms the moment she mentioned storytime. Once he was old enough to hold a wooden sword, he would start lessons in swordsmanship.

To their son, family came first, and this showed in how he doted on his sisters and listened to his mother when he saw that his inability to sit still brought her distress. He was very close to his father, copying his actions and wanting to be just like him. William was also like family, and he spent a lot of time reading with William. Jane kept hoping some of William’s calmness would rub off him.

This hope was too far-fetched, however, as he had the genes of two hotblooded parents and spent quality time with his grandfather, John Baxendale, who was the worst of them all during the summer. Ever since her father had retired after Ivie’s birth, he had ample time to sit back and do nothing. That meant that while Jane tried to temper Ramsey’s excitable nature, her father facilitated it. According to him, he was enjoying what he missed out on by not having a son.

Maria, Ramsey’s twin and their first daughter, had taken only Jane’s red locks. Once again, she looked like her father and was identical to Ramsey. Alastair had been overjoyed and prided himself on the fact that his daughter looked like him and was gorgeous. Maria was just as hot-blooded as Jane, and as much as she wished not to admit it, she began to understand how her governess, Mary, had felt, trying to make a lady out of her.

Maria would take swordsmanship up alongside her brother as soon as she could get a grip on a wooden sword. This was obvious as she watched her father spar and mirrored her brother’s excitement. While Mary had wailed in protest, she had grudgingly allowed it since Jane was adamant that she wanted Maria to be free to learn the way of the sword so that she would be able to protect herself even better than Jane had been able to.

The little Maria, unlike her brother, had no interest in books whatsoever, and only agreed to settle down and listen to a story when William was reading. Marie was completely taken by William, and Jane could not blame her when the first time she saw him, she had thought he was an angel.

William was the happiest she had ever seen him when surrounded by their family. He was so bright with joy that he rivaled the sun.

Ivie was their youngest and their last. Finally, in her, Jane found her spitting image, although her hair was dark brown. She was precious, and her siblings loved her unconditionally, and she received all sorts of gifts from their daily adventures. Jane was always alert to intercept those presents as one day Ramsey had run in saying that he had a gift for Ivie, and it turned out to be a frog.

Ivie seemed to be calmer than both her siblings and although she could crawl around quite well already, she stayed put most of the time, unlike the other two who, once they could move, wreaked havoc everywhere they could reach. Jane was beyond thankful as she was not sure what she would do with three handfuls.

Mary had high hopes for Ivie, and according to her, would be the perfect student. Despite being a calm child, Ivie was very happy, always ready to melt hearts with her adorable giggles. She had everyone wrapped around her tiny fingers.

“I am calm,” she responded to Alastair as he bent to raise Ivie into his arms, successfully carrying all three of his children on his shoulders. Jane raised a brow at her husband, one son hanging onto his back, one daughter sitting on his neck, and the baby in his arms reaching for his face.

He was still the most handsome man she had ever seen. Over the years, Alastair had begun to keep a beard, and she loved it. His full beard gave him a mature look and somehow made him look softer, more of a family man, especially surrounded by his children.

Jane swooned, once again noting how hopelessly in love she was with this man. Who would have thought that she would find so much happiness from the failure of an arranged marriage? She thanked the heavens that her father had sent her to the Highlands – otherwise she would have never met the love of her life.

She grinned as she remembered the rude yet gorgeous man she had stepped out of her carriage to insult.

“Magnanimous ye say? Och ye English really love to make yerselves feel righteous! As though yer Lord or whoever is in that carriage cared about me truly. Let him come out here and tell me if he didnae simply dae it in his self-righteousness with the expectancy of some thankful bootlickin’.”

She remembered his words exactly as he had spoken them. He must have felt so angry when he said them. She giggled to herself as her children laughed as he played with them. What would he have thought if she had told him then that she would have him married and giving tender love to her children in a few years? He would have called her crazy, and she would have thought she was too.

“Ye are givin’ me that look again,” Alastair said warily, after glancing her way and finding her watching.

“What look?” she asked, her face frowning in innocent confusion.

“The one that says ye want me to give ye another child, and I just must say, nay! It is way too early for that. Ivie is nae grown!” he declared righteously.

Her jaw dropped as she realized what he said and grabbed the closest thing to throw at him, which just happened to be grass. He guffawed even as the grass flailed in the air, falling just short of him.

“Come,” he said, reaching his one free hand out to her. “Let’s go meet me parents.”

She got to her feet, smiling softly and brushed the grass from her skirts before taking his hand contentedly.

