Extended Epilogues

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Take it,” said Caitrìona.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

###

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Teasag felt herself falling into his gaze.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Let’s go.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

In the distance, she could hear Hendry laugh.

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TEN YEARS LATER

“Och, mamma, can I have it, please, say I can!”

The excited high voice of Isabella cried as she clutched the long, taffeta frock. Edme smiled at her daughter, as she played in the McKinley keep bedroom. It was the end of a cold, dark day in late December. A chilly wind raced around the keep. Even after all this time, it was impossible to keep the draughts out.

“Well, wait an’ see what yer father thinks, but…,” started Edme, the beginnings of a smile playing on her lips. Her daughter loved nothing better than to dress up and while playing in the bedroom, had unearthed a dress that used to be hers.

Edme picked up the flame tinted gown, complete with a little sash of McKinley tartan, and held it close. She wondered if there was any way she could still get it on. Then she put it down, embarrassed at the thought.

“Was this yers, mamma?” asked Isabella, her voice high and enquiring. Edme sighed. She was such a bright child, but sometimes her questions seemed never-ending. She looked down at the pretty ten-year-old, her green eyes sparkling intently. “Aye,” she said. “I wore it, just a wee bit older than ye when I was a lassie,” she paused for a moment. “I wore it when I first kissed yer father, but I dinnae suppose he remembers that!”

Then she smiled, folding it away. “It’s probably a wee bit large for ye,” she said dubiously. Then she thought back to how small she was as a teen – she still was – and how much her daughter had grown over the last few months and wondered. “It might fit, but,” her voice trailed off, but the words had barely left her mouth before Isabella snatched the dress, eagerly.

“I’ll look after it an’ be really careful, I swear! I want to look my best for the festivities!” Isabella said, joyfully.

“Aye, an’ try an’ get the attention of that wee Jock McTavish, I shouldnae wonder!” said another voice.

Isabella turned around; “Grandma Freya!” she bounded towards the door of the bedroom. “When did ye get here?” she asked her.

“Just now. We’ve been knocking and knocking!” said Wallace, his eyes twinkling on the threshold.

Edme jumped up, shooing away her daughter, who scampered off with the dress.  “Wallace! Please come inside. Come, we’ll go into the main hall!”

“I’m sorry we’re late,” apologized Wallace, his ginger hair was gray these days, but otherwise, he looked the same as Edme remembered. “It took us so long to travel through the Highlands in the snow. But then, it’s always like this at Hogmanay!” he smiled merrily, proffering forth a bottle of whiskey. “A drop of the good stuff for the celebrations tonight!”

Edme took the bottle from him, pretending not to notice that half of it was already drunk, and from the broad grin on her father in law’s face, and the deep red in his cheeks, it was clear to see where it had gone!

“Where’s Beathan? He’s nae left ye alone, has he?” asked Freya, as a silent servant took her cloak. Walking about the room, she took a look around.

“Well, it’s different here since last time!” she said. Edme nodded.

“We thought we’d do Hogmanay here, this time,” she said. Looking about her old family home was still full of memories, some good, many bad, but all burned deeply within her heart, especially at this time of year.

“Since joining the clans together, we have been thinking of spending more time here, an’ really getting to ken the people again…,” Edme said. “We used to have a feast here every year when my father was..,”

Edme’s eyes misted with sadness. She had loved the parties at the McKinley keep, and this was the first year that they had decided to come back to host another one. Edme chewed her lip, suddenly unsure.

“I do hope this isn’t going to be a mistake,” she said, more to herself than anyone else.

Then she felt a heavy hand on her shoulder. “Nae, it isnae, lass! It’s about time we laid the ghosts to rest,” Edme looked around, and there was Beathan, his green eyes twinkling in the candlelight.

He embraced his parents quickly before going back and giving her arm a little squeeze. Then he looked around the room.

“It’s looking good in here, Edme,” he said. The room was festooned with greens, holly, and mistletoe brought in from the woods. In the center, a huge fire burned, and a splendid table set for a banquet.

Later, they would go back out, but first, they would give thanks for what they had.

And what they had was plenty, Edme had never been happier.  And today, she was just as in love with Beathan as she ever had been.

Beathan went over to her, giving her a little kiss, before filling a glass for them all to share.

