Extended Epilogues

Even though it had been over a year since Mairi’s betrayal, Lochlan was still avoiding everyone at the castle. He reminded Finley of himself, of how he had been before he had met Etna, and it broke his heart to know that Mairi had broken something in his brother that he would never be able to get back.

Even though Lochlan hadn’t lost all of his cheer, Finley knew that much of it was nothing but a façade. He spoke little those days, talking mainly when someone else started a conversation with him, and even then, it was difficult to keep him talking for long. Everyone could see the change in him, and no one knew what to do about it.

The one thing that Finley had found that worked was training with him. It seemed as though his brother had so much anger inside him that the only way to release it was through exercise, and besides, training did them both a lot of good. Finley had regained his stamina and strength after the years he had spent neglecting both, and Lochlan was working out his frustrations.

That day, the two were at the training grounds alone, each equipped with a dull sword. They had been fighting for hours, going again and again and stopping only when they needed time to rest, their lungs and muscles protesting under strain.

Finley looked at Lochlan, waiting for him to attack. But where Lochlan had once been the first to start a fight, now he waited patiently, perhaps curious to see if Finley would finally make a move.

But his anger still showed. Finley knew it wasn’t directed at him, and that gave him some comfort, but he also knew that he wouldn’t be patient for long.

He was proven right. Lochlan soon attacked him, dealing blow after blow with his sword. Finley struggled to parry them all, moving backward and trying to put some distance between them so that he could laugh a counterattack. When he found an opening, he swung his sword, but Lochlan quickly avoided the dull blade, jumping to the side.

Finley attacked Lochlan with a roar, doing the same thing to him as before, not giving him a chance to fight back. But Lochlan, in his frustration, shot out with his leg, kicking Finley in the stomach and sending him tumbling on the ground.

Within moments, Lochlan’s sword fell from his hand, and he looked at Finley with wide eyes, as though he couldn’t believe that he had actually taken it that far.

“Dinna fash yerself,” Finley said, sitting up and dusting his hands. Lochlan offered him a hand, and Finley took it, standing back onto his feet.

“Did I hurt ye?” Lochlan asked him, sounding so guilty that Finley had half a mind to pull him into a hug and comfort him like he did when they were kids. But Lochlan was skittish those days. He didn’t like people touching him. So instead, Finley just smiled at him.

“Do ye really think that was enough to hurt me?” he asked, trying to lighten the mood. “I’m fine, Lochlan. Truly. As I said, dinna fash yerself.”

But Lochlan didn’t reply. He walked to the nearest bench, throwing himself onto it and burying his face in his hands. With a sigh, Finley joined him, and this time, he did place a hand on his brother’s shoulder, only to have him flinch.

But at least Lochlan didn’t pull back or try to shove his hand away. It was some progress, at least, no matter how small.

“Lochlan, the more ye keep inside, the worse ye’ll feel,” Finley pointed out. “Do ye na wish to speak with me?”

Lochlan scoffed, shaking his head. “Says ye. Ye spent so many years hidden away from the world, but noo ye judge me for what I’m doin’? I thought that if anyone understood, it would be ye.”

“I do understand,” Finley assured him. In fact, he supposed he understood better than anyone. “It’s because I’ve been through the same thing as ye that I ask ye to speak about it, to me at least. Ye dinna have to talk to anyone else. Ye dinna have to answer grandmaither’s questions.”

Arlene had been understanding, and she had given Lochlan his space, but she was getting restless. Now that she had Finley back, she was afraid of losing Lochlan, and Finley could hardly blame her.

He was afraid of the same thing.

“I dinna ken what to tell ye, Finley,” Lochlan said. “I understand ye noo. I understand why ye did everythin’ that ye did.”

“Ye’re na like me,” Finley pointed out. “Ye’re far from bein’ in that state.”

“Na . . . na, I’m na,” Lochlan said. “I’m only hidin’ it better than ye did. All I wish to do is crawl into me chambers and never face another human again.”

“Dinna say that,” Finley said. “That woman is gone, and she doesna deserve yer love or anythin’ else.”

