Extended Epilogues

Was there a part that bored or that you didn't really like in the book?

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Even a character, a scene, or anything that you enjoyed.

Would you read a series where all books begin from the same event, but each couple’s story unfolds in a different direction? *

• Yes, it’s fun to see how one moment changes everything.
• No, I’d get bored seeing the same starting point again.

In a romance book I prefer... *

• When the couple’s banter carries the humor!
• The couple to stay more serious while the side characters bring the fun.

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One Year Later…

Music carried on the warm breeze as Alec, Mairi, and Beitris led a caravan of horses and carts filled with MacMillan clansmen and women through the forest on the path leading to the village. The sun was golden, and the fields along the way were heavy and ready for the harvest.

The return of the harvest festival marked a new beginning, and much change from the previous year. Now both MacMillians and Camerons were joined in a strong alliance. And the love in Mairi’s heart lifted her spirits as much as the pipes and banners that lined the road toward the green.

As Mairi dismounted her horse and stood at the edge of the village green, her hand tucked in Alec’s, her eyes swept across the gathered crowd. Children darted past with ribbons, women balanced baskets of bread and fruit, and men raised tankards in good cheer.

“I cannae believe how far we’ve come since last year,” she said, thinking of how she had been so deep in her own grief at the last harvest fest, and all the danger and obstacles they had faced and overcome since. Where once there had been suspicion and grief, now there was only joy.

Alec looked down at her, his expression warm and teasing. “Aye, and so far there’ve been nay drunkards looking tae take yer honor.”

She laughed, the memory of how they first met still vivid in her mind. He had come to her rescue more than once, but that first meeting in the tavern, with Alec defending her honor was unforgettable. She briefly looked around half expecting to see the men who had attacked her that night lingering in the shadows.

“That may be true now, but should it change, I’m glad ye’re here tae defend me.” Her hand reached and found his, their fingers entwined, and she gave a gentle squeeze.

They moved into the center of the crowd. The festival loud and alive surrounding them, music playing and stalls of ale and roasting meats everywhere.

Mairi immediately spied her brother, Struan, sitting at a long table with his wife, Isolde, a baby on her lap and her belly full with yet another Cameron baby. A small swell of affection rose up in her chest as she approached. Mairi smiled at her brother and his growing family. She could not help but be moved by the sight of him so loved and loving in return.

“Well, look at that,” Alec said. “Is the strong, brave, Struan Cameron so easily softened?”

“Careful, MacMillan,” Struan replied, pointing to Mairi’s stomach with his dirk. “Mock me if ye must, but yer time will come.”

Isolde simply rolled her eyes at the men and their tough banter. “Pay them nay mind,” she said to Mairi. “And dinnae let me husband rush ye intae bairns.”

Mairi just laughed, reaching over and gently wiping a bit of jam from the bairn’s cheek. She thought about her future with Alec. Her heart was so impossibly full.

“When our time comes,” she said softly glancing at her husband, “I’m sure Alec will be jelly in the baby’s hands,” Mairi laughed.

Nearby, Finlay was speaking with Beitris who was sitting on a barrel, a goblet already in her hand, raised as if she were the queen on the throne.

“Keep waving that goblet around, and ye’ll spill wine all over yerself and everyone here,” Finlay said growling at the lass.

“Mind yer manners subject, or I shall have ye flogged.” Beitris laughed tossing her braid over her shoulder as she jumped down, running past before Finlay could get another word out. She leapt over some small children playing in the grass, and Finlay gave chase, only half in jest.

“God help us, if those two ever decided to join forces rather than bicker at each other,” Alec said shaking his head.

“Indeed,” Struan agreed. His smile softening the normally hard lines of his brow.

“Perhaps, they are already plotting against the two of ye,” Mairi chided, before all four of them erupted in laughter. She leaned closer, her shoulder bumping his arm, his warmth causing her to flush and smile lowering her gaze.

Alec leaned down, whispering in her ear. “Ye are quick tae smile, leannan, perhaps I should keep a closer watch on ye throughout the day.”

There was an echo of heat in his voice, the same that seemed to grow between them whenever they were together.

“Perhaps so, me’ laird. Afterall ye would nae want tae lose me.” She ran a finger down his arm before entwining her fingers with his. He ran this thumb in slow circles in the center of her palm.

“I never will,” he said placing a kiss to her temple.

He hopped down from the table where they sat and extended an arm toward her.

“Shall we see what more mischief Beitris and Finlay have gotten up tae? Perhaps we shall join them if the folly is merry enough?”

Mairi stood herself, leaning into him, and giving him a sly grin before reaching up and sealing her lips to his. Alec gave her a small moan of approval before she pulled away, hold his ice blue gaze.

“Or mayhap we should go somewhere quiet and see if we can create any mischief fer ourselves?”

***

As the sun began to dip lower in the sky, the food tables were cleared and the musicians moved in closer so that the dancing could begin. The evening made warmer as a series of bonfires were lit throughout the village. Alec and Mairi sat on a worn plaid, her back resting comfortably against a thick tree. Against her tired protests, Alec stood, pulling Mairi up and twirling her into his arms.

“Have ye had a nice day?” he asked as they danced among the other couples flowing in and out of the village green to enjoy the music in the clearing.

“Aye, I have. And ye, husband? Glad we came?”

“Indeed.”

He spun her again, and when he pulled her back, wrapping her closely into his chest, he planted a soft kiss upon her lips. “Ye ken, I’ve been thinking,” he said.

“Always a dangerous thing,” she countered twirling back out from him.

“Aye, but this time, I was thinking about Struan and the bairn, with another on the way.” His tone shifted to serious as he pulled her back in. Mairi stilled, stopping their dance to search his face, worried.

“Nay, naethin’ worrisome, lass” he said quickly squeezing her waist. His smile, boyish, dissolving her concern. Looking into his eyes she was settled, finding nothing but warmth in his light blue gaze. “But what would ye say tae maybe havin’ one of our own?”