“There’s so much to remember, at this time of year,” said Freya suddenly. Her eyes drifted, heavy with tears.

Isabella, who had been hovering in the doorway, stopped a moment, watching as her grandmother grew wistful. Wallace placed his arm around Freya. “Aye, I ken, the first Yule without yer mammy!” he said.

Beathan also grew quiet, as Edme rubbed his arm supportively. “Aye, she passed almost about this time last year, I dinnae think she ever got over my father’s death…”

Finlay’s death had left a big absence in the lives of all of them, especially Freya. Beathan had also mourned his loss.

The three of them had spent the day tending to the graves, before riding over to the McKinley castle for the family feast.

“Tell me about great-grandpa,” said Isabella, enthusiastically, her eyes flashing. She was always so interested in history, especially family stories.

Edme watched her as she moved across the room, touching Grandma Freya lightly as she went, and smiling. The flame tinted taffeta suited her, offsetting her jet-black hair to perfection.

“Och, Isabella, yer the picture of yer great grandmamma!” murmured Beathan, as if he had just noticed the uncanny similarity between Sine and his daughter, even though they were not blood.

Beathan stroked his daughter’s black hair gently. But Isabella pouted at him.

“Ye were going to tell me about Grandpa Finlay,” she demanded. “An’ his two different colored eyes!”

All four grown-ups laughed at her fierceness.

“She’s her mother’s daughter, for sure,” chuckled Wallace, approvingly, “An’ her grandmamma’s too!”

“Och, aye, Grandpa Finlay,” began Beathan. “Well, ye ken, he had quite a tale of his own, being a foundling, of sorts,” said Beathan, as Edme took his hand. “An’ he hid who he was for a long time!”

But Edme was not listening. She was staring at the dress Isabella was wearing. It all came flooding back. That first Yule at McKinley, and the kissing game she had played with Beathan. But he had always said that he didn’t remember. She didn’t know why, but this made her sad.

“What’s a foundling?” said Isabella, as sharp as ever, as she sat down next to her father.

“Och, he wasnae exactly a foundling! He was about ten when they found him wandering,” cut in Wallace. And then, of course, this started a good-natured argument about what a foundling was and the exact nature of Finlay’s birth.

As the family argued, Edme refilled the glasses silently; she was secretly pleased with everything. The table looked splendid, and the smells coming from the kitchen promised the best hog roast in all of Scotland! Later, they would eat like kings, before toasting Finlay and Sine.

Edme listened, as the four of them shouted and argued. It was times like this that sometimes she felt sad that her side of the family was so empty.

Seeing her thoughtful face, Beathan came over to her, giving her a little squeeze.

“Hoo, what is it now?” he asked softly, nuzzling her cheek tenderly.

Edme looked into his eyes. “Nae, nothing, I am just happy, that’s all…” she smiled.

Beathan led her over to the mistletoe hanging over the doorway to the main hall.

“Och, Edme, this takes me back, to the feast all those years ago,” he said, bringing Edme close. Edme could feel her cheeks tingling and beginning to heat up.

Even after all this time, Beathan still had the power to make her feel like an excited teenager. She looked over at Isabella, in the flowing gown. She was listening intently, as Wallace recounted the story of Finlay and his rise from outsider to the laird of the clan.

Beathan paused and then whispered in her ear. “Isn’t that the frock ye had on when ye first kissed me, all those years back, Edme?” he grinned at her.

“What?” she almost shouted. Raw emotion ripped through Edme, instantly. “Ye remember it; ye remember us kissing at Yule?”

She couldn’t believe it. For years, Beathan had claimed he could not remember. She looked at him in surprise.

“Is it the whiskey? Are ye drunk?” she asked him, but Beathan smiled.

Behind them, Wallace continued his tale to a captivated Isabella. “An’ he returned to his family home, to be laird, knowing it was his rightful place!”

At those words, Beathan stroked Edme’s hair tenderly. “Just like ye!” he said. “Some things are meant to be…”

She looked at him closely, reaching for the dint in his chin, which was still there after all these years. Suddenly, it felt like everything in her life had fallen into place.

Then Beathan pulled her closer and laughing, said. “Aye, of course, I remember ye kissing me! How could I ever forget?”