Lochlan didn’t reply, but Finley could tell that he was contemplating his words. But they had spoken about Mairi for long enough. Finley didn’t want to bring her up more than he needed to. He would rather have Lochlan thinking about other things.

And besides, there was something that they still hadn’t discussed, even though it had been such a long time since then.

Finley had been plunged in so much shame over what he had done to Lochlan that he could hardly force himself to bring the entire thing up. He had treated him horribly. He had believed him to be the traitor, and he had hurt him so much that he couldn’t understand how Lochlan didn’t hate him, too.

“Lochlan . . . for what I did back then, I’m sorry.”

The words were sour in Finley’s mouth, the knot in his throat impossible to swallow. He had spent many sleepless nights thinking about how he could possibly make it up to Lochlan, but he never quite seemed to find the right thing to do or say.

Lochlan sighed, shaking his head. “Why are ye apologisin’?” he asked. “It was me fault, Finley. I was the one who gave Mairi all the information that she needed to pass to the brigands. I’m the one who caused all those deaths because of me own foolishness. If I had been smarter if I had figured her out . . . I dinna ken. Many of those men would still be alive today. I’m the one who should be apologisin’ to ye and to everyone else.”

“Ye seem to forget that I fell for the same lies,” Finley reminded him. “Ye never once blamed me for believin’ Anna, so why do ye blame yerself for believin’ Mairi? How could ye have kent what she was doin’? Ye were in love, and she fooled us all, na just ye. I would have never suspected her. Na one else would have.”

“It doesna make it any better,” Lochlan insisted. “It doesna matter. What’s done is done, and I canna change it na matter how much I want to. I wish that there would be somethin’ I could do, but those men are gone, and so is she. I canna . . . I canna ask her how she could do it.”

“She was a bad person, Lochlan,” Finley said simply, giving his brother a small shrug. “But just because ye trusted her and she turned out to be a bad person, it doesna mean that ye shouldna trust anyone else again. I made that mistake once. I dinna want ye to make the same one.”

“It’s easy for ye to say, Finley,” Lochlan said. “Ye have Etna. Ye found someone worth trustin’. Me . . . I dinna ken if I’ll ever find anyone else. I dinna ken if I want to.”

With that, Lochlan stood and grabbed the sword that he had discarded on the ground, putting it in its proper place before walking away. Finley watched him, wishing that he was better with words, more convincing.

Perhaps Etna should speak to him. She got through to me once. Maybe she can get through to him, too.

Finley stood, as well, making his way back inside the castle. It didn’t take him long to find Etna and Malina, along with the new addition to their family, all of them sitting in the library as Etna read to the two children,

When she had given birth to their son, Finley had remembered just how happy Malina’s birth had made him. And now, seeing them all three together made him happy again and put a smile on his face. He didn’t think he would ever get used to the sight. He didn’t think that excitement would ever fade.

“Dadaidh!” Malina shouted, waving him over. Finley joined her obediently, always happy to do her bidding. He picked her up and placed her in his lap, Etna watching them with a smile even as she kept reading.

The four of them stayed there until it was time for supper. After eating and putting the little ones to sleep—something that Etna refused to leave to the governess—she joined him in their chambers, kissing him as she lied down next to him.

But then she pulled back, looking at him with a frown. It was a look that always forced Finley to tell her the truth sooner or later, so he had learned to not fight it anymore.

“What is it?” she asked. “Did somethin’ happen?”

Etna had always been perceptive, and after the time they had spent together, she could always tell when something was wrong with Finley. There was no hiding from her, but then again, he didn’t want to hide, not anymore.

“It’s Lochlan,” he said. “I was with him all mornin’ and afternoon’, but he barely talks to me. I dinna ken what to do, Etna. I dinna ken how to make it better.”

“There are some things that ye canna make better, and ye’ll have to accept that,” Etna told him, laying a gentle hand on his arm. “All ye can do is be there for him when he needs ye. Perhaps he doesna need to talk. Perhaps he needs somethin’ else entirely.”

“Dinna ye always say that I should talk to ye about what bothers me?” Finley asked. “Why should it be different for him? I’m his brother. He should be able to tell me everythin’.”