“A bairn?” The word tumbled out, clumsy and heavy in her mouth. Her throat became tight with emotion.

Mairi had always dreamed of children, of having a large family of her own. Wanting her bairns to have siblings like she did, free to spend their days playing and running along the forest paths and down to the loch. She had wondered whether Alec, already having raised Beitris, would want to have another child. She imagined he would perhaps, but had not dared hope too much. She had decided Alec was enough for her and would not push. But to hear him ask? Something in her heart sprang to life.

“Of course, I want a bairn with ye,” he replied, sliding his hand up her back, holding her close. “Is that what ye want as well?”

That familiar sting of tears was back behind her eyes, as she looked up at her amazing husband.

“I want it more than ye ken,” she said.

He leaned into her, and whispered in her ear, “Then perhaps, we should start tryin’, ye think?” He kissed her lightly behind her earlobe in spot he had recently discovered made her melt. Her knees buckled slightly as he playfully nipped her.

“Ye’ve nay shame, Alec MacMillan.” She whispered before playfully swatting at his chest, a warm blush creeping into her cheeks, as a sliver of hot pleasure shot through her center.

Alec pulled her tightly to his chest, hand upon her waist pulling her close in a way that promised he would follow through with more than just a dance as they began again to sway with the music. “Come, wife,” he said. “Let’s dance until dawn creeps over the horizon.”

And they did, laughter spilling from Mairi’s lips as the world spun around them. Beneath her laughter, however, came the knowledge that when the music faded, and the world got quiet the real celebration would begin in the privacy of their shared chamber.

The End

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Would you read a Scottish historical romance with a second chance at love trope? *

• Yes, I’d love it!
• No, it involves too much backstory and I prefer fresh beginnings.

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Four years later, MacKenzie Keep

The yard of the MacKenzie keep bustled with the sounds of daily life, hooves striking stone, voices carrying across the walls, the clang of steel from the training ring. Yet Constantine’s attention was caught not by the people, but by the peals of laughter from the small figure darting across the packed earth.

“Mama, water!” A small voice piped up from behind him, accompanied by the determined patter of tiny feet.

Constantine turned to see his daughter, Isla, toddling toward the pool of mud with the fearless confidence of a two-year-old who’d never known danger. Her copper hair, so like her mother’s, caught the light as she reached chubby hands toward the mud.

“Nae so fast, little one,” Rowena called, scooping up their daughter before she could stomp in fully clothed. Isla squealed with delight, her brown eyes sparkling with mischief.

“She has yer sense of adventure,” Constantine observed dryly, earning himself a pointed look from his wife.

“And yer complete lack of fear,” Rowena countered, though her voice was warm with amusement. “Remember who taught her tae climb before she could properly walk.”

“Constantine!” Lilias’s voice carried across the yard as she approached, her grown woman’s grace a far cry from the uncertain girl she’d been four years ago. At twenty-one, she’d blossomed into a beauty who turned heads at every gathering, her dark hair and quick wit drawing admirers from across the Highlands. But she’d also grown into a confident, intelligent, and fiercely loyal woman.

“The messenger’s arrived,” she continued as she reached them. “Alasdair will be here before sunset.”

Rowena shifted Isla to her hip, her expression growing thoughtful. “Good. If anyone can help us sort out what’s really happening on our borders, it’s me cousin.”

Alasdair MacDougall was Rowena’s maternal cousin, laird of a clan whose lands bordered both MacKenzie territory and the regions where the trouble had been brewing. More importantly, he was a man Constantine had come to trust completely; a steady leader with a strategic mind and the fighting skills to back up his decisions.

As if summoned by their conversation, the sound of approaching horses echoed across the gates. A small party of riders appeared, their MacDougall banners snapping in the evening breeze.

At their head rode a man Constantine recognized immediately. Tall and broad-shouldered, with the kind of quiet authority that needed no announcement.

“That’s quite an escort fer a social visit,” Lilias observed, watching the dozen well-armed warriors who accompanied their guest.

“These aren’t social times,” Constantine replied grimly. “If Alasdair’s bringing that many men, the situation’s worse than we thought.”

“Cousin,” Alasdair called, striding forward to embrace everyone. “This bonnie lass must be the famous Isla I’ve heard so much about.”

Isla, normally shy around strangers, studied the newcomer with serious eyes before apparently deciding he was acceptable. She reached out one small hand to pat his bearded cheek, earning a delighted laugh.

“She has excellent judgment,” Alasdair declared, gently catching the tiny hand in his much larger one. “Just like her maither.”

“Flatterer,” Rowena accused, but she was smiling. “How bad is it, Alasdair?”

“Bad enough that we need tae talk privately,” he replied, his expression growing serious. “But first, let me greet the rest of the family properly.”

His eyes found Constantine, and the two men clasped forearms in the warrior’s greeting. “Braither,” Alasdair said simply. “Good tae see ye again.”

“And ye,” Constantine replied, meaning it. “How was the journey?”

“Uneventful, which is more than I can say fer—” Alasdair’s words died as his gaze fell on Lilias, who had been hanging back slightly, letting the family reunite. Something shifted in his expression, a subtle change that Constantine caught immediately.

“Alasdair,” Rowena said, following his gaze with growing amusement, “ye remember Constantine’s sister, Lilias.”

“I…” Alasdair seemed momentarily at a loss for words, which was unusual for the articulate clan leader. “I dae. I believe it’s been some time since we last met, Lady Lilias.”

Lilias stepped forward with a smile that held just a hint of mischief. “Indeed it has, Laird MacDougall.”

“Ye’ve grown intae a remarkable woman, me lady,” he managed, his voice slightly rougher than usual.

Constantine exchanged a meaningful glance with Rowena, who was trying not to smile too obviously at the byplay between their cousin and sister. This was an interesting development.

“Why dinnae we get everyone settled,” Rowena suggested. “Supper will be ready soon, and I’m sure ye’ll want tae rest before we discuss business.”

