Extended Epilogues

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Three Months Later

There had been moments when Isabeau had thought this day would never come. Endless arguments with the council, she and her brothers trying to convince the elders that her marriage to Tiernan may not be beneficial to the clan but that it was still possible, for they had the riches and the allies to allow them to flourish without a political marriage to the youngest MacGregor sibling. Days and nights of negotiations and trying to find a middle ground.

She had been their last hope for a good alliance, after Alaric had refused to wed for politics and instead chose love. She had been raised for that, after all, to be the wife of a powerful laird and bring Clan MacGregor an equally powerful alliance. Everything she had ever been taught had been for this specific purpose, and yet she had forsaken her duty and had chosen to marry a commoner.

No, not only a commoner, but a former brigand. That, more than anything else, did not sit well with the council.

In the end, though, they had no choice but to accept it, as Ewan would not back down. It had been nothing short of a battle, in its own way, although not bloody and full of death but just as savage.

In the three months it had taken them to agree somehow and prepare for the wedding, Isabeau had spent all her free time trying to get Tiernan accustomed to this new kind of life, with Lucia’s help. She was the one, after all, who had already been through this as Alaric’s wife, the one who had to learn to act the part of a lady once they were married. And just like her, Tiernan took to this new kind of life like a fish to land, which was to say not at all.

Sitting next to her at their wedding feast, Tiernan tugged at the collar of his tunic. Not for the first time, Isabeau pulled his hand down and held it in hers, feeling his rabbit-fast pulse where her thumb rested over his wrist.

All day, he had been uncomfortable being at the center of attention, but now all the nobles at the feast were too busy dancing, drinking, and laughing amongst themselves to pay them any real mind.

Even her brothers were enjoying themselves freely with their wives, all four of them dancing the night away. From the corner of her eye, Isabeau glanced at Tiernan, laughing softly when she found him stiff as a board.

“Ye look like ye’re about tae faint,” she said, making him roll his eyes. Still, he didn’t try to deny it.

“These people, I dinnae belong among them,” he said, looking at the nobles with some distaste. Isabeau couldn’t blame him; for him, just like for Lucia, this was all an unnecessary flaunting of wealth when the gold could be used for something better. He saw their garments, their jewels, the pins in their hair and imagined all the families they could feed in the villages. He saw the same garments on himself and didn’t know what to do with them.

“But we belong together,” Isabeau said.

Nonetheless, ever since she had seen the real world, ever since she had been out there, among the common folk, she had come to understand how difficult their lives were. She and Tiernan had made sure to send all sort of necessary goods to the neighboring villages in honor of their wedding, but she was aware that was far from enough. They had been speaking to the council to find ways to give the clan more constant sustenance. The elders had been stubborn so far, claiming the clan couldn’t lower taxation or provide any help, but Isabeau knew better than that. She knew they simply needed a firm hand and she was prepared to become that.

At her words, Tiernan turned to look at her with a small smile, bringing her hand to his lips to press a kiss to her knuckles. “That we dae,” he said. “But it doesnae change the fact that I wish it could be the two o’ us right now. Nae one else.”

“Well, let us go tae our chambers, then,” Isabeau said and Tiernan looked at her with wide eyes full of surprise, as though it was the last thing he expected her to say. She laughed as he leaned closer, his eyes, now more blue than grey in the candlelight, shining brightly.

“Dae ye mean that?” he asked.

Isabeau nodded. “Aye. Why wouldnae I?”

“Because, well, ‘tis our weddin’ feast,” he reminded her. “Are we nae obligated tae be here?”

“We’ve stayed long enough,” Isabeau decided as she stood and pulled Tiernan along with her. They would still have to slip away, but it was easier now that everyone else was distracted. Besides, she wanted to be alone with him too. They had shared a few dances, a few cups of wine, a few conversations with friends and family. Isabeau could have stayed a while longer, made some more small talk with some important people, but she would rather be with Tiernan, sharing their first night together as husband and wife.

Quietly, without drawing any attention to themselves, Isabeau guided Tiernan to the back of the great hall, where there was a back passage to the stairs that led to the upper floor and their chambers. Once they were safely out of the room, they both dissolved into giggles, running through the hallways like children, Tiernan chasing her down the corridors all the way to their rooms. Once there, and once the door was closed, Tiernan wasted no time before he grabbed Isabeau and pulled her into his arms, Isabeau laughing against his shoulder as he half-carried her to the bed.

But before they got there, Tiernan came to a sudden halt, letting go of her and instead looking around the room suspiciously, giving her a warning glance from the corner of his eye.

It took Isabeau a few moments to notice what was wrong, but then she saw it—the sword on the bed, nestled among the covers.

At the sight of it, her blood ran cold and her mind flashed back to the days she had spent chasing down Constantine. Slowly, carefully, she approached the bed, and there, right next to the sword, she saw a piece of paper.

“Tiernan, there is a note,” she said, reaching for it and unfolding it. Tiernan approached her quickly, standing behind her to read over her shoulder.

There wasn’t much written on the paper. Only a few words in slanted, elegant letters.

I believe this is the sword. Remember the debt. Constantine.