“Weel . . . ye were hidin’ away from the world for years. Lochlan hasna reached the same state as ye had. He’s withdrawn, that much is certain, but he doesna dwell in the shadows of the castle, orderin’ people to stop smilin’.”

The reminder made Finley wince. He really had been unreasonable, and he didn’t know why his people had put up with him. Especially his family, who should have slapped some sense into him much sooner.

“What I mean is, he’s still with us,” Etna said. “Ye dinna have to worry about him turnin’ into ye. Perhaps it will take a long time for him to heal, but he will. Ye only have to be patient.”

Finley supposed that Etna was right. The only thing that he could really do was wait for Lochlan to speak to him when he felt ready. But as things were, he felt so useless. He felt as though he had failed his little brother. It had always been his duty to protect him and knowing that he couldn’t do that anymore left a bitter taste in his mouth.

“Do ye think ye could speak with him?” Finley asked her. “I ken that ye think we should wait, but perhaps he’ll listen to ye more than he listens to me.”

Etna hesitated, but in the end, she nodded, perhaps because she could sense his anguish. “I can try,” she said. “If it will make ye feel better, I can certainly try.”

“Thank ye, mo ghràdh,” Finley said. “How am I so lucky as to have a lass like ye?”

“Och, I dinna ken. I often ask meself the same thing,” Etna teased. But then she kissed him, showing just how much she still wanted him, how much she loved him and yearned for him. Finley knew because she felt the same for her, his body and soul reaching out for her with everything he had.

He couldn’t imagine what his life would be if his grandmother hadn’t called Etna to the castle. And before he had met her, he certainly couldn’t have imagined that he would have such a beautiful life with her and their two children.

“Ye ken . . . I always wanted a big family,” Finley said, grinning at Etna as he pulled her closer by the hip. She was so warm and soft against him, supple and inviting, and he couldn’t resist. He always wanted her. It was as though she had turned him into a teenager, always ready to go. “Perhaps it’s time—”

“I’ll stop ye right there,” Etna said, pressing a finger against Finley’s lips to shush him. “Ye willna put another bairn in me any time soon. One pregnancy was enough for noo. Talk to me again about it in a few years.”

“But ye’re so, so bonnie, Etna,” Finley said, his lips finding her neck, kissing and nibbling on her skin. “How could I ever resist ye?”

Etna laughed, slapping his shoulder playfully. “I’m na tellin’ ye to resist me. I’m tellin’ ye to be careful.”

Etna kissed him, but as she did, a yawn erupted from her, pulling her away from him. She did seem exhausted, and Finley knew the reason. Between tutoring Malina and raising a newborn, Etna always had her hands busy. Finley had told her multiple times that she had a perfectly good woman to help her, the governess that had taken care of other children in the clan, too, but Etna wasn’t having it. She always talked about how she loved children and brought her joy to raise the two they had.

Resting his head next to her own on the pillow, Finley kissed her cheek and then her forehead. Etna sighed contently against him, and he could feel her smile on his chest. “Go to sleep, mo ghràdh,” he told her. “We’ll have plenty of time for another bairn when ye’re na so tired.”

Etna mumbled something that Finley didn’t quite catch, but he didn’t ask her to repeat it. Soon, her breathing evened out, and he knew that she was peacefully asleep.

Being in her arms had always helped Finley sleep, too. He had spent years staying up at night, sleep evading him every single night, but now, he usually slept like a baby, Etna drawing out every last bit of stress that he held onto and making it melt away.

He loved her for it. He loved her for many reasons.

And now that he had her as her own, he would never let her go.

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Three Years Later…

It had been three years since they married, and Blaine ascended to the Lairdship. Life in the clan lands had become prosperous, and the people were happier under their new Laird. Caitriona had found a man she enjoyed spending time with, and Olivia was thrilled for her mother. She was glad her mother had found somebody who would honor, respect, and love her as she deserved.