“Actually,” Lilias interjected, “I was planning tae show Laird MacDougall the new fortifications Constantine had built on the eastern wall. If he’s here about border security, he might find them interesting.”

Alasdair’s face brightened considerably at the prospect. “That would be most helpful, Lady Lilias. I’d be honored by yer guidance.”

“Then I’ll leave ye tae it,” Rowena said, hefting a squirming Isla higher on her hip. “This little one needs her supper before she becomes completely impossible.”

They made their way back inside the castle, Isla chattering happily in her mixture of words and babble as she pointed at everything that caught her interest. The domesticity of the moment, his wife beside him, his daughter in her arms, struck Constantine with unexpected force. Four years ago, he’d been a lone mercenary with no ties beyond gold and survival. Now he had everything worth fighting for.

“Ye’re matchmaking,” Constantine murmured to Rowena as they headed inside.

“I’m nae,” she corrected primly. “If anything develops naturally, well… Alasdair is a good man, and Lilias deserves happiness.”

“And a MacDougall alliance wouldn’t hurt our strategic position,” Constantine added pragmatically.

“That too,” Rowena agreed with a grin. “Though I suspect our Lilias is quite capable of making her own choices about such matters.”

As if to prove her point, the sound of Lilias’s laughter drifted across the courtyard, followed by Alasdair’s deeper chuckle.

***

Later that evening, after Isla had been settled for the night and the family had gathered for supper, the conversation inevitably turned to the troubles plaguing the borderlands.

Alasdair’s news was grimmer than expected, organized raids, coordinated attacks, and evidence of foreign coin backing the violence.

“‘Tis nae random banditry,” he explained, his weathered hands gesturing over a map spread across the table. “Someone’s stirring up the smaller clans, promising them rich rewards fer destabilizing our territories.”

“Any idea who?” Constantine asked, though his expression suggested he already suspected.

“Nay. But there’s English gold involved,” Alasdair confirmed grimly. “They’re trying tae weaken us from within before making any open moves. Classic strategy, let us bleed ourselves fighting each other, then step in tae claim the spoils.”

Lilias spoke up unexpectedly. “What about the coastal routes? If they’re using English ships tae move supplies…”

“Aye, if we could intercept their supply lines, or at least disrupt them…”

“Then the smaller clans would lose interest quickly enough,” Rowena finished. “Take away the gold, and most of these alliances will crumble.”

The discussion continued late into the evening, with ideas flowing freely between the four adults.

“It’s time fer us tae retire,” Constantine said and rose from his seat, reaching for Rowena’s hand. He guided her from the great hall, leaving Lilias and Alasdair still seated by the hearth as the fire burned low. The keep was quiet at this late hour, the heavy stones holding the day’s chill.

At the stair, Rowena hesitated, glancing toward the door of the chamber where their daughter slept. Constantine caught the look and answered softly, “She’s safe, lass. Her maid keeps watch close by.”

Rowena’s shoulders eased, though the faintest smile tugged at her lips. “Ye ken I’ll always look first tae her.”

“Aye,” he said, his voice rough with pride. “As ye should. But taenight…” Constantine stopped in front of their chamber and drew her hand more firmly into his. “Taenight I’ll have a share of ye as well.”

He opened the door to their chamber and pulled Rowena inside. The fire in the hearth had burned down to glowing embers, casting the room in a soft, ruddy light. Constantine closed the door behind them and turned to her, his gaze dark and intent.

“At last,” he murmured, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek. “At last, we’re alone.”

Rowena laughed, the sound low and warm. Constantine bent, capturing her lips in a kiss that was tender at first, then deepened with a hunger long restrained. She leaned into him, her hands curling into the folds of his plaid, her breath quickening as his arms closed around her.

Constantine lifted his head only long enough to whisper against her mouth, “Ye’re mine, Rowena. Wife, lady, heart of me. And I’ll nae let another hour pass without showin’ ye just that.”

The End

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Was there a part that bored or that you didn't really like in the book?

Even a character, a scene, or anything. You could say no if nothing bothered you.

Which was the part you liked most in the book?

Even a character, a scene, or anything that you enjoyed.

You prefer the first major romantic turning point to be… *

• A heated argument that ends in an unexpected kiss.
• A forced act of trust that changes their view of each other.
• A dangerous moment that pushes one to reveal their deepest trauma.

When it comes to the antagonist, you prefer… *

• The villain bribing people from the MMC’s keep to work with him.
• The villain being the traitor himself, living in the MMC’s keep.

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Two Months Later…

In the weeks that followed since the fall of Moy Castle and Cluny House, peace had indeed spread across the land. It spread far and wide. Isolde could feel the happiness in the air as the darkness of their oppression finally ebbed. People were happy. She was happy.

More than that, Isolde had started to feel as if she truly belonged.

Wherever she walked, either through the castle or the villages that surrounded Achnacarry, she was greeted warmly and with kind words. Gone were the dark and suspicious glances, the whispered words, and silent accusations. Gone was the association with her father. And in their place was a genuine and welcoming warmth from everyone she met or spoke with.

In the weeks that followed the fall of her father and Dougal MacPherson, people in and around Achnacarry had come to accept her and embrace her as one of their own. They had claimed her as part of the clan. Better than that though, was that Struan’s siblings and his closest friends all saw her as part of their family. They made her feel as if she was one of them. It was a feeling she’d never had before, and it made her soul sing with joy.

That day though, as she stalked the halls of the castle, her mind spun and a dark thread of worry wrapped itself around her heart, pulling tight.

The castle was buzzing with activity all around her. The household staff rushed about on their various errands, getting ready for the season’s most important day of the year. The harvest festival was approaching, and this year seemed to promise it would be one of the biggest ever. It would be the first year their harvest festival was held without the shadow of her father looming over it all.

A sliver of shadow, however, enveloped her heart and Isolde knew she had to speak with Struan about it before the festival. She would tell him the news, but she had no idea how he was going to react.

