Extended Epilogues

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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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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Three months later…

Tòrr’s teeth were chattering as they plodded up to their knees in snow, back to the castle gate.

The sleet had turned into snow as they went, dropping in tiny flakes that melted the instant they fell. One landed on his nose and he brushed it away. His dark lashes were sparkling with the icy flakes, his cheeks gleaming wet.

Lyra laughed with delight as snow fell on her cheeks and Tòrr leaned in to capture it with his tongue.

He made a clicking sound of mock disapproval.

“And nay matter the weather, ye insist on yer daily walk along the clifftops?”

Grinning with mischief Lyra took his arm, her fur coat and gloves keeping her warm despite the searing cold wind blowing up from the sea.

“’Tis true. I love walking there. ‘Tis freedom that I never thought tae embrace all those years I was captive in the Priory, although I hardly kent it.”

“Until I set ye free.”

She laughed. “Although, it seemed fer a while that I was merely exchanging one prison fer another.”

He pshawed, winding an arm about her shoulders and drawing her close. “But now, ye can walk as free as the gulls that fly above ye, or the golden sea-eagle reaching across the sky.”

“Aye. I am free yet as much a captive as ever I was, fer I’d ne’er leave this place as long as ye dwell here wi’ me.” She cast him a sideways glance. “Methinks I am looking forward tae warming meself before that blazing hearth in our bedchamber. Would ye care tae help me be out of these wet clothes?”

His eyes darkened. “If ye ask, I will be pleased tae oblige, me lady.”

Laughing, they hastened up the stairs to the keep and along the passage to their bedchamber.

She stood before the fire peeling off her gloves. Tòrr came to stand behind her and helped her out of her coat.

She took a deep breath, inhaling the warm, scented air, and turned in his arms, her hand reaching to caress his cheek.

Would she ever get enough of this glorious man? She would never tire of his kisses, his touch, his hard shaft that brought so much pleasure. She pressed her breasts against his broad chest, her fingers fumbling with the ties on his vest.

He dipped his head, exploring her mouth with his kiss, their tongues inciting each other. He placed his hands on the globe of her buttocks, drawing her tight to his hips. She gasped. He was already as hard as granite.

“Arms,” he said, taking the hem of her kirtle up. She raised her arms and he pulled off the garment and quickly followed it with her blouse, leaving her naked save for her chemise.

She pulled off his shirt and unbuckled his belt so that his britches could be pulled off readily.

Once they were both naked, he lifted her off her feet and laid her down on the thick rug before the fire.

Her heart pounded a deep, urgent rhythm, as he settled the long length of him beside her, resting on his elbows to gaze at her nakedness, his heated skin glowing gold in the flickering firelight.

Returning his gaze, her eyes traced the lean, handsome planes of his face, and she drew him down to meet his mouth with hers, their passion swirling in the air between them like the sparks in the air when lightning flashed and thunder roared.

She moved her body closer to his, her heart thudding in her chest as he cupped her breast, moving finger and thumb on the hardening nub, causing her to cry out while he held her. His lips were warm and tender at first, then, as their passion grew, she felt wild sparks of desire flowing through her veins.

He hooked his leg over hers, his knee nudging her legs apart, and moved his hand from her breast to the slickness between her thighs.

Moaning, she rolled on her back, spreading herself wider, giving him access to her innermost core, her body needing his touch as his clever fingers stoked the flames of her craving so that she moved her hips to meet his hand, sighing, groaning, clutching his shoulders with both her hands.

“Please,” she whispered, desperation overtaking her.

He uttered a deep-throated chuckle, bending to take her slickness in his mouth. Using his tongue to thrust inside her, he mirrored the movements his shaft would make, then circling her most sensitive nub, pleasuring her, robbing her breath, enslaving her with the rising ecstasy.

She thrashed her head on the pillow, crying his name again and again as his tongue pleasured her. He entered her with his fingers, his mouth and tongue suckling her, going deep, moving, caressing, bringing her to a climax of need that made her scream and rake her fingers across his back, heedless of causing him pain.

She was emboldened, her hips moving rhythmically, pursuing his touch, mad for him, all reason, all sense lost in the spiraling sensations of exquisite pleasure claiming her body, so that she was falling apart in his arms. She soared somewhere among the stars and the moon yet holding him, feeling his weight on her, joining her.