She shook her head. Even after three years, it was still strange to call her mother. But they had grown as close as a mother and daughter should be. Maybe even closer. She had come to love Caitriona every bit as fiercely as she loved Blaine and Aisling. They were her clan. Aisling had married Captain Craig, and she didn’t see her former handmaiden nearly as often, though they got together as much as they could. They both had married woman’s duties to attend to—especially Aisling, who had just had her first child—a baby boy.

Blaine had proved to be a good Laird. Just. Kind, compassionate, and focused on improving the lives of his Clan. And he’d done just that. As a result, life was good in ways it never had been under his father’s rule. Blaine was enjoying being in the Laird’s chair—it was something Olivia never thought she’d see, but he’d grown into the role and loved it. And the people loved him.

But still, even with so many things going well in their lives, Olivia knew there was one thing that still bothered him—his name. He’d adopted Gilchrist, but she knew deep down, he still wanted to know where he came from. Wanted to know who his birth mother was and his true family name. He wanted to know if he still had people out there, and it was for that reason that Olivia had been working so hard. Behind the scenes, she had devised the little adventure they were now taking.

“Are ye nae goin’ tae tell me where we’re goin’ then?” he asked.

She sat astride on her horse and turned to him, a mischievous grin on her face. “No, I don’t think I will,” she said. “You’ll know once we arrive.”

He grinned at her. “That’s nay fun.”

“No, ruining the surprise is what’s not fun,” she said with a laugh. “I swear, you’re worse than a child.”

“Sometimes.”

She laughed, and together, they rounded a bend and found themselves approaching a series of buildings made of timber and stone. The smaller buildings surrounded a more prominent, central building that looked to Olivia like a tavern in a former life. As they approached, several nuns stepped out of the large building and watched them ride up.

Blaine was down from his horse first and helped her down from her mount. He looked at her strangely.

“What is this place?” he asked.

She gave him a soft smile. “This is the foundling home where Caitriona found you,” Olivia replied. “I thought if we were ever going to find out anything about your name, it would be here.”

His smile was full of wonder, and he shook his head. “How did ye—”

She shrugged. “Caitriona didn’t remember much about it, so it took a little doing but eventually, I found the place.”

“This is amazing. Thank ye, me love,” he said and held her hands, his voice thick with emotion.

They walked into the building together and were greeted by a stout, middle-aged woman wearing a gray nun’s habit. She was short and looked up to both of them.

“And what may I do for you two?” she asked in a voice tinged with a French accent. “Are you here to adopt a foundling?”

“Actually, no. We were looking for information about him,” Olivia said, pointing to Blaine. “He was a foundling here until he was adopted one night by a woman—tall, black hair, green eyes? This would have been almost thirty years ago now.”

“And you expect me to remember back that far?” the nun added with a smile.

“I know, it’s a challenging request. But if there’s anything you have or can tell us that might lead to his name—it would be more than appreciated,” Olivia replied.

“You know, thinking back on it, I do seem to remember a noblewoman coming in a very long time ago. She was in a near panic,” the nun said. “Demanded a child. A boy. She was practically throwing coins at me. I let her pick one of the baby boys mostly to get her to leave, but partly because the amount of money she gave funded the home for almost two years. Let me see if I can go find something.”

Blaine whistled low. “I’ve always told ye I’m nae cheap,” he says.

“That is still a matter of opinion,” Olivia added with a laugh.

The nun came back a few minutes later, holding an embroidered cloth.  The threads were all frayed, and the fabric looked like it had seen better days. But then, it was thirty years old.

The nun handed the cloth to Olivia. “Here you go, dear,” she said. “We ask that the mothers leave a personal item as an identifier should a mother wish to reclaim her child after dropping them off. This was left for the baby the noblewoman took that night. I remember that part of it so clearly.

“Thank you,” Olivia said. “This means a lot to us.”

“Of course, dear. If there’s anything else you need, just give me a shout,” she said. “I’m always around.”

“Thank you, Sister,” Blaine said.

She handed the cloth to Blaine and watched him touch the fabric. He ran his hands over it, looking at it with wonder.

“My mother made this,” he said, his voice tinged with awe.

Olivia nodded. “It was.”