For all and whatever came of it, it would change nothing if she told him immediately or held onto it for the next month. It had to be done.

“Excuse me,” Isolde said as she grabbed a chambermaid who was rushing by.

“Aye. What can I dae fer ye, Lady Isolde?”

“I’m lookin’ fer the laird,” she said. “Have ye seen him?”

“Oh. Aye. I just saw him over near the sparrin’ yard.”

“Wonderful. Thank ye.”

“Of course.”

Her stomach tied in knots, Isolde made her way out to the sparring yard. She stood in the shadow of the arched doorway, watching Struan finish his morning’s exercises.

Shirtless, his torso shone with sweat, making him glisten beneath the sun. His muscles rippled and flexed as he moved through his forms with the practiced ease of a skilled warrior. Isolde secretly hoped he would never have to use those skills again.

As he finished, he grabbed a cloth from the table and wiped himself down, then took a drink of water. It was then that he noticed her standing there. He smiled wide and walked over to her.

“And what are ye daein’ lurkin’ in the shadows like that then, eh?” he asked and turned in a circle with his arms out. “Cannae get enough of seein’ this, eh?”

Despite the anxiety that gripped her, Isolde laughed. It soon faded though, and she lowered her gaze, wringing her hands together at her waist. As if sensing the shift in her mood, Struan took her by the hand and squeezed them gently.

“What’s wrong, me love?” he asked. “Are ye all right?”

“Aye. I’m just…”

Her voice trailed off and Struan cocked his head, an expression of concern on his face. “What is it?” he asked. “What’s the matter?”

Isolde swallowed the lump in her throat and tried to stand firm. “I… I have some news…”

***

The household staff cleared the table after a meal in the family dining hall. Though the food was no doubt wonderful, Isolde had been so consumed by worry that she had barely tasted a thing. Her gaze drifted to the portrait of Rhona, and she imagined her eyes were narrow and accusing. She took a quick drink of wine to wash down the lump that rose in her throat.

“Are ye all right, love?” Mairi asked.

“Aye,” she said, her voice quaking. “I’m fine.”

“Are ye sure? Ye look a little pale.”

“I’m all right,” she replied, her smile shaking as much as her voice.

Mairi reached over and took her hand, giving it a squeeze with an expression of concern painted upon her face. Once the household staff left the hall, closing the door behind them, Struan got to his feet and banged on the table to draw everybody’s attention to him.

“Everybody, I need yer attention for a minute,” he intoned, his voice low and serious.

“What’s goin’ on?” Finlay asked uncertainly.

“We’ve gotten news that we’re goin’ tae be invaded,” he said.

“Invaded?” Mairi asked nervously.

“What? Invaded?” Finlay asked. “By who? What’s happenin’?”

“Aye. We’re goin’ tae need an army,” Struan said solemnly.

Despite her nerves over what his siblings would say, the corners of Isolde’s mouth twitched with a grin. He was really playing this out dramatically and she was having trouble keeping herself from laughing. Struan cut a glance at her and tipped her a wink.

“Struan, if we’re goin’ tae be invaded, we shouldnae be sittin’ here enjoyin’ a meal like naethin’s goin’ on,” Finlay said. “We need tae make preparations.”

“Aye,” he said.

“When can we expect it tae come?” Mairi asked.

Struan reached out and took Isolde’s hand. With a wide grin on his face, he put a hand on her belly and laughed, unable to control himself any longer.

“Probably in about seven months,” he announced.

The room was silent for a long, strained moment. But then Mairi and Finlay both let out a long breath followed by laughter of their own. Mairi dashed around the table and pulled Isolde into a tight embrace then kissed her on the cheek.

“Ye’re goin’ tae have a bairn?” she cried. “’Tis the most wonderful news I’ve heard!”

“Aye. Congratulations!” Finlay cheered as he clapped Struan on the back.

Isolde turned and let Struan pull her into a warm embrace. She laughed and slapped his arm playfully as she shook her head.

“Invaded,” she said. “Ye’re a bleedin’ donkey.”

“Aye. I am. But it made ye laugh.”

“Aye. That it did,” she replied.

“’Tis all I wanted. I’ll never get tired of hearin’ ye laugh.”

“Bein’ married tae me braither, I’m sure ye’ll have a lot tae laugh at fer the rest of yer bleedin’ life,” Finlay said as he punched Struan on the arm, then turned and pulled Isolde into a warm embrace of his own.

“Congratulations, Isolde,” he said. “’Tis truly wonderful news. And ye’re sure?”

She nodded. “Aye. I’m sure. I saw Agatha yesterday and she confirmed it.”

Finlay gave her a sour look. “Agatha… the new healer makes me skin crawl.”

“Makes yer skin crawl?” Isolde asked with a laugh. “Why? Because she’s young and bonny?”

“I’m fairly sure she’s tryin’ tae bewitch me.”

“With her beauty and charm?” she asked with a wink. “Ye ken, one day ye’re goin’ tae want tae find a woman of yer own.”

Finlay laughed and shook his head. “The more time ye spend with me braither, the more ye’re startin’ tae sound like him.”

Isolde laughed and hugged him again. He squeezed her tight and stared down at her, a light of pride shining in his eyes.

“I’m truly glad for ye two,” he said. “I cannae wait tae meet me nephew.”

“Or yer niece,” Mairi corrected.

“Aye. I’m anxious tae meet me niece or me nephew.”

Struan pulled her to him, standing behind her with his arms wrapped around her waist. “’Tis goin’ tae be a lad. He’s goin’ tae be big and strong and smart.”

“Oh, so naethin’ like ye then,” Finlay teased.

“We need more wine. And treats!” Mairi cried out. “This calls fer a celebration.”

Struan hugged Isolde tight and she leaned into him, contentment and joy washing over her like a powerful river. It was hard for her to believe that through the madness of her life, the harsh cruelty of her father, and everything she had endured, she had found a family. One she loved, that accepted her without hesitation or reservation.