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Many things had happened since Donal had returned to Achadh na Cairidh, bringing with him Vanora as his new bride; things that Angus had found out through a copious number of letters that he, Donal, and Vanora exchanged.

After the passing of his father, Donal was now Laird Cameron. Donal had buried him next to Ronald, and he knew that eventually, he would join them, and he would see them once more, though he did worry about his mother, despite her insistence that she was doing quite well.

The first grandchild kept her quite busy, after all. Vanora had given birth to a baby boy a year after they got married, whom they called Ewen after Donal’s father, and Donal could have sworn that he had never seen his mother so happy before.

The boy was now soon approaching his first birthday, and Donal’s mother fawned and fussed over him every single day. Donal could only hope that his son would not end up getting spoiled, but he could already tell his hopes would eventually be crushed.

The only thing that gave him some peace of mind was that the three of them, he, Vanora, and their son, were just about to leave for Knapdale. It was time that Ewen met his other grandparents from his mother’s side, though there was a different reason why they were visiting.

Angus had told them, in his last letter that his father, the laird of the MacMillan clan, was dying. It was no surprise to anyone; the laird was in his later years, and he had lived a full life, but Donal and Vanora wanted to be there regardless, both for the laird and for Angus.

Donal had been apprehensive at first. He and Vanora had not told anyone yet, not even his mother and their closest family, but she was pregnant once again, though no one could tell over her petticoats and her skirts. Donal could only see a hint of a swell in her belly when she lay naked next to him, and that was more than enough to drive him to immediate panic every time that she had to travel for longer than the time it took for her to get to the kitchens.

Still, Vanora had gotten fed up with him, and so she had insisted that they traveled to Knapdale and, well…Donal could never tell her no.

That was how he found himself traveling with Vanora, little Ewen, and some of his clansmen, making the long trip to Knapdale, the entire time fussing over Vanora much more than she would like him to.

“Do ye think that Angus will find himself a nice lass?”

Vanora looked up from where she was watching Ewen nurse on her breast, frowning at Donal as though he had said something ridiculous, shaking her head at him.

“Weel…he will be the laird soon!” she said. “He must find a wife, dis he not? How else will he get an heir?”

“Ach, I dinnae ken,” Donal said. It was a thought that had been in his mind for a while, even though it probably was something that didn’t bother Angus himself at all. “What if he doesnae find anyone?”

Vanora shrugged, just a little so that she wouldn’t disturb Ewen. “What if he doesnae?” she said. “It isnae the end of the world, noo, is it?”

Before Donal could say anything else, Ewen decided that he had nursed enough, and so they continued with their journey.

Soon, they arrived in Knapdale, and once again, it looked just like Donal remembered it, though he supposed there couldn’t have been many changes in Castle Sween ever since he had last been there. The loch was beautiful as always—its calm, dark waters reflecting the equally calm sky, where the clouds passed like grazing sheep.

It was peaceful, Donal thought.

It remained so for about five seconds, before Mrs. Gallach ran towards them at full speed, only stopping when she saw Ewen in Vanora’s arms.

“Mo leanbh, what a handsome wee bairn ye are!” Mrs. Gallach said, getting a delighted giggle out of Ewen as a reply. “Ye look just like yer maw, dinnae ye?”

“I think he looks verra much like me, Mrs. Gallach,” Donal said, even though everyone said the same thing about Ewen. Donal was convinced they said he looked like Vanora only because of his dark locks, while they ignored the rest of his features—which, in Donal’s mind at least, were the same as his.

“I think ye canna see weel,” Mrs. Gallach said, but she did so with a grin on her face. “Come, ye twa…ye must be tired after all this traveling.”

“Aye,” Donal said, urging Vanora to follow the head housekeeper. “I’ll stay and help the men with the horses. Go and find Angus, and I’ll meet ye two inside.”

Vanora did as she was told, and Donal took a moment to look around the grounds of Castle Sween, breathing in deeply. The air there was the same as the air in Achadh na Cairidh, of course, but Donal, sentimental as he was, wanted to think that Castle Sween didn’t stink so much of manure.

As he helped his clansmen with the horses, settling everything and making sure their things went to the right places, a large mass tackled him, throwing him onto the ground and pinning him there. His face was suddenly caked with mud and other substances that Donal didn’t even want to think about, and he spat out a mouthful of hay that had found its way into his mouth.