As she began falling to earth, he grunted and rolled over onto her, pushing his shaft inside her, moving, filling her, her senses overpowered by his manly scent and the salty taste of herself on his tongue.

His thrusting took her again to that same pinnacle of pleasure that she’d experienced minutes before, so that when he came, roaring his wildest delight, she was there too, screaming his name, clutching his shoulders, dying for love and passion for him.

They stayed together, dozing, until hunger awakened them.

“Must have nourishment.” He laughed. ‘Ye’ve drained all me strength.”

“That will never dae. I feel certain I’ll be needing yer strength tae return before much more time has passed.”

She reached a hand to run her fingers down his bare chest, toying with the flurry of hairs that sprouted there, arrowing down to his shaft.

He moaned. “Ye’ll be the death of me, lass, wi’ yer insatiable desire.” He got to his feet and leaned a hand to help her to rise. “Now. Food.”

He rang the bell while she grabbed their robes. He flung his on just as the knock came to the door. A young serving-lad stood there awaiting instructions.

“This cold weather has given us a mighty appetite, lad. Can ye request Bethia in the kitchen tae serve our supper in our chamber as soon as possible?”

She giggled as the lad hurried away. “Nay one will believe ‘tis the snow that’s caused yer hunger.”

He grabbed her round the waist and pulled her to him for a quick kiss, his eyes sparkling.

By the time the servants marched in with trays for their supper he had added logs to the fire and returned it to the merry blaze it had been.

They fell upon the food, ravenous, devouring bannocks, cheese, boiled eggs, roast chicken, almond and honey cakes and custard before they’d eaten their fill.

He took a seat before the fire and pulled her onto his lap.

“Mm.” A contented sigh issued from his lips. “Who could have dreamed that the bitter cold of winter could be so pleasant.”

She laughed, taking the last honey cake and dividing it in two.

“Ye ken, there’s something I should tell ye.”

He looked up, his brows drawing together. “’Tis good news I hope?”

Still smiling, she ran her fingers through his hair and smoothed it back from his forehead. “Mayhap ‘tis the very best of news.”

“Oh?” He tilted his head, waiting.

“I’ve missed me monthly flow two times now.”

She watched his face as he considered this. Then, to her great joy, his face lit up. He smiled, taking her hands in his.

“Daes this mean… what I think it means… that…” He paused as the full importance of what he was hearing sank in.

She nodded. “If ye’re thinking it means that a wean is on the way, I believe it daes. I’ve asked Eilidh and she seems rather certain I am with child. If all goes well, sometime this coming summer, we’ll have another presence in Dùn Ara. One of our own making.”

He closed his eyes briefly, savoring her words.

“Ye’ve made me happier than I ever could have believed was possible, me Lady Lyra, me little nun. ‘Tis very good that we made the trip tae Clan MacInnes before ye found out and decided that yer faither’s advisor, Adrian, will keep leading the clan fer the meantime.”

Then he took her hand and kissed her palm, turned it over and kissed the other side three times. “Providence was indeed smiling on me that day outside the Priory.”

She grinned. “And smiling on me, also.

He buried his face in her hair. “Saving yer life, was the best decision of me life.”

“Every time?” she asked.

“Aye, every time. And I’d dae it all over again.”

The End

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One month later

“Are ye ready?”

Her mother’s voice was soft as she approached her, smoothing down Kathleen’s dress. She had chosen a soft blue fabric for the occasion, and was adorned with family heirlooms whose stones glittered in the sunlight.

Those were her last moments as a maiden. Soon, she would be married and she was as excited about it as she was nervous. Her heart thundered in her chest, beating so fast that she feared it would leap straight out of her throat, and her stomach churned, but her mother’s strong, steady hands were like an anchor that kept her from getting unmoored.

“I think so,” Kathleen said with a small nod. She didn’t know how she would even make it to the chapel with her legs shaking as they were, but as her mother placed her hand on her back, between her shoulder blades, she found the strength to walk out of the room.

Her father was waiting for her there, and Kathleen didn’t know what to expect from him that day. After all the resistance he had put up, after all the arguments and the yelling and the tears, it was strange to see him smiling now as he looked at her from head to toe, taking in her bridal appearance.