Isolde bit her bottom lip and smiled. She had no idea what she had done to deserve such good fortune, but she was thankful for it. And she would never let it go.

The End

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Read the book

Was there a part that bored or that you didn't really like in the book?

Even a character, a scene, or anything. You could say no if nothing bothered you.

Which was the part you liked most in the book?

Even a character, a scene, or anything that you enjoyed.

I'd love to see an opening chapter where... *

• The heroine is a nun who is rescued by the hero during a brutal attack on the church.
• The heroine is abducted by the hero in the middle of her wedding to the villain.
• The heroine accidentally witnesses the hero commit a crime, and he catches her, so he needs to take her with him.
• The hero mistakes the heroine for someone else and takes her hostage.

Which story would you read? *

• The main characters meet without knowing each other’s identities and share a moment of chemistry—or even a kiss—only to later discover a surprising connection (e.g. he’s betrothed to her sister, she’s engaged to his rival, or she’s the younger sister of the woman he’s meant to marry).
• The heroine is sent to marry the hero as part of a political alliance, but secretly she’s a spy who believes he has taken her sister captive to force the alliance.
• The heroine is forced to secure a wealthy match and sets her sights on a powerful laird—only to discover he’s already betrothed. Desperate, she intercepts his intended bride and takes her place, arriving at his keep under false identity and marrying him. But her carefully spun deception begins to unravel when the real bride shows up… and everything threatens to fall apart.

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Two Months Later…

Annora’s heart was full to bursting with joy as she walked down the aisle on Edmund’s arm after the seemingly endless nuptial mass had come to an end. A sea of smiling faces greeted her as they walked, pausing here and there for a special greeting.

A lone bagpiper in the lead, they ascended the steps to the entrance to the keep where she stood side by side with Edmund, welcoming a stream of guests flowing from the chapel, across the courtyard, ready to enjoy the coming festivities.

Among the first revelers to be greeted was a tall, elegant man, with a shock of white hair, clad in the red Munro tartan, his much younger wife beside him.

The couple was Ruairdrih Munro, Annora’s distant cousin who was now the Laird of Clan Munro, and his wife, Mhairi. They had made the journey from the eastern shores of the Scottish mainland to share the joy of her wedding and to ensure there was no lingering ill will between the clans following the death of her father.

Smiling, the man reached out to shake Edmund’s hand. The new Laird Munro, appointed almost immediately following the death of Annora’s father, was an amiable man who had sworn allegiance to King Robert. For him, there would be no aligning his clan with English barons.

She looked up at Edmund who was greeting their many guests with a smile and a friendly word for each of them.

It was with particular pleasure she greeted Laird Tòrr of Dùn Ara and his wife Lyra. They had arrived yesterday and were staying overnight in the castle. Edmund wished them to stay longer, but as Lyra was heavy with child and expected to give birth very soon, Tòrr was determined not to stay too long and tempt fate.

As they finally reached the end of the long receiving line she glanced up at Edmund. He beamed back at her and wove his arm around her waist.

“At last, ye’re me true lady.” He leaned down to land a soft kiss on her cheek. He chuckled. “But ye were me lady from that first moment I saw ye spluttering in the sea with the slaver close on yer heels.”

She pshawed at that and nudged him with her elbow as they turned to walk to the refectory hall.

“Nonsense. Ye saw naught but a half-drowned rat.”

He tightened his hold on her waist. “I saw a lass worth fighting fer.”

She grinned up him, her heart swelling with pride at the sight of her big, handsome, Highland warrior. “And ‘tis just as well, fer ye had much fighting ahead of ye.”

“Ye’re worth every moment of it, lass. And today ye’ve given me me heart’s desire. Yer hand in marriage.”

She sighed, leaning closer. “And ye’ve given me the same heart’s desire.”

As they entered the refectory hall, the assembled guests rose to their feet.

Chief Tormod, who was seated at the high table beside Laird Tòrr and the Lady Lyra, raised a goblet of wine.

“Tae our noble Laird Edmund of Clan MacNeacail and his beautiful lady Annora Munro. Slàinte mhath.”

“Slàinte mhath.”

The cry rang out throughout the hall as the guests drank to the health of their laird and his lady.

They took their seats next to Tòrr, Lyra and Tyra.

“Congratulations dear Sister.” She raised her goblet and sipped the wine. “Ye are a truly beautiful bride. Me braither is a lucky lad indeed.”

Annora smiled. It made her soul sing to see the way Tyra and Edmund had at last been able to embrace each other as brother and sister and the warmth that was growing between them.

Tyra gave a regretful sigh. “I had always thought it would be me wedding celebrated here.” She shook her head. “Yet it was nae tae be.”

No mention was made of the Laird Harris MacDonald, who had broken Tyra’s heart with his reckless greed and treachery. He was gone now, and by order of King Robert, never to set foot on MacNeacail lands again. The king had threatened the confiscation of his lands and a huge fine should he break the terms of his banishment. Given the man’s greed and lust for power, Annora had no doubt he’d not risk such a fitting penalty and they’d see no more of the dishonorable man.

Annora patted Tyra’s delicate hand. “Soon the sparkle will return tae yer lovely eyes, Sister. Happiness such as ours will be yers one day. Dinnae fret.”

Tyra curled her fingers around Annora’s. “I am happy fer ye both.”

“And both of us are happy we have ye as our sister,” Annora countered.

As the evening wore on, Annora’s eyes were drooping. She hid a yawn behind her hand. It had been a busy three days of preparations. Last night’s conversation with Torr and Lyra and Lionel had continued on into the wee hours and many drams of whisky had been consumed.

Now, all she could think of was returning to the bedchamber she shared with Edmund and savoring the joy of the first night of their life together.

He glanced over. “Ye’re tired lass?”

She nodded. “I will welcome some quiet time wi’ me new husband.”

He laughed softly. “Why, ye’ve been my wife these several months.”