“Is this yer faither’s sword?” Isabeau asked as Tiernan reached for the blade, picking it up in his hands. It was a beautiful sword, obviously well-crafted, and Tiernan held it with such reverence that there could only be one answer to her question.

“Aye,” he said. “Aye, it is.”

How could Constantine have gotten inside the walls, Isabeau wondered? How could he have made it all the way to their chambers? Or had he simply given it to one of the guards, who had decided to place it on the bed?

She feared she might never know. She feared that Constantine would one day come back and demand payment for this debt. She feared many things, all of which melted away when Tiernan came close to her once more, the sword placed carefully to the side, his arms wrapping around her waist.

“Dinnae fash,” he told her. “I’m right here. I’ve got ye.”

And Isabeau knew it to be true.

The End

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Three Months Later

The tiny kirk was filled to overflowing and excitement was in the air as the crowd awaited the arrival of the bride. Beside the altar with his brother, Maxwell fidgeted, stepping from one foot to the other.

Everard watched him, grinning. “Dinnae fash lad. She’ll be along soon enough. Patience.”

Maxwell huffed. Patience was not one of his virtues. It had been a long three months since their betrothal, and he chaffed over the time it had taken. Waiting for his sister to be able to travel with his newborn nephew had caused a delay. But Aileen – and Raven – had insisted his sister should be the bride’s sole attendant. The banns had been called and now, at last, the day he’d been longing for had arrived.

The heavy oaken door of the chapel creaked open and a sudden hush fell over the assembled guests as they craned their necks to see the bride as she walked down the aisle.

Maxwell swallowed a giant lump in his throat at his first glimpse of Aileen on her father’s arm, as she followed Raven toward her waiting groom-to-be.

He’d never seen such beauty as Aileen MacAlpin in her wedding gown.

Her arms were laden with wild white roses, sprigs of purple heather, and dog violets. The fragrance filled the kirk and he breathed it in, his heart pounding, his palms damp and clammy.

Aileen’s hair flowed in a glorious cascade down her back to her waist, violets and roses woven through her red-gold tresses. She wore a gown of sky-blue silk over a white silk embroidered underskirt.

When she smiled up at him as it was as if the heavens had opened and taken him in.

Scarcely aware of the words spoken during the long ceremony, he could only wish for the nuptials to come to an end so that he and Aileen would be husband and wife.

Father Henricus had sailed from Iona three weeks prior and had stayed as a guest at the castle. He’d seemed a jolly enough fellow, fond of his ale and whisky as were most priests, and he’d kept them amused with his stories and anecdotes. But today he seemed determined to drone on indefinitely.

Maxwell ventured a wry smile at Aileen, who smiled back conspiratorially, her eyes sparkling.

At last, the mass was over and they made their vows before God and the congregation. It was the happiest moment of Maxwell’s life, when he slipped the gold ring onto Aileen’s finger.

They walked down the aisle past rows of smiling faces. Once outside the kirk, the crowd headed into the castle, where a grand feast was to be held in the great hall, while Maxwell and Aileen made their way to the slipway.

Alone beside the water, they held the chosen oath-stone in their joined hands, symbolizing their unbreakable union.

“I pledge me love and protection tae ye and our children tae come, fer all the days I live on this earth and beyond.” His hand tightened with Aileen’s over the stone.

Gazing deep into his eyes, she repeated the words he’d spoken. The vows were for protection, not obedience, as Maxwell understood Aileen was no meek, submissive, woman who would ever take orders from him.

Once they’d both spoken their pledge, they hurled the stone into the waters of the Bàgh á Chaisteill, where it would remain until the end of time.

Aileen turned, as if to return to the castle, but Maxwell placed a gently restraining hand on her arm.

“Come wi’ me across the Bàgh milady. There is something I wish tae show ye.”

She looked at him askance. “But… our guests?”

He chuckled. “There will be time enough fer our guests. They’ll be feasting and drinking and scarcely notice our absence fer an hour or so.”

She protested. “But Everard and Raven will have tae deal with our absence.”

“Aye. They’re aware of what I’ve in store and they’re happy with it.”

He pulled up the same small boat they’d journeyed in since Torridon and now, on their wedding day, it was to take them on one more journey. Aileen stepped aboard, leaving the sail furled as Maxwell took the oars, turning the boat toward the village. The boat skimmed across the bay and in a matter of minutes they arrived at another small jetty on the main island.

Waiting, as they stepped out of the boat was a stable-lad, holding a fine bay horse decked out in flowers and ribbons, matching Aileen’s.

She took all this in, amazed. “How did ye ken?”

“I had good words with Raven and Mildred and they made sure all the arrangements were attended tae.”

She took the horse’s bridle, marveling at the flowers tumbling over its mane and adorning the saddle.”

“Come.” While Colban, the young groom, held the horse steady, Maxwell helped her onto the its back. Once she’d made herself comfortable, Maxwell leaped up behind her taking the reins.

They clip-clopped through the cobbled streets passing throngs of well-wishing villagers waving and smiling and tossing wild roses in their path as they passed.

They left the scattered houses behind and continued past open fields for a mile or two before turning into a smaller road. Passing through a pair of iron gates, they continued along a tree-lined avenue for several minutes, eventually arriving at a large stone house.