“Ye look so bonnie,” he told her as he pulled her into a rare embrace. Her father, though loving, was not one to show emotion. “Ach, I cannae believe how much ye’ve already grown up. Ye were a bairn just yesterday.”

“An’ soon she’ll have bairns o’ her own,” her mother said, teary-eyed.

Kathleen hadn’t given much thought to that, but she supposed her mother was right. Sooner or later, she and Blaine would start their own family, and her heart skipped a beat at the thought. She could imagine it—children who resembled them both, running around Moy Hall, Kathleen and Blaine teaching them how to ride horses and how to hunt.

For the longest time, she had thought this impossible. And yet now the day had come that she would finally get everything she wanted.

“Are ye happy?” her father asked, his voice uncharacteristically quiet and gentle.

Kathleen nodded, a smile spreading over her lips. “I’m very happy, Faither. I’ve never been happier.”

“Then I’m happy too,” he told her as he pulled back. Then, his expression turned stern and he pointed a warning finger at her, wagging it. “But if he daes anythin’ tae hurt ye—”

“Och aye, we ken,” her mother interrupted, grabbing her father by the arm to pull him down the corridor. “Ye’ve said ye’ll kill him afore an’ yet he’s still alive.”

“Fer now,” her father insisted.

And Kathleen couldn’t help but laugh as she followed them, her heartbeat picking up with each step.

***

“Come here, me wife.”

Kathleen laughed, as she had done the last three times Blaine had called her his wife that day. Had anyone told her that would be her life only mere months prior, she would have laughed, but from disbelief rather than from joy.

Even now, it was hard to believe that she and Blaine were finally married. Around them, the feast for their wedding was in full swing; a band playing cheerful songs, people dancing, drinking, and making merry all around them, and yet Kathleen still feared this was all a dream from which she would soon wake to find herself back in Castle Stalker, without Blaine by her side.

At his request, she took his hand and followed him to the dance floor, letting him guide her once more as he had done at Fenella’s feast. Just like her and Blaine, Fenella and Ewan were dancing, and her laughter could be heard all around the great hall as he twirled her around and pulled her back close.

No one could understand her married bliss better than Kathleen herself. All day, she had not stopped smiling once.

When Blaine pulled her close at the start of the next song, Kathleen gazed into his green eyes, getting lost in them for a moment. She couldn’t imagine a lifetime spent without those eyes in her life, and now she didn’t have to. No one could ever separate them again; even her father had come round, and though he hadn’t quite taken a liking to Blaine just yet, he was at least happy to see Kathleen so joyful.

Each step Blaine took was surefooted, each twirl perfectly calculated. He danced like a noble, much like he acted as one most of the time. It suited him, Kathleen had always thought; it was as though he had truly been born in this life, or at least meant for it.

It was after one of those twirls that he pulled Kathleen flush against him, his arms wrapping around her waist even if it wasn’t part of the dance. For a moment, she frowned, confused by the sudden change in their pace, but then Blaine leaned in close to whisper in her ear.

“Shall we go tae our chambers?”

It was a scandalous suggestion, but one that Kathleen couldn’t resist, even though it was hardly appropriate for them to leave so soon. For a moment, she glanced around them, trying to see if anyone was watching, but everyone seemed too absorbed in their own dances or their own conversations to pay them any mind. And so Kathleen took Blaine’s hand and guided him towards the back of the room, where there was a rarely used passage that could take them out of the great hall without too many eyes spotting them.

After weaving through the crowd of dancers and other guests, Kathleen pulled Blaine into a small corridor that led to a flight of rickety stairs no one had bothered to replace in decades. Blaine chuckled behind her as he followed her, letting her guide him up and out to the hallway near their new chambers, and by the time they were both behind closed doors, he had both hands on her, refusing to let go for even a moment.

“How I love ye,” Blaine told her with a groan as he pressed her against the door, and Kathleen couldn’t help but laugh again, delighted.

“I love ye too,” Kathleen told him, taking a moment to cradle his face in her hands and gaze deep into his eyes. When he leaned in to kiss her, she eagerly parted her lips, the wine and the happiness that coursed through her veins making her pliant and eager for more.