She shook her head. “Mayhap it was so fer ye, Edmund, yet I was never sure of what me fate would be. I was betrothed tae another until our good King Robert dissolved that cursed agreement a short time ago.”

He settled an arm on her shoulders, the glint of desire in his eyes. “Then let us retire to our chamber so we can at last be joined as husband and wife.”

When she nodded with a grin, Edmund got to his feet and raised his goblet.

“To our merry friends, ‘tis time fer meself and me lady wife tae bid ye all good night.”

The company rose to their feet with a cheer and drank to their health again.

Edmund took Annora’s hand in his as she rose. They stepped down from the high table and began to walk through the crowd, raucous cheers following as they went.

To Annora’s surprise, Tormod, and his wife Margaret, fell into step behind them, closely followed by the other three elders and their wives, with Tyra, Lionel, Torr and Lyra joining in. She glanced up at Edmund, arching a puzzled brow, but he seemed oblivious to the procession trailing behind them.

As they reached the stairs, still with the company following close behind, she whispered to Edmund. “Are they accompanying us tae our bed?”

He looked around and laughed. “I believe we are now participating in the Bedding Ceremony.”

“The bedding… what?”

“Just keep walking, lass, it will become clear soon enough.”

The same piper who had piped them from the chapel awaited them as they climbed the stairs.

Dougie, the Seneschal and his household servants, lined the passageway to their bedchamber where the door stood wide open. The piper led them into the room and there was much merriment as the procession of their friends crowded in behind them.

Annora hesitated, unsure what to think. “What now. Surely, they’re nae staying fer…?”

Edmund chuckled. “Let us wait and see Annora.”

Their chamber was awash with flowers. Roses stood in jugs on the table, the mantlepiece, on the floor beside the bed. A path to their bed from the doorway had been laid with hundreds of rose petals.

Annora breathed in the luscious, heady scent as Edmund seized her in his arms and carried her, in all her finery, across to the bed which was also scattered with rose petals. He laid her back against a hillock of soft feather pillows and, without further ado, climbed onto the bed and reclined on one elbow beside her.

Tyra and Lyra walked across solemnly and removed Annora’s shoes.

A cheer went up as the shoes were handed around. Then Lyra and Tyra each took one of Annora’s legs and made a great show of rolling down her stockings and throwing them to the group. Tormod caught one, and Lionel the other.

Then it was Edmund’s turn to be symbolically undressed.

Lionel and Torr stepped forward to remove his boots and stockings, flinging them into the crowd with gusto. They all laughed when Gaufried and Gilleasbuig managed to catch them.

“Seems ye’ll be next tae wed, lads.” Tormod’s words brought forth another burst of laughter.

Annora couldn’t stop giggling. She’d heard of such ceremonies being popular with some clans, but she’d no idea it was part of MacNeacail tradition.

Edmund roared with laughter.

“Now that ye’ve undressed us, I’m expecting ye’ll bid us a very good night and depart.”

Tormod laughed. “Are we nay welcome tae stay fer yer private feast, me laird and lady?”

“Indeed, ye are nae,” Edmund said firmly.

Meanwhile Lionel was busy with a carafe of whisky and a large two-handled cup on the table. He filled it to the brim and moved across to the bed where he handed the cup for each of hem to take a handle.

“Here’s yer loving cup, yer quaich. When ye drink, it signifies the joining of yer two clans, the Munros and the MacNeacails. After ye’ve take a sip, pass it round so we can all drink.”

As they lifted the joined cup and sipped, a loud cheer circled the room. Lionel took a sip and passed on the cup.

As each person took a sip from the quaich, they raised it with the words: “Mo sheacht mbeannacht ort!”

My seven blessings tae ye.

When the last of the whisky had been supped, the men bowed, the women curtsied, they turned and trooped from the room, laughing and chattering as they went.

They left Annora and Edmund still laughing as well. Then, without a word, he hauled off his shirt and unbuckled his kilt, letting it fall to the floor.

He stood naked before her and she caught her breath at the magnificent sight of him.

“Fer a moment there, I was afeared our friends were bent on undressing us.” she said.

“Now that I would ne’er permit.” Edmund’s eyes were on fire as he looked down at her resting on the pillows. “Fer taking off yer clothing and letting me eyes feast on ye as I dae so is me delight, and only mine.”

With that, he reached for the neckline of her gown and bent to kiss the base of her throat where it met her shoulder.

Her heart beat faster as he took his time undoing every one of the buttons on her gown Then he peeled it open, exposing her to his lusty gaze, trailing his hands to cup her breasts and present them to his lips to nuzzle and torment.

She threw her head back, closing her eyes, allowing the pleasure to seep into every part of her being.

He lowered his head, kissing her all the way to her mound, plying his tongue while his fingers worked their magic on her wet quim. She was shaking all over with the pleasure and delight of it.

His kisses became more heated, her body vibrating with every touch, as his tongue found its way into her most secret and sensitive of places, thrusting inside her, mimicking the actions of his shaft.

Her hips rose to meet his hand, and a torrent of glorious sensations cascaded over her, stealing her wits, rendering her speechless save for the strange moans and whimperings that were all her tongue could manage.

Then came the deluge, as the rippling pleasures washed her away, and she could only cling to him, crying out, moaning, calling his name, clutching his shoulders, as the tempest of sensations poured through her.

Yet, still, it was not enough.

Her body and soul needed to claim him as her husband. As he lifted his head, she brought up her knees and reached for his hard shaft.

“I want ye, me husband.” She could barely pant the words, yet he understood her meaning, needing no more urging than the touch of her hand on his manhood and her fierce demand.

“And I want ye, me true wife,” His voice came out as a deep, guttural, growl, the primal sound of it sending shivers coursing through her. She lifted her hips, opening herself to greet his thrust as he whispered, “Heart of me heart, and soul of me soul.”

Then there were no more words, only love and the joyous union of two souls.

The End

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Was there a part that bored or that you didn't really like in the book?