Donal didn’t have to look over his shoulder to know who it was that had attacked him so suddenly.

“Is that what ye call a warm welcome?” he asked, as he struggled against Angus’ hold. The man had become stronger since the last time he had fought him, and it only fuelled Donal’s desire to beat him. “Ye havnae seen me in twa years!”

Angus laughed from where he sat on the small of Donal’s back, holding him down with his entire weight.

“Ye would do the same to me if I came tae Achadh na Cairidh,” he pointed out. “How have ye been, Donal? How’s yer lass?”

Donal hated how casual Angus sounded, as though he wasn’t thrashing beneath him. The man had made one big mistake, though; he had already fooled himself into thinking that he had won.

Donal bucked against him, hard enough to throw Angus off him, and he was back on his feet before the other man could stand. The two of them stared at each other, bending at the hips as they prepared to strike, both men huffing like a pair of bulls.

Donal pulled Angus into a hug, and Angus hugged him back tightly, patting his back. When they separated, they had matching grins on their faces.

“I’m verra weel now that yer off me, and Vanora is weel, too,” Donal said, before leaning in closer, whispering conspiratorially. “She’s with another bairn. No one kens yet, no one but us, but I wanted ye tae find out before anyone else.”

Angus gasped before his lips split into a grin so colossal that Donal feared his face would stretch out and remain like that forever.

“I always kent that ye’d have more bairns than ye can handle,” Angus said, giving Donal the kind of wink that made him blush furiously.

Donal dusted himself off, trying to look as presentable as possible after a scuffle in the mud, and the two of them made their way inside the castle, where Donal could only hope to have time to clean up before dinner.

“What about ye?” Donal asked him. “When will ye have bairns of yer own?”

Angus seemed to hesitate at that. He sucked his bottom lip under his teeth, biting down on it as he looked at Donal, and then shook his head softly.

“I willnae have any bairns, Donal,” he said. “After…weel, after everything, after Vika, I vowed tae never take a woman.”

Donal opened his mouth to speak, to try and talk some sense into Angus, but the other man held up a hand to stop him before continuing.

“Aye, I ken what ye’ll say,” he said. “I’ve heard it all…I’ll be a laird soon, and so I must take a wife, I must have an heir, I must, I must, I must—these people, the people of my clan, and ye and Vanora, yer all the family I need, Donal. I decided a long time ago that I willnae take a wife, and nothing ye can say will change my mind. It’s alright, it truly is. I dinnae wish to take a wife, and I am happy the way things are. There isnae any sense in fixing something that isnae broken.”

Donal couldn’t argue with that. Besides, Angus did seem perfectly happy with his life. Donal had no reason to think that he needed anything or anyone else to make him happy.

The two men parted ways when they got inside the castle, Angus going to tend to his father, and Donal going to clean himself up and change clothes before he would have to meet anyone else.

The following days reminded Donal of the time he had spent in Knapdale as a young lad, and even though they were all well into adulthood, he, Angus, and Vanora often acted like wee bairns, much to Mrs. Gallach’s disappointment and disapproval.

Donal didn’t care a bit.

Their antics only stopped a few days after their arrival, when the laird of the MacMillan clan was laid to rest, after a night of agitation and pain. Donal and Vanora stayed by Angus’ side the entire time, tending to his needs, though the man was not as shaken as Donal had once feared.

He had had time to digest the situation, after all, ever since his father had first fallen ill a few months prior.

Donal was glad that he could at least be there for Angus when his father passed. He was even more glad that he could be there when he was crowned the laird of the clan, Donal standing aside and watching proudly as the clansmen pledged their allegiance to him.

The feast in Angus’ honor was a thing of wonder, just like every feast that was organized by the capable hands of Mrs. Gallach. The tables overflowed with food and drink, towering plates of pork and beef, potatoes, and greens covering every inch available in the great hall.

Donal was sitting next to Angus and was already on his third cup of wine when he caught a glimpse of Vanora at the other end of the room. She had been late to the feast, tending to Ewen first, nursing him and putting him to sleep, but now she was there, and the sight of her gave Donal pause.