Blaine seemed to be feeling the same way. Kathleen could already feel his hardened manhood against her thigh, pressing insistently into her plush flesh. He laughed giddily against her lips, dragging his hands up her hips, her waist, to have them settle on the swell of her breasts in the end, the touch drawing a moan out of them both.

“I want ye,” Kathleen said, whispering against his lips as her hands tried to gather her skirts as quickly as she could. Though she adored the light blue dress with its ruffles and lace that she had chosen for the wedding, it seemed like a hindrance now that there were so many layers of fabric between them, and she cursed under her breath as a waterfall of fabric kept slipping out of her hands.

“I think ye may have had a little too much tae drink,” Blaine teased, but at least he was merciful enough to help her with one hand, as the other snuck between her thighs to tease her entrance. At the first touch, he paused and looked at her with a raised eyebrow and a smirk that only widened as Kathleen’s cheeks began to burn. “Ye really want me, dinnae ye?”

“Stop it!” Kathleen hissed. Embarrassment flooded through her at just how much she desired him, how much it showed on her body, but it didn’t last long; not when Blaine groaned as he pushed two fingers inside her with ease, her wetness easing their slide.

“Shall I take ye like this? Here?” Blaine asked, and though Kathleen’s cheeks burned like flames, she couldn’t help but nod fervently, her need only growing with every thrust of Blaine’s fingers inside her.

“Aye,” she said, her voice small but firm. “Right here.”

As she spoke, she reached for him, her hands making quick work of his kilt so she could wrap her fingers around his manhood. When Blaine felt her touch for the first time that night, he sighed and let his forehead fall against the door next to Kathleen’s head, his hips thrusting lazily into her grip. Their lips met again in a heated kiss, the two of them sharing the same breath as Kathleen guided Blaine to her entrance, replacing his fingers with his length.

A moan tore its way through her as Blaine wasted no time before he entered her fully, filling her up to the brim. For a moment, he didn’t move; he only stayed there, the two of them pressing their foreheads together and gazing into each other’s eyes as she got used to his girth after a month of being kept apart for the wedding preparations, but it wasn’t long before Kathleen got impatient. She moved her hips first, rolling them against Blaine and drawing a broken moan out of him as she took him just a little deeper, her leg coming up to hook around his waist to pull him close.

When he finally began to move, Kathleen could feel every pleasurable drag of his manhood against her walls, every slam of his pelvis against her mound that teased her most sensitive spot. With one hand on her thigh and the other on her waist, Blaine held her close as he thrusted into her again and again, his rhythm frenzied from the very start as though he could hardly control himself around her.

And Kathleen soon found that she loved it. She loved seeing the wild look in his eyes as he gazed at her. She loved the tight grip of his hands on her, his fingers digging deep into her flesh. She loved the way he took her like he craved her, like he couldn’t live without her even if he had to.

“Does it feel good, me love?” Blaine asked her, leaning in close to nibble at the sensitive skin of her neck. “Tell me… tell me if ye like it.”

“I love it,” Kathleen said in a breathy exhale, wrapping her arms around his neck to hold him close. She buried the fingers of one hand in his hair, tugging gently at the strands just the way he liked it, and that only served to spur him on, urging him to quicken his pace.

Pleasure coursed through her entire body, a tingling sensation spreading all the way to her fingers and toes. Kathleen held onto Blaine desperately as he brought her closer to the edge, the pressure in her belly increasing until there was no choice for it but to explode all through her, her climax crashing over her like a wave.

Her core pulsing around Blaine, Kathleen couldn’t help but moan his name and shake in his arms as he worked her through her orgasm with a few more rhythmic thrusts that teased more and more pleasure out of her. Only when she collapsed against him, boneless, did he chase his own end, giving Kathleen a few more hard thrusts before finally spilling inside her as he claimed her lips in a heated kiss.

For a few moments, the two of them stayed like that, intertwined. Then, as Blaine pulled back and placed her leg back down, Kathleen erupted into laughter that she could not control, her entire body shaking with mirth.

“What is it, lass?” Blaine asked her with a soft, sweet smile as he pulled her into his arms, draping himself over her back.

“Naething,” she said, shaking her head. “I just love ye.”

“Aye,” said Blaine. “An’ I love ye, mo ghraidh.”

The End

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