Even a character, a scene, or anything. You could say no if nothing bothered you.

Which was the part you liked most in the book?

Even a character, a scene, or anything that you enjoyed.

When do you usually start skipping in a historical romance? *

• When characters spend too much time alone thinking
• When there are too many clan names, places, or political details
• When nothing happens between the couple for too long and slow burn is killing me

What kind of backstory slows a book down for you? *

• A tragic past revealed too early and explained in full
• Repetitive inner monologue about something we already know
• Flashbacks that interrupt present-day tension

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Three Months Later…

It had been so long since she had been home that it felt like an entirely new world as Francesca dismounted. Headen was already there, helping her down. A pair of stable boys appeared and nodded to her politely as they led their horses to the stables for feed, water, and a brushing.

“How are ye feelin’?” he asked.

Francesca looked around at the green, rolling fields dotted with colorful, flowering bushes, the array of outbuildings, then to the large manor house, built of dark stone—the world she had grown up in, the world she knew as intimately as the back of her hand. But somehow, it felt off. It somehow felt… wrong. She felt like a stranger.

“I feel as if I do not belong here any longer,” she said.

“Ye dae belong here,” he replied, his voice soft and gentle. “Ye’re the Lady of the manor now. ‘Tis yer house, yer home.”

“And yet, it does not feel that way.”

“Perhaps ‘tis because ye’ve nae been here in a while.”

“Perhaps,” she replied thoughtfully then turned to him and smiled. “Come. Let me show you where I grew up.”

Taking Headen’s hand in hers, Francesca led him into the manor. The household staff greeted her warmly as she made her way through the halls and introduced him. Everything was just as she remembered. The staff was still the same, the paintings on the walls hadn’t changed, and every room was just as she’d last seen it. And yet, she couldn’t help but feel like her childhood home had become a dress that she had grown out of.

After the events at Brochel Castle and the imprisonment of her father, Francesca, as the only living heir, had indeed become the Lady of the manor. She was responsible for it now. And to that end, she had appointed a man she trusted to oversee its day to day functions. He had been tasked with the upkeep and maintenance, and ensuring nothing fell into disrepair. Eventually, she and Headen might return to make it their home. If and when that happened, she wanted to be sure it was still in good keeping.

For the moment though, with their marriage ceremony looming, she’d returned to pick up a few things she wanted for her wedding. Things that once belonged to her mother that she wanted to have on her special day. Headen, of course, had accompanied her, rather than send his Wolves to guard her back. And the truth of it was, she was glad he was here with her. She loved waking up every day with him in bed next to her, loved spending her days by his side. She did not want to be apart, not even for a day.

“Tis a beautiful home,” he said.

“It was,” she replied.

Francesca led him through the house, eventually arriving at her mother’s old room. The door creaked softly as she pushed it open and when Francesca stepped inside, she felt as if she had been transported back in time. She recalled sitting at the dressing table, staring at herself in the looking glass as her mother brushed her hair. She remembered sitting by the fire as her mother read from the prayer book she now treasured.

A large, canopied bed stood atop an ornate and elegant rug on the far side of the room, the gauzy curtains hanging down over the empty bed like a funeral shroud. Francesca remembered lying in that bed with her mother so many nights, being read to when she was small. Everywhere she looked, she was assaulted by a barrage of memories that warmed her heart. And yet, at the same time, they also filled her with an emptiness that had plagued her since her mother’s death.

As if sensing the melancholy settling over her, Headen pulled her into a warm embrace. He stared down at her with his beautiful gray eyes, then placed a soft kiss on her forehead.

“Yer maither is always with ye. She’s watchin’ over ye right now,” he said, gently tapping her forehead and then her chest. “Those we love are never truly gone. They always live inside of us. And yer maither would be proud of the woman ye’ve become. I ken she would.”

“Do you really believe so?”

He nodded. “I dae. How could she nae be proud of ye? Ye’ve grown intae an amazin’, wonderful, strong, and intelligent woman. What’s nae tae be proud of? And from what ye’ve told me about her, ye’re just like she was.”

Francesca wrapped her arms around him and squeezed him tight as she was buffeted by emotions and memories. And for the first time since they’d caught sight of the manor house from the road, she felt her heart lighten. Her smile came a bit easier, and her soul felt at ease.

“Thank you for saying that.”

He kissed her forehead again. “So, what did ye come tae get?”

She smiled then turned and walked over to the dressing table. She sat down and pulled a wooden box that was lacquered and carved with ornate designs to her. Headen stood behind her, his hands on her shoulders as she gently stroked the top of the box, letting the tips of her fingers trace the designs.

“This box belonged to my grandmother,” she explained. “My grandfather carved it for her.”

“’Tis beautiful work.”

The hinges squeaked softly as she opened the lid, revealing an array of different jewelry inside. With delicate fingers, Francesca reached in and plucked out a ring made of white gold with red and green stones set into the top. She handed it to Headen, then turned and pulled a silver brooch with intricately engraved scrollwork around the edges and a blue stone in the center.

“These have been in my family for… a very long time,” she explained. “My mother brought these from France, they belonged to her grandmother’s grandmother.”

“They’re beautiful,” he said.

“I think they will make me look beautiful on our wedding day.”

The corners of his eyes crinkled as he smiled softly at her. “Ye dinnae need jewels tae make ye look beautiful. Ye’d look beautiful in naethin’ but a flour sack.”

Francesca got to her feet and wrapped him in a warm embrace. “You might be the sweetest man in the world.”

“Nay. I just tell the truth.”

“Yes, I suppose you do,” she said and placed a soft kiss on his lips.

“Are ye all right?”

She paused for a moment before nodding. “Yes. I am just dreading what we must do next.”

“We dinnae have tae go. There’s nay reason ye have tae see him,” he said, his voice gruff. “He daesnae deserve yer time.”

“I do not go for his sake,” she replies a little sadly. “But for my own.”

Headen held her hands and stared deeply into her eyes. “Ye are a good woman, Francesca.”