He looked closely at it, a slight frown touching his lips. Olivia cocked her head.

“What is it?” she asked.

“It almost feels like there’s a pocket sewn into this— that there’s something in it,” he said.

She watched as he picked the thread out of what did indeed look like a secret pocket. With the stitching undone, he pulled out a folded slip of paper. Blaine looked at it, then looked at Olivia, the excitement in his face more than obvious. She couldn’t believe that not only had the cloth survived, but the piece of parchment inside the cloth had survived as well. It seemed as if somebody wanted Blaine to know about his past.

He unfolded the note and read it slowly, the tears shimmering in his eyes.

“What does it say?” she asked.

Blaine handed her the slip of paper and walked away. He seemed to be drying his eyes, but his expression was faraway. Whatever had been written down had hit him hard. Olivia looked down at the slip of paper in her hand and read the words scrawled upon the page in a neat, precise script.

“Baby boy, know that even though I could not care for you myself, that you were loved. And know that you will be loved, not just by me but by all who encounter you. You are special, baby boy. Make your own name and make your own way. I love you ~ Your Mother.”

She turned it over and looked at the page but saw no names. She had come out here hoping to solve the greatest mystery of Blaine’s life finally, and they were no closer to an answer. But when she looked at him, he seemed strangely at peace. He was calm, and his expression thoughtful.

“I’m sorry we couldn’t find your family name,” she offered.

“It’s all right. She didn’t want me burdened with her family name, whatever it was,” he said softly. “I think she wanted me to be free of it for whatever reason. She wanted me to make my own name… my own life, and I’m all right with that.”

She smiled. “I’m glad to hear that,” she replied. “And whoever she was, she was also right—you are loved. Very loved.”

He pulled her into a tight embrace and planted a soft kiss upon her lips. “As are you, my love. As are you.”

As they walked from the foundling’s home, Olivia smiled. She realized that family wasn’t what you were born into. It’s what you made of it. It was the people you surrounded yourself with. That’s what made up a family—not merely blood ties.

And from that perspective, Olivia felt as if she’d found the most extraordinary family ever, and she was thankful for each and every one of them. She had a bounty of love and joy in her life. Olivia had never imagined her life would turn out to be so perfect—but as she looked at the man she loved, she had to admit it was pretty close.

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It had been so long since Nimue had last seen Guinevere. With the MacLellan clan having returned to their lands, Guinevere had been in the Lowlands for months, but now she had returned for a visit, and Nimue couldn’t be happier.

She had missed her terribly, and she wanted nothing more than to see her and talk to her once more. Besides, she had a surprise for her.

Gazing out of the window of Chrisdean’s study, Nimue impatiently waited for her, knowing that she was bound to show up at any moment. Chrisdean was sitting at his desk, and she could tell that he was watching her instead of working and that he had a small smile on his lips. He was happy, too, she knew. How could he not be?

And then, just as Nimue was getting too restless to sit still, she saw the gates open and her sister ride into the castle grounds.

“She’s here!” Nimue exclaimed, rushing out of the chair and the study before Chrisdean could even say anything. She heard his voice, shouting at her to be careful as she ran, but she ignored him in her excitement.

Nimue made it to the courtyard just as Guinevere was dismounting her horse, and she immediately threw herself at her, wrapping her tightly in her arms.

“Guinevere!” she said, all but squealing like a child in her ear. “Ach, how I’ve missed ye! I canna believe ye’re finally here!”

“I’ve missed ye, too,” Guinevere told her, but she seemed more preoccupied with something else. It was nothing that Nimue hadn’t expected, and when Guinevere pulled back to look at her, she could only smile. “Ye’re pregnant!”

Nimue had told her father, but she had begged him to not tell Guinevere, knowing that she would be visiting just as her bump began to show. Now, with some of the delays that had come their way, her bump was truly showing, and there was no way for Guinevere to miss it.

“Ach, I’m so happy for ye, Nimue,” Guinevere said, gently laying her hand on Nimue’s belly. “And for me! I’ll be an aunt! I hope it’s a wee lassie.”