Aileen looked at him, one eyebrow raised in puzzlement. “Whose house is this we’re visiting?”

After tethering their steed, they entered the house through a heavy timber door and confronted a stone staircase.

Aileen looked around. “I think there is nae body in this house. It has nae furniture.”

“Wait,” Maxwell put a finger to her lips. “Ye shall see.” He took her hand, leading her up the stairs.

There were three further rooms, the door to one room lying open.

He took her in his arms and transported her into the room. It was filled with the same kind of fragrant flowers she’d carried in her bouquet. At the center of the large room was a four-poster bed hung with velvet drapes. A fire blazed merrily in the fireplace.

“Yer bridal room, milady.”

Aileen gave a laugh of delight. “Why, ye’ve arranged all of this in secret fer this day. But ye’ve yet to tell me whose house this is?”

He chuckled. “Why, ‘tis our house, lass.” Then his faced clouded. “D’ye like it? If ye wish, we will live here and ye shall choose whatever ye wish tae furnish it with.”

“I believe I dae like this house, MacNeil, more than any other house I’ve ever seen. I cannae believe ye’ve kept this secret fer so long.”

Lowering her onto the middle of the bed among the flower petals, he brushed a kiss on her lips.

“Years ago, I had a mind tae build a house and live here one day. Once Everard became the laird, I bought this land and commenced building.”

“Go on.”

He continued his tale. “The house sat here lonely fer years, only needing a few small touches tae finish building. It was only when ye said ye’d wed wi’ me that I set tae work tae make it suitable fer a home where we can spend our days.” He brushed her lips with another kiss.

She snaked her hands around his shoulders and along his broad neck, untying the leather thong at his nape and allowing his dark hair tae flow freely tae his shoulders.

“Is that the best kiss ye can manage, husband?”

“Mayhap I can improve on that wee taste.” He lowered his eager mouth to take hers, in their first kiss as husband and wife.

His hands worked their magic, untying the laces on the back of her dress and lowering it from her shoulders so that he could run his fingers over her satin skin and layer it with kisses.

He huffed at the sight of her stays. “Ye’ve nay need fer these instruments of torture. Shall I help ye tae remove them?

He kissed her some more as he unlaced the stays and drew them off. Now she was bare to the waist and he took no time at all to cup her firm breasts, his fingers seeking the hard little nubs so that he could roll them between thumb and forefinger.

She moaned, arching herself against his busy hands, her head resting on the flower covered pillow.

“Ye approve me plan?”

She pressed her nakedness against him. “Mmm. I think…”

Before she could finish her sentence, he buried his head in her sweet-scented breasts, licking and suckling, tasting each in turn, so that she groaned loudly.

“Ye’ve still tae discard yer kilt, husband, and ‘tis time ye took me petticoat.”

He was quick to oblige and, in a trice, he’d unbuckled his kilt, stripped off his shirt and hauled off his boots. Then he turned his attention to her petticoats, sliding them slowly down so that her mound and her bare thighs were revealed to his eyes.

He ran a finger across her mound and along the folds of her quim, making her writhe and groan and mutter his name under her breath.

“I wish ye tae scream me name as loud as ye wish fer there’s nae body tae hear ye.” He teased her folds open with his finger. “Why, lass, ye’re so wet and ready fer me.”

She moaned and lifted her hips to encourage his finger in its exploration. He leaned in and circled her sensitive nub with his tongue and licked and suckled at her folds while entering her with first one finger, then two, then a third finger.

He groaned loudly. “I cannae wait any longer. Take me shaft in yer hand.”

She seized his magnificent, granite-shaft, sliding her hand from the hilt to the tip and down again.

He was wild with the longing for her that seemed to have been consuming him forever. Now, at long last, she was his. The very thought brought ripples of pleasure coursing through him so that he could scarcely tell where he was or whether it was day or night.

“Enough, wife.” He gasped. “I must have ye. Now.”

He rolled over, his tip poised at her entrance as she bucked under him.

“Is it right fer ye now?”

For an answer, she reached down, guiding his shaft and lifting her hips and bending her knees so that she took him inside her with one swift move.

The sweet scent of roses teased his nostrils as he buried his head in the long strands of bright hair that tumbled over her shoulder and spilled across the pillow.

He raised himself on his elbows, gazing into her green eyes as they flickered shut, their hips rising and falling in an age-old rhythm that brought intense, intoxicating pleasure taking him to heights of primal sensation he’d never experienced.

Beneath him, he felt the beginning of Aileen’s spasms tightening her velvet sheath around his shaft.

It did not take long before she screamed his name, raking his back with her nails, her head thrown back in ecstasy.

Then it came. The inevitable, exquisite moment of rapture as he spilled his seed inside the woman he loved with all his body and soul.

Afterwards, she laughed, a sound of pure delight and joy, holding him as if she’d never let him go.

“I wish tae hold ontae this perfect moment forever.”

He nodded. “Dae ye think we could forego our wedding feast and stay in this place this night?”

She pondered on this. “Mayhap we’d be needing food and drink.”

“Nay bother. Young Colban is waiting wi’ the horse. I’ll send him tae the village fer good fare that will bide us until the morrow.”