She was wearing the same dress as she did when she attended the feast that was thrown for Donal two years prior, the one that had made every man in the room beg her for a dance and a moment of her time. It was no different now, and Donal could see the way that the clansmen were staring at her, practically salivating as she walked across the room and took her seat next to Donal.

The only difference was that Donal would now kill them all if they so much as dared to ask Vanora to dance. He probably didn’t look very intimidating, though, when he stared at her too, mouth agape and eyes wide like saucers.

He couldn’t believe that the woman was his wife. Even now, after two years of being married to her, he couldn’t help but marvel at her beauty, at the contrast between her unmarred, pale skin and her dark, luscious locks, the pinch of her waist, the swell of her breasts at the neckline that scooped across her chest.

Donal recalled the comment that Angus had made a few days prior, and he couldn’t help but agree; they would end up having many more children than they would know what to do with.

“Ye might wish tae close yer mouth afore a fly gets in there,” Vanora said, and there it was, the difference between the woman he had seen two years ago and the woman that was married to him. Still, Donal couldn’t help but acknowledge the fact that his heart melted when she smirked at him.

“I dinnae think I can,” he said, teasing her right back. “Ye kept the dress.”

“Aye,” Vanora said with a small frown. “Of course, I did. Tis an expensive dress. Did ye think I’d throw it away?”

Donal didn’t know what it was, exactly, that he had thought since most thoughts had simply left his mind to leave space for the one that dominated everything else; that his wife was the most beautiful woman in the world.

“I dinnae think ye’d wear it again,” he managed to say, shrugging a little. “But I am glad that ye did.”

Donal spent the rest of the night dancing with Vanora and talking to Angus, celebrating his braw new title and promising him that he would be there, right by his side, no matter what. Anything that Angus could possibly need as a laird, Donal was prepared to help him with it.

The three of them celebrated until late at night, and Donal and Vanora only retired to their chambers when most of the clansmen were already asleep, passed out at their respective tables. Once in their rooms, Donal couldn’t help but tear that dress off her, lavishing her with all the attention in the world as she rocked over him, taking him inside her with a shuddering gasp.

Vanora fell asleep in his arms afterward, but Donal could not sleep. He spent endless time simply looking at her, at the bump in her belly that seemed to grow every single day, at the stretch of her gorgeous limbs. He caressed her gently, careful not to wake her.

When he heard Ewen cry from the adjacent room and felt Vanora stir against him, he pushed her back down on the bed and pressed a kiss on her forehead before heading to his son’s crib.

Donal took Ewen in his arms, laying the boy against his chest as he sat down next to the window. The first light of dawn was already visible in the horizon, bathing the room in a pale blue light, and Donal began to rock back and forth, hushing his boy until a few moments later, his cries ceased.

Donal returned to his chambers with Ewen still in his arms. He lay down next to his sleeping wife, placing his son on top of his chest, and he finally fell into a peaceful sleep.

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TWENTY YEARS LATER…

Freya looked up from the seam she was working on as Wallace came in, kissing her on the chin.

“Och, who else does that, Wallace? Yer a laird! Wallace, give me a proper kiss!” she pouted. When it was only the two of them about, she often pulled him about playfully—just as long as none of the servants were about.

Just about the only downside of ruling over a clan which had grown so wealthy was the large household staff they employed—sometimes it was impossible to be alone.

Wallace leaned in to kiss his wife a second time, this time lingeringly. She responded tenderly, but he registered a curiosity in her face. The intervening years had been gentle, sharpening her beauty in a delicately defined mold.

“What is it?” said Wallace, following her thoughtful pose and looking with concern.

“Beathan? When is he getting here?” Freya asked, snapping the end of the thread with her teeth and looking pointedly at Wallace. His red hair had not faded a drop with time. His bold nose jutted out a little more these days, and his amber eyes had taken on a confidence that was alluring and commanding at the same time.

“He rides. He’ll be here soon; dinnae fash,” Wallace grinned.

“Och, I ken he will. I just worry about him, that’s all…” she trailed off.

Soothing her, Wallace placed a hand on her shoulder.

“Come now. Beathan is a man. He can look after himself.” Wallace said with a look of pride. He came over to kiss his wife once more.

“Och, I ken he will!” Freya agreed, enthusiastically. “He