Nimue knew that Chrisdean wanted a boy, but she didn’t mind. All she wanted was for the child to be healthy and happy. And if she had a small preference for a girl, well, that was for her to know.

“Guinevere, welcome,” came Chrisdean’s voice from behind them, and Nimue wrapped an arm around him once he was close enough to them. “How were yer travels?”

“Absolutely terrible,” Guinevere said, with that usual air of hers. “But I’m here noo, and I couldna be happier. Faither says he wishes he could visit, too, but he’s too busy with the clan. Does he ken about the bairn?”

“Aye, I wrote to him,” Nimue admitted. “But I wanted it to be a surprise for ye.”

“I hope she gets Nimue’s looks,” Guinevere said.

“I hope he gets his faither’s strength and bravery and—”

“Weel, shall we go inside?” Guinevere asked, promptly interrupting Chrisdean and pulling a laugh out of Nimue.

The two of them spent the rest of the day talking, mostly about the baby and the MacLellan clan. A part of Nimue felt guilty for not being there as they finished rebuilding their homes, but she knew that her place was in the Highlands now, and she couldn’t risk traveling that far while she was pregnant. She had made a promise to her father to visit as soon as she could, though, and she intended to keep that promise. As much as she loved the Highlands, the MacLellan clan would always be her home, too.

It was around the evening that Nimue noticed there was something wrong with Guinevere, a nervous energy that she seemed unable to expel. At first, Nimue didn’t want to push Guinevere, thinking that she would tell her what was wrong whenever she wished, but her curiosity grew and grew until she wasn’t able to contain it anymore. As the two of them were having supper—alone, as Chrisdean, Brock, and everyone else who could have joined them were too busy with war tactics and plans—Nimue took Guinevere’s hand in hers, grabbing her attention.

“Ye dinna look weel,” she said. “What’s wrong, Guinevere? Did somethin’ happen?”

“I’m fine,” Guinevere replied, but it was clearly a lie.

“We grew up together,” Nimue reminded her. “I can tell when somethin’ is wrong. What is it?”

Guinevere hesitated, drawing her bottom lip between her teeth. Nimue worried that she wouldn’t tell her at all, that she would continue to dodge the question, but when Guinevere spoke, she knew she was telling the truth.

“I’m thinkin’ about Tristan,” she said.

Nimue wasn’t surprised. She had been thinking about Tristan, too, all day long, ever since she had seen Guinevere. She had been thinking about how he would have loved to be there and how much she wanted him there, too, the three of them reunited. She could only imagine how much worse it was for Guinevere, as the two of them were twins and always inseparable.

“I think about him, too,” Nimue said. “I’ve been thinkin’ about him all day.”

“Aye, but . . . but I keep thinkin’ that he’s out there somewhere,” Guinevere said. Her confession drew a sigh out of Nimue. It wasn’t the first time that she had heard those words from Guinevere, but she wished that her sister would simply stop thinking like that. It had been so long since his death, and yet she still believed that he was alive.

“Guinevere . . . we’ve had this talk before,” Nimue reminded her. “Tristan is gone. I miss him, too, I miss him terribly, but there is na a thing that we can do about it.”

Guinevere shook her head. “He’s alive, Nimue. I ken it,” she said. “First of all, they never found his body. Why? Where is it? They found everyone else’s bodies, but na his own. And I ken it in me heart, as I ken that the sun rises in the mornin’ and sets at night. I can feel it. I ken that he’s still out there somewhere.”

Nimue didn’t know what to say to her sister anymore. Both she and their father had tried to talk some sense into her, to make her see that just because there was no body, it didn’t mean that Tristan was alive. If he were, Nimue was certain that he would have returned. There was no explanation about him not being in their lives other than the fact that he was dead.

“I dinna want ye to spend the rest of yer life lookin’ for a dead man,” Nimue said, and her words sounded harsh to her ears, but perhaps it was what Guinevere needed to hear, she thought. They had tried being gentle with her; and it hadn’t worked. Perhaps making her face reality was the best option for them all. “Ye’re wastin’ yer life like this, Guinevere. Ye have this obsession, and it will na get ye anywhere. Ye must move on. Ye must.”