They were approaching where the tombstones stood further down the field when Jane realized that there was a person already standing there. She glanced up at Alastair for clarification. This was supposed to be family time.

Her frown only deepened, however, when she saw the look of shock on her husband’s face as he froze, staring at the figure of a woman with flowing dark hair that fell past her waist.

“Devona?” he whispered hoarsely, the tremor in his voice alerting Jane to the fact that this person would affect their lives forever, although she was not certain how.

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There was a lot of commotion in the castle. People were walking around, all of them carrying something, anything from food and wine to decorations for the celebrations.

Peigi had had something to do with all of that, but it was mostly because of Mrs. MacLeish that the feast for celebrating Hendry’s fifteen years as the Laird of clan Dunbar would be so grand. Peigi refused to take credit for it; besides, she spent most of her time with their three children, running around behind them and making sure that they behaved or that they were not running around the castle with dirt on their faces.

It was another one of those days, though it was easier than most. Peigi had taken the children to the edge of the forest near the castle grounds where they could play and also help her gather everything that she needed. Every now and then, she still gathered some herbs, some leafy greens, and some snails to take back to the castle and cook herself, and she was still met with the same resistance from everyone but her husband when it came to eating them.

Mrs. MacLeish kept reminding her there was no need for her to cook such things anymore; in fact, there was no need for her to cook at all. Peigi had always liked it though, and she wasn’t about to stop doing such simple tasks simply because she was the Lady of the clan and she could have someone else do them for her.

She smiled as she watched her two eldest, a boy and a girl, run around the clearing as they played. Her youngest one, another boy, was in her arms, as he was still too young to join his brother and sister, but he also seemed happy to watch them.

As with every child, a fall was inevitable, and both of her older children fell down as they chased each other, which forced them to erupt into wailing cries.

“Ach, ye wee ones,” Peigi said, standing up from the rock that she was using as her seat and walking over to them. She made sure that they weren’t hurt, and soon enough, they had both stopped crying and were smiling again, the shock of falling already forgotten. “Shall we go to papa?”

The children shouted their agreement, and she followed them as they made their way back to the castle, always keeping a close eye on them. She had never stopped being paranoid, not even after all the years she had spent without seeing her father or anyone from the Black Stags. In fact, there had been few threats since Hendry had defeated the brigands, as everyone had learned their lesson; no one could be his match.

When they were back at the castle, the children ran to Hendry, who was speaking to a merchant in the courtyard, and he picked both of them up, one in each arm. Peigi joined him, pressing a kiss on his cheek, and their two children did the same, making Hendry laugh in delight.

“Where have ye been?” he asked. “Did mama show ye the forest?”

The children started babbling excitedly, the older girl talking about the woods while the younger boy struggled a little to find the right words, his vocabulary still limited by his age. Their son, the one that Peigi had in her arms, was cooing softly, and Peigi held him close to her, rocking him gently as she did.

“Are ye ready for the feast tomorrow?” Peigi asked. “Beitris sent a letter that I just received this morning . . . she said she’ll be coming. In fact, she said she wouldnae miss it for the world.”

“Ach, that’s a relief,” Hendry said. “I feared that she would send her brother instead . . . or worse, her father. I cannae imagine what I’d do if I opened the gates and saw him.”

Peigi laughed, shaking her head at her husband. “Dinnae be rude, Hendry. Besides, I ken that yer fonder of him than ye say ye are.”

Hendry neither confirmed nor denied that, but Peigi didn’t need him to do either. She knew her husband too well for him to lie to her. Besides, before either of them could say anything, the gates to the castle opened once more, and a medicinal cart led by a cloaked figure entered the castle grounds.

Peigi frowned as she gazed at the figure, unable to make out any features, even in broad daylight.

“Who is that?” she asked Hendry, who seemed to be just as confused as she was.

“Shall we find out?” Hendry asked as he walked towards the figure, Peigi following close behind.

“M’lord,” a voice said from under the hood, before the figure pushed the hood back, revealing the youthful, though rugged face of a man with dark hair and blue eyes. It was no one that Hendry or Peigi recognized, which could only mean that he was a traveler. “I come to ye seeking a place to stay and a place to work.”

Peigi looked at Hendry expectantly. After all, she had once been in the man’s shoes, not that long ago, and Hendry remembered that.

“All travelers who seek help are welcome in my clan,” he said. “Come . . . tell me where ye come from.”

Peigi walked back to her two children, taking the younger by the hand as the oldest followed close behind, the four of them walking back to the castle.

In the distance, she could hear Hendry laugh.

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