Her smile was small. “You make me believe I am.”

“Like I said, I only tell the truth,” he said. “If this is what ye need, then let us go and be done with this. And with him.”

She nodded. “Yes. Let us put the past behind us so we may move forward. Together.”

“Aye. Taegther.”

***

Francesca was allowed into the dark cells beneath the castle where the king had had him imprisoned. She swallowed hard as she descended the stairs. Francesca’s heart fluttered and her stomach churned wildly as a wave of nausea washed over her. Her mind screamed at her to turn and run. It told her that Headen was right, that he did not deserve her time or attention. She closed her eyes and let out a soft breath, silently telling herself to be calm. Reminding herself that this was not for him.

A strong hand lighted upon her shoulder. “Are ye all right?”

She swallowed down her fear and nodded. “Yes. I am fine.”

Francesca started off again with Headen walking silently behind her. She drew strength from his presence. With him, she was not quite as afraid and felt a sense of peace inside her. He never failed to help calm and settle her, and for that she was grateful.

At the end of the corridor, Francesca turned through the doorway and found a man in dark leather sitting at a table, feet up, half asleep. His eyes opened wide and he jumped to his feet. He stood stiff and at attention then gave her a respectful bow.

“Beg your pardon, Lady Francesca,” he said. “Me lord told me to expect you, but not for some time yet.”

“Be at ease,” she said and gestured to the door behind him. “How is he?”

The man pulled a face. “Despondent most days, defiant on others.”

“Has he been made comfortable?”

“He has, m’lady. Just as you instructed, my lord has seen that he has what he requires to be comfortable,” he replied.

“That is good,” she said. “I am grateful for that. Thank you for caring for him.”

“Of course, m’lady.”

The man grabbed the ring of keys from the hook on the wall and quickly opened the door for her. As she stepped in, he stopped her.

“I will be right out here if you need me,” he said.

“Thank you.”

He bowed his head. “At your service, m’lady.”

With Headen walking softly and silently behind her, Francesca passed the rows of empty cells on either side of her. But the last cell on her left, the largest of them all, was the only one currently occupied. Furs and blankets sat atop a comfortable bed rather than the piles of straw that filled the others. Her father sat at the desk he had been given holding one of the many books that were piled on top of it. More books sat in several stacks on the floor beside it.

He looked at her over the top of the book in his hand, watching her approach. And when she stood on the other side of the steel bars, he closed the tome and set it down. His eyes flicked to Headen, who stood silently behind her, his mere presence a heavy weight in the air that comforted Francesca, gave her strength. He finally turned his eyes to her and they appraised each other in silence for several long moments, the air thick with tension and the weight of many unspoken words. Her heart fluttered with fear, but Francesca swallowed it down, letting out a silent breath as she mastered her emotions.

“I am told you are to wed,” he said, finally breaking the silence.

She nodded. “I am.”

“Is it too bold of me to presume that I am invited?”

“We will not be holding our wedding here in the dark cells.”

His eye twitched and displeasure crossed his face. He quickly controlled it and let out the sigh of a long-suffering man.

“And how long do you intend to keep me in here, Francesca?”

“That is for the king to decide, for it is he who imposed this penalty on you. Not me,” she answered honestly. “When the king sees fit to grant you pardon, you will be freed.

Her father stood up and walked to the bars, wrapping his long fingers around the cold steel. He stared at her in silence for a moment. And as he did, she saw something on his face she never thought she would see… regret. An expression of contrition, perhaps even tinged with sorrow, crossed his face and he nodded.

“I suppose I do not deserve any less,” he said.

“You tried to kill me.”

“It was not my intent, but… I was upset. I let my emotions master me. And for that, I am sorry, Francesca. I am sorrier than you will ever know.”

“I appreciate that, but it does not change the fact that, if not for Headen intervening, I would not be standing here right now.”

“I know. And I regret my actions, daughter. If I could take it back—”

“You cannot undo what you have done.”

“I know I cannot.”

His voice was heavy and thicker with emotion than Francesca had ever heard. He truly did sound remorseful. And while it struck a chord deep inside of her, she could not forget what he had done to her that day. What he’d almost done, if not for Headen…

He raised his head. “I know that I have no right to ask anything of you, but… I wish to ask something of you all the same. Might you hear my request?”

“You may ask, Father.”

He licked his lips and paused for a moment, seeming to gather his thoughts. “Francesca, I… I wish to beg for your forgiveness for what I did.”

A thousand thoughts swirled through her mind all at once and she was having trouble putting order to any of them. Of all the things he could have asked, that was the one thing she had not been prepared for. In a lifetime of indifference and cold authority, if not full-on cruelty, he had never once asked her forgiveness for anything. Truly, he had never seemed to regret a single thing he’d said to, or expected of, her.

But his words struck home for her. He sounded sincere. He seemed genuinely remorseful for what he had done to her that day in Brochel Castle, if not for the rest.

“Please, daughter. Forgive me,” he pleaded.

Francesca swallowed down the emotions that bubbled up inside of her. “I forgive you, Father. With all my heart, I forgive you,” she said. “But I will not forget what you did. Nor will I have anything do with you again. Ever.”

Before he could reply, she turned and strode out of the dark cells, having said what she came to say.

Forgiving him was good for her. The anger she’d felt since that day in Brochel Castle had festered inside of her, turning into a bitter poison in her veins. She knew she had to be rid of it, she needed to cleanse her soul. By releasing the anger and forgiving her father, she would remove the shadow his actions had cast upon her heart. Forgiving was necessary to free her mind and soul.

And by choosing to remove him from her life, forever, she would be free to live and love as she pleased, without reservation. To live a life free from the fear and hold her past had on her. The chains would forever be broken. She loved Headen with every fiber of her being and nobody would ever come between them again. Squeezing his hand tightly, they ascended the stairs together, her heart growing lighter and the shadow that lingered upon it diminishing with every step.

She was finally free.

The End

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