Laughing, she reached up to kiss the tip of his nose, while he took her hands and kissed her scars. “Would it cause a scandal if the bride and groom didnae appear fer their wedding feast and the cèilidh tae follow?”

“Aye. Nae doubt we’d be the talk of the Islands fer years tae come.”

“Well, that’s as good a start as any tae our married life.”

They were both laughing as he rolled her over and kissed her lips.

The End

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Two months later…

Isabeau and Bonnie had both fussed over Lucia for the past several hours, and in that entire time, Lucia couldn’t help but feel like a doll with which the two of them were playing, trying to decide what she would wear and how she would do her hair.

She would never admit it, but it was far more enjoyable than she would have thought.

“She must wear green!” Isabeau insisted for what seemed to Lucia like the dozenth time. “It will bring out the color o’ her eyes.”

“Purple is far more royal,” Bonnie insisted, and Lucia had to suppress the urge to remind her there was nothing royal about her. She was nothing but a peasant girl, who had spent her whole life in plain, drab clothes and now whatever Isabeau and Bonnie could give her to wear would surely be far better than anything she had worn before.

The color of her dress didn’t matter to her, neither did the style of her hair. She didn’t care what jewels would be placed around her neck and wrists. She didn’t even really care if she would look royal enough, though she supposed she now had an image to uphold. Everyone expected her to act like a lady, like someone who had spent her whole life in castles instead of safe houses and taverns. In the past two months, ever since the council had agreed to allow her and Alaric to wed, Bonnie and Isabeau had taken it upon themselves to make a lady out of her. Lucia had quickly found out there were rules about everything, from how she should eat and how she should speak, to how she should walk. She could only assume it meant nobleborns had far too much free time their hands if that was how they chose to spend it—learning all those rules of etiquette that seemed entirely useless to her.

She still had trouble with many things; most of all, she could not hold her tongue. No matter how many times she was reminded she should speak gently, it seemed to her that she simply didn’t have such gentleness within her.

“What dae ye think, Lucia?” Isabeau asked, turning to look at her reflection in the looking-glass. “Green or purple?”

“Which one dae ye think Alaric will like the most?” Lucia asked.

It had seemed like a logical question to her. She was marrying the man, after all, and she wanted Alaric to think she looked her best at the ceremony and the feast that would follow. Isabeau’s and Bonnie’s response startled her, though. They both oohed and aahed at her, fawning over her as though she had said the most romantic thing in the world.

“Well, I’m sure he’ll think ye look bonnie nae matter what ye wear,” Isabeau said. “Besides, ye should never ask a lad what he thinks about what ye’re wearin’. They’re never right.”

“Especially Alaric,” Bonnie added, drawing a laugh from Isabeau.

“Can I nae wear somethin’… simpler?” Lucia asked as the two women held up the choices for her. Both gowns seemed too extravagant for her; rich colors, golden embroidery, beautiful designs. She feared all eyes would be on her if she showed up like this, but then again, she supposed she had little choice on the matter.

It was her wedding day after all; of course, all eyes would be on her.

“Ye must make an impression on everyone!” Isabeau said. “The entire clan will be there an’ many, many more guests!”

“Och , how great,” said Lucia and if either Isabeau or Bonnie realized she was only being sarcastic, they didn’t mention it.

In the end, she went for the green gown, and Bonnie had two maids untangle the mess that was her hair, pinning it up in an intricate updo. The women proceeded to drape jewelry over her, and by the time they were done, Lucia could hardly recognize her own reflection.

“Ach! Ye look so bonnie,” Isabeau said as she pulled her into an embrace. “Alaric will be so happy tae see ye.”

Lucia would be happy to see him, too. The two of them had been kept apart since the previous day as they prepared for the wedding and she already felt unmoored without him by her side.

It willnae be fer long, though. It is almost over.

All she had to do now was meet Alaric in the chapel, where many—too many—people would watch them wed, and then she would simply have to survive the feast.

Somehow, it seemed much harder than heading to battle.

“Come,” said Bonnie, taking her hand. “Let us head tae the chapel. Alaric must already be waitin’.”

Lucia followed the two women, the three of them making their way out to the courtyard and then towards the chapel that stood at the edge of the castle grounds. It was a small building, but no expense had been spared at its creation. It was just as opulent as the rest of the castle, and sometimes Lucia was still amazed at how much wealth was gathered in one place.

When they made it there, she paused by the entrance, heart leaping to her throat. It wasn’t uncertainty in the face of a lifetime by Alaric’s side; she was certain about that. She wanted to marry him, to be his forever, but there was still something holding her back.

Am I good enough fer him?

As much as Isabeau and Bonnie had worked to help her become a lady fit to wed a man like Alaric, Lucia still felt like a fraud. She was no lady. She was nothing but a simple girl and she couldn’t help but feel like an impostor, never quite able to blend in. There was no doubt in her mind that Alaric was telling her the truth when he claimed to love her, but was that truly enough to bind them for the rest of their lives?

Would it be better, she wondered, if he married someone more like him? Someone who knew how to eat and talk and walk, someone who didn’t constantly make a fool of herself?

Perhaps sensing her agitation, Bonnie grasped her hand tightly and pulled her aside, her voice dropping to a low whisper.