“How can ye tell me to move on?” Guinevere asked, and Nimue could hear the trembling in her voice, even though she tried to seem unaffected. “I dinna understand how ye have moved on. I canna simply forget about him.”

“I havena forgotten about him,” Nimue said, and there was an edge to her words. As much as she loved Guinevere, she didn’t like what she was implying. Tristan was her own brother, too, and she loved him just as dearly. “I simply ken that he’s na with us anymore. I have accepted it. I wish there were somethin’ I could do to bring him back, but there isna. Lookin’ for a dead man will get ye nowhere.”

There was a long silence between them. Neither of them seemed to know what to say, and Nimue didn’t want to argue with Guinevere anymore. But then, before she could say anything else, she saw tears streaming down her sister’s face.

“Forgive me,” she said. “for what I’ve said. But I canna lose hope, Nimue. I canna. If he’s out there, if he’s still alive, then I want him to have a chance of returnin’ home. I will never stop lookin’ for him.”

With a sigh, Nimue gave Guinevere a small nod. With time, she thought, she would come to see that her efforts were in vain, but she wanted to avoid that subject from then on as much as she could while her sister was there. She wanted them both to enjoy the visit without any fights.

“Weel . . . how is everyone back home?” Nimue asked, quickly changing the subject. “Is Faither doin’ weel?”

The two of them talked for the rest of the evening and well into the night, and when Nimue retired to her chambers after ensuring that Guinevere was comfortable in her own, she found Chrisdean already in bed. Taking off her clothes, Nimue slid next to him under the covers, letting his embrace warm her up.

“Forgive me for na bein’ there with ye today,” Chrisdean said, but Nimue waved a hand dismissively.

“It was good to have some time alone with her,” she said. “We can all spend some time together when ye can, but ye dinna need to fash yerself. I have plenty to talk about with her.”

“Ye do?”

With a soft sigh, Nimue turned to face Chrisdean. Her brow was pleated with worry, and she considered for a moment not telling him the truth. She thought that perhaps Guinevere wouldn’t want everyone to know about her wild theories, but then again, Guinevere herself didn’t see them as wild.

“Guinevere is convinced that Tristan is alive,” she said. “I try to tell her that he’s dead, but she willna listen. She says that there was na body and that she kens it in her heart.”

Chrisdean’s sigh mimicked her own. “It’s strange that there was na body,” he said, and of course, he was right. Nimue had also been surprised, and it was something that she thought about often. “But he would have come home, wherever he was if he were alive. Ye ken that, do ye na?”

“I do,” Nimue said. “But Guinevere doesna. I wish that she would put an end to this silly thing, but she says that as long as she lives, she will continue to look for him.”

Chrisdean carded a hand through Nimue’s hair before it came to rest on her belly. It was something that he did a lot those days, touching her stomach and waiting for the baby to move, and it always put a smile on Nimue’s lips.

“Weel . . . perhaps it’s better to na think about such things right noo,” Chrisdean said. “Ye must remain calm and happy while ye’re carryin’ the bairn.”

“Ach, Chrisdean, I’m fine,” Nimue assured him. He had always been protective of her, but now it was verging on overprotective, and she had had enough of him following her around whenever it wasn’t absolutely necessary for him to be in his study or with his men, making sure that she was always calm and comfortable. As much as she appreciated the sentiment, she wanted fewer of the actions.

“Alright, alright . . . I willna tell ye what to do,” Chrisdean said. “But I will tell ye that I have an idea for the name.”

‘Is that so?” Nimue asked, the conversation suddenly turning very interesting for her. She also had a name in mind, or rather, two: the names of their Mothers.

“Aye . . . I think we should call him Tristan.”

Nimue couldn’t help but smile at that, even as a few tears threatened to spill from her eyes. Chrisdean had never met Tristan, but there he was, suggesting that they name their child after him just because he knew how much Nimue loved him.

She couldn’t even bring herself to argue that it could be a girl. And well, if her slight preference had just changed; well, that was for her to know.

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