“Whatever it is ye’re thinkin’, forget it,” she said, and though her tone was firm, it was neither cold nor scolding. “Alaric adores ye. Naethin’ else matters tae him, so why should it matter tae ye?”

It was precisely what Lucia needed to hear to be able to breathe again. She felt as though she was drawing breath for the first time in days, a weight lifting off her shoulders, and she smiled at Bonnie, thankful to have someone like her as a friend.

Behind her, Isabeau beckoned her closer and Lucia approached her, now ready to face whatever she would find in the chapel.

“Are ye ready?” Isabeau asked, gentle as always.

“Aye,” said Lucia and knew it to be the truth.

As she stepped foot into the chapel, she saw several familiar faces staring back at her. The entire council was there, of course, to witness their union, as well as several members of the clan. One face she hadn’t expected to see was Tiernan, though it was a pleasant surprise. Perhaps it shouldn’t have been as surprising, though, she thought, as he had been the man to save them from more torment from Callum. Had it not been for him, Lucia was certain he would still be chasing her and Alaric, refusing to let them have a moment of peace. He was now a blacksmith at the castle and had left his days as brigand behind.

Dragging her gaze to the far end of the chapel, Lucia saw Evan next to the priest, smiling brightly. And there, next to him, stood Alaric, his dark hair for once combed neatly, his beard trimmed, and his clothes befitting of such an occasion, looking more handsome than Lucia had ever seen him.

And it was then, and only then, seeing the man who had captured her heart, that she knew everything was alright.

The End

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Two weeks later…

When they stepped out of the chapel, a great roar went up from the crowd standing outside. The chapel was just too small to fit them all, and thus, many of the guests had waited outside with growing anticipation until the ceremony was over.

Domhnall grinned down at Katherine, who grinned back up at him with delight.

“To Laird and Lady MacLeod,” someone cried.

“To Laird and Lady MacLeod,” the crowd repeated.

If someone had told Domhnall that there would be a day where he would feel as happy as he did in that moment, he would have called them a liar. In fact, if he had been asked to describe the feeling that currently ran through him, he wouldn’t have had the first clue where to begin.

Of course, Katherine had given him an answer immediately after he had asked her to marry him, and it was a yes with no hesitation. He had practically known, before he had asked her, especially after the conversation they had had beside the fire.

When he had told her he had sent a letter to the king, telling him that he was refusing to abide by his arrangement, and that neither of them wanted it, she had completely misunderstood him. But her disappointed reaction, and what came afterward, had proven to him that Katherine wanted exactly what he did. For them to be together for the rest of their lives.

With everything already prepared, and guests already on their way, if not, already arrived, there was really nothing much to organize, and thus, they made their vows to each other in front of friends and family.

Just before the wedding, Domhnall had been concerned, for Katherine would have no family present. He had taken her to the side to speak about it.

“We can postpone if ye like,” he had said. “I feel selfish rushing through this if there are people ye would like tae be present.”

Katherine had gazed up at him and smiled softly. “Everyone I want tae be here is already here,” she said. “Ye and yer brothers and sisters are my family.” A slight sadness had tainted her smile as she continued. “I have no more family.” But then, she pinned the smile back. “Well, that’s not really true. I have a new family.”

“Are ye sure?” Domhnall pressed.

“That I have a new family?” she quipped, purposefully misinterpreting his question. “Of course. Besides, I have never had sisters, and let’s face it, I had the worst brother in the world. I’m not sure Magnus and Kai can do any worse than blackmailing me against my will, using me to capture my beloved, and then threatening to kill me and the man I love.”

He hadn’t been able to help himself, for as dark as her remark was, it was also witty, and he had chuckled.

“Nay. I think yer braither set the bar so high, even me braithers cannae top it. Besides, they have fallen in love with ye, almost as much as I have.”

“Well, I do hope you have told them I’m spoken for,” she said, grinning widely.

He had leaned down and kissed her then. “Indeed. They ken that ye’re all mine.”

While on the outside, Katherine did appear a little more relaxed, Domhnall did not stop worrying about what was going on inside her head. Her night terrors still tortured her, but since the night he had asked her to marry him, he had not had to travel from his bed to get to her.

On occasion, during the day, he had found her gazing out of the window, her eyes glazed over in some sort of trance-like daze. And while his brothers and sisters had all agreed to try and lift her spirits by keeping her occupied, there was only so much they could do. However, knowing how deeply he loved her, he also knew he would be by her side as she faced each and every one of her troubles.

Once in the great hall, the light of hundreds of candles twinkled while the Yule log burned in the fireplace and the decorations made by the ladies of the castle adorned each and every corner, Domhnall, encouraged by the loud applause and whooping, stood before all those present and gave his speech.

“First, I would like tae thank all o’ the people here present, from near and far. I am grateful fer the people o’ our clan fer their continued support, and I am thankful fer all o’ ye that have travelled great distances tae be here tae share this wonderful day with us.”

The crowd clapped and whooped before he continued.

“I am also more than fortunate tae have a wonderful family beside me. Without me braithers and sisters, I wouldnae be the man I am.”

“Here, here,” Kai called out, sending the crowd into fits of laughter.

Grinning, Domhnall said, “I am lucky tae have so many siblings, though, I can say with certainty that some are loved more than others.” He then smirked at Kai, and the crowd, again burst into laughter.

Sounding a little more somber, and yet, not overly so, he said, “O’ course, I ken all o’ ye would, like me, have been delighted had me maither and faither been here tae see this and celebrate with us.”

The crowd nodded and muttered words of agreement.

“They were fine parents tae me and me siblings,” and then, looking up to the ceiling, he said, “but I ken they are here with us in spirit.”

“Indeed, they are,” someone called out from the crowd.

“Finally, I would like tae say how delighted I am tae have Katherine as me wife,” he said, gesturing to her as she sat beside him, gazing up at him adoringly. “I ken she is English, but we cannae hold that against her.”

The crowd burst into laughter, and when Domhnall gazed down at her, he delighted at her giggles.

“Over the last few weeks, I have seen a strength in her that would match any one o’ us here, and I ken she is going tae bring only joy tae this clan.”

“Here, here,” Magnus said, smiling across at Katherine.

“And now,” Domhnall lifted his tankard and watched everyone do the same. “I make a toast. Tae Clan MacLeod and all our allies. May we unite as Scotsmen and forever strengthen our bonds. And may we all have a very joyful Yuletide.”

The crowd roared and whooped, and when the drinks were downed, the music began.

The celebrations went on late into the night, and at some point, Domhnall noticed Katherine had gone missing. Panic washed over him as he searched the great hall, but he could not see her anywhere.

Magnus grabbed his arm and frowned. “What has ye so worried, braither?”

“Have ye seen Katherine?” Domhnall demanded.

Magnus glanced about him, as though she might magically appear, and then shook his head. “I havenae.” He then thought a moment, and said, “But I ken where she might be.”

Domhnall left the great hall and made his way to the library. The fire roared in the large room, and, at first glance, he could see no one. Perhaps Magnus had been mistaken by saying this was Katherine’s favorite room to escape to. But then, approaching the high-backed chairs beside the fire, he saw two tiny feet sticking out.

“There ye are,” he said, rounding the chair to see Katherine sitting with her knees tucked under her chin. “Are ye all right?”

He lowered himself to the floor, placing a plate of black buns he had brought with him onto a low table, and sat gazing up at her.

She smiled sadly. “Of course, I am.”

Domhnall frowned. “Did I ever tell ye, ye’re a terrible liar.”

“Well, we both know that isn’t true,” she replied with a knowing smile.

“Aye. I suppose, I cannae argue with ye there. But ye’re nae all right, me love. What’s bothering ye?”

Tilting her head, she said. “Do you want the list?”

“There’s a list?” he said, his eye brows flying up.

“Well, not a big one.”

He gazed into her eyes. “I can guess one o’ them. Ye’re saddened that yer faither isnae here tae see ye married.”

She nodded. “I am. I think you and he would have got along very well. In fact, you do, every night in my…”

Domhnall frowned.

“My nightmare,” she finished.

She had never told him what she actually saw in her dreams every night, and now, he was curious.

“What else happens?”

“Well, you and Father meet and are the best of friends. And then there’s a big gathering in the great hall. Not unlike tonight, actually. Father and I are dancing in the middle, and then,” she sighed heavily, “and then, he bends over and there is blood pouring from his stomach. And when, I look down, and I am holding the knife that has killed him.”

Swiftly, Domhnall pushed himself up onto his knees. “Och, me darling,” he said, taking her two hands in his. “I am so sorry. So very sorry.”

“I know I didn’t kill him. I just cannot ever change what happens, no matter how hard I try.”

He wanted to tell her that it would get better, easier, that the dream would eventually fade. But Katherine was no fool. She didn’t need to hear something she knew already. Besides, what use was that to her now?

“I have had many dreams about me faither these past few days too, me love. And dae ye ken what stays with me after each dream? It’s the feeling I felt in his presence. The feeling of complete and perfect love. When I was with him, it soaked through me very being, and never have I felt such immense love.”

“That sounds amazing.” She nodded.

“It was. But it has me thinking, Katherine. When we pass over, when we move into the next life, everything in this life falls away. The people who have gone before us love us perfectly, and are waiting for us. Just like yer faither is waiting fer ye.”

Domhnall was trying to comfort her, and show her something he could hardly put into words. He didn’t quite know if he was making sense, but then, Katherine gasped and her mouth fell open.

By her expression, he knew she had heard what he was trying to convey, and with adoration in her eyes, she gazed at him. “Thank you,” she breathed.

They shared that special moment together in the quietness of the library, and then Domhnall said, “Actually, I have another thing tae share with ye and then after that, we will need tae return tae our guests.”

“What is it?” Katherine asked, her curiosity now piqued.

Rolling up his sleeve, Domhnall revealed the surprise he had been keeping from her.

“Yer wedding gift. Well, one o’ them, at least,” he said, showing off his inner forearm.

“Oh, Domhnall,” she gasped.

With her eyes wide, she tugged at her own sleeve, pressing her slim arm against his thick one. With beaming smiles, they gazed at their matching tattoo marks before gazing at each other.

“Ye are me fire, me love,” Domhnall said. “Ye taught me how tae love, and now, the fire of passion I have fer ye will forever burn in me heart.”

And leaning toward her, he softly brushed her lips in a tender kiss.

The End

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The chapel, Castle MacLeod, a month later…

Sofia, looking lovely in her dress, placed the coronet of white and pink roses atop Raven’s shining black hair and then looked in the mirror to admire her handiwork.

“Ye make a stunnin’ bride, Raven, truly beautiful,” she told Raven’s reflection with a smile of delight. “Dae ye nae agree, Dahlia?” she added, turning her sunny smile on Arne’s sister, who was wearing a bridesmaid’s dress that matched Sofia’s. It suited her icy blonde beauty perfectly.

“She absolutely is. Arne’s gonnae be thrilled when he sees ye, Raven,” Dahlia assured her with a smile. She produced a narrow ribbon from the bodice of her dress and gently took hold of Raven’s wrist. She tied the ribbon loosely around it and patted Raven’s hand affectionately when she had finished.

“Thank ye, Dahlia,” Raven said, her nervous anticipation growing apace.

Catalina, the wife of Arne’s other brother Ivar came to stand with them, looking at Raven admiringly, making yet a third bridesmaid. “Ye look radiant,” she said, smiling at Raven in the mirror. “Arne is a very lucky man.”

Raven looked at herself in the glass with wonder. “Is it really me?” she asked, unable to stop smiling. Her dress was cream satin, with a pale-blue jacquard pattern on the bodice. Its simple cut flattered her figure, and she loved it. “I dinnae think I have ever looked so sophisticated.”

“Well, make the most of it then,” Catalina joked, making them all laugh. Raven had soon learned after meeting the dark-eyed beauty that she was wickedly funny and fierce too. But she suited Ivar perfectly. He was a wall of a man, another blond-haired Viking like Haldor. He appeared quite intimidating until one got talking to him about his brothers. Then he turned into a different man, his deep love for them obvious. Raven had warmed to him right away as well.

“Now, if we are all ready,” Dahlia said at last, “I think it is time we left for the chapel. Ye dinnae want tae be late fer yer own wedding, dear, dae ye?”

Raven could not help laughing at that, and as they left the chamber, she felt buoyed up with excited anticipation. It seemed like a wonderful dream that in an hours’ time, she would be the wife of the man she adored.

Arne stood nervously at the altar, feeling hot in his full kilt and regalia as he waited for his bride to arrive. He could hardly breathe with excitement to think that in a short while his beloved Raven would be standing next to him and exchanging vows. Today, she would become his completely, forever. Despite his discomfort, he felt on top of the world!

When he heard the chapel doors creak open behind him and the congregation gasp, he could not resist turning to look. His breath left his body as his eyes alighted on her, her arm linked with Everard’s. His heart swelled with love and pride as he watched her standing there, a vision of beauty in her elegant gown.

In her other hand, she was holding Thorsten’s small paw. They both smiled at him, and Thorsten, looking unbearably adorable in his miniature Highlander outfit, waved at him merrily. Arne’s heart was in his throat as the procession made its way to the altar as fast as little Thorsten’s little legs allowed.

He could see the lovely bridesmaids carrying Raven’s train, but he really only had eyes for her. He hardly took in the guests seated in the pews, a mix of the MacLeods and MacNeils, friends and advisors, who looked on with smiles as she passed.

When Raven finally reached him, she smiled up at him, her eyes full of love. He thought she had never looked more beautiful. Dahlia came up and collected Thorsten, taking him back to sit with her and the rest of the family.

“Ye look stunning, bonny lass,” he whispered, his heart thumping. He took her hand in his and squeezed it as they turned to face the minister.

“Ye look very dashin’ yersel’,” she whispered back, squeezing his fingers tightly.

Their gazes locked as the minister intoned the immortal words, “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today tae witness the joining in matrimony of…”

After that, things became somewhat of a blur. There was the time for the handfasting. Ivar came up and joined the ribbon around Raven’s wrist to the matching one he had tied a couple of hours ago around his brother’s. The knot that formed when they moved their hands apart would be a lasting symbol of their union and preserved as a precious keepsake.

At last, Arne heard the minister say, “I now pronounce ye husband and wife. Ye may kiss the bride.”

Needing no second bidding, Arne enfolded Raven in his arms and pressed a sweet kiss to her lips, putting into it all his love and devotion and the promise of a lifetime of bliss spent together. Her warm, soft lips responded eagerly to his, leaving him in no doubt that she shared his sentiments entirely.

“Ye’ve made me the happiest man alive, Raven,” he told her as they stepped away from the altar, to be greeted by a chorus of congratulations and well wishes. He found himself deeply touched by the warmth they received.

She smiled up at him and squeezed his arm affectionately. “And ye’ve made me the happiest of women, me darlin’ husband.”

Arne kicked the marriage chamber door shut with the heel of his boot when the final member of the raucous party that had seen them to bed in the traditional manner had left.

“This is very romantic,” Raven said, standing on the rug in her wedding dress as she looked around the room. Lamps had been lit, and a good fire was blazing the grate. The whole scene had a warm, rosy ambience that Raven found perfect for their first night together as a married couple.

“Now, I have ye all tae mesel’, all legal and above board, eh?” Arne exclaimed playfully, coming over and backing her up against the edge of the bed. He gently pushed her down upon it and stood over her. Raven smiled in welcome and opened her arms to him.

“Alone with me husband, at last,” she whispered in his ear, her hands on his shoulders.

“Yer dress is lovely, but ye’ll look even better out of it,” he said in low growl, making her laugh and gasp at the same time as he suddenly flipped her onto her stomach. The flame inside her sparked into life as she felt his hands working rapidly at the fastenings of her dress. It was soon loose enough for him to pull off her bodice. Raven watched as it landed on the rug nearby, to be quickly followed by her stays.

Now clad only in her shift and stockings, she felt Arne behind her, poised above her. She shivered, sensing his eyes burning into her skin.

“Mmm, what a lovely view,” he murmured appreciatively. Then, Raven gasped and giggled when his hands suddenly slipped beneath her shift and cupped her breasts, pulling her upward against him, his warm breath tickling her neck.

She moaned softly as he rolled her soft globes in his warm, rough palms, squeezing the flesh and pinching the soft tips until they turned hard at his touch, sending shivers of pleasure traveling the length of her body. His mouth roved hungrily over her exposed neck and shoulders, kissing, nuzzling, sucking and biting. One hand trailed lazily from her breast, down her belly, where his fingers finally entwined in the soft, curling nest between her thighs.

Raven trembled with anticipation, reveling in the sensation of his right hand still playing with her breasts, while the other slid between her thighs, his thick fingers prizing them apart just wide enough to grant him access to her hidden folds, which were already growing hot and moist. He cupped her entire sex in his palm, working his hand back and forth, while his fingers delved inside her, first one then another, his thumb strumming at her sensitive bud, making her moan and tremble with wanting.

With one fluid movement, Arne suddenly turned her to face him, and just the sight of him, his eyes narrow and dark with desire as his head descended between her thighs, filled her with lust. His hot, questing mouth plundered her flesh, teasing and toying with her sensitive bud, his tongue flickering like lightening in and out of her alongside his fingers. It was not long before Raven felt the waves of tantalizing heat coiling up from her molten center, where Arne’s dark head was moving up and down as he worked his magic upon her.

“Ah, Arne, please, dinnae stop,” she cried out softly, gripping his hair, matching every thrust of his fingers with her hips, riding him as the inexorable waves of pleasure began moving up her body like concentric rings, drawing her once more by slow, deliberate degrees to the delicious edge of delirium.

Her head thrown back, she bucked against him as the pleasure reached its ultimate peak and shook her entire being with its intensity.

Dazed and sated as she was, she had little time to recover when she saw Arne standing above her, his face slick with her juices, his glittering eyes pinning her as he kicked off his boots and tore off his jerkin and shirt. She felt a burst of fresh desire to see his muscular torso revealed to her in all its masculine glory. And she knew there was more to delight her beneath his kilt.

“I’ll never get tired of looking at ye. I need more of ye, come tae me,” she enticed him, inflamed by his hunger for her.

He breathed, grinning at her wolfishly. As he came down on his elbows above her, power seemed to ripple through his entire body, the hard muscles flexing like ropes in his arms, shoulders, chest, and belly. Raven was entranced to see how the fire light made the silver trails of his many battle-scars shine like moonlight.

“Nay, ’tis mine tae dae,” she told him breathily, levering herself up and pulling him down onto the bed with her. He laughed delightedly as, feeling bold, she straddled his waist, pressing the hot wetness of her sex against his belly. With a groan, he grasped her and pulled her close, nipping and sucking at her breasts playfully before his mouth captured hers and declared his ownership of her in a deep, intense kiss. Very gently, careful of her still sore scalp, he buried his fingers in her inky tresses as they fell over him like a waterfall, mingling with his own long locks.

“I need ye, all of ye,” Raven whispered, excited to feel his rock-hard manhood pressing into her beneath the material of his kilt. Suddenly, she sat up a little and reached between her legs to capture him in her palm. Then, she guided the head of his shaft to her entrance and slowly, deliberately sank down up on it, her mouth fastened to Arne’s in a passionate kiss as she opened herself up to him completely.

They held each other close, their bodies and tongues entwined, Raven rising and falling, with Arne’s length throbbing inside as if it would split her in two. When they finally came, it was together, panting, slick with perspiration and each other’s juices. Raven collapsed on this chest, and Arne put his arms around her as they lay in the afterglow.

“That was magical,” she whispered, stroking his cheek and looking lovingly into his eyes.

He tilted her chin with a finger and kissed the tip of her nose. “Aye, that must be because ye’re a wee witch, and ye’ve put a spell on me. A spell I never want tae break.”

She laughed. “I’m so very happy, Arne. I dared nae dream of this day fer so long, but now, here I am, really Mrs. Arne MacLeod at last. I love ye so much, and I’m so proud tae be yer wife.”

Arne chuckled and hugged her. “I love ye with all me heart, and I’m very proud tae be yer husband, Mrs. MacLeod. I cannae wait tae spend the rest of me life with me beautiful clever, brave bonny lass.”

Raven smiled with contentment as they cuddled up cozily in each other’s arms, to spend their very first night as a proper married couple. The past was swept away by the bright, happy future that beckoned for their happy little family. She could never have asked for more.

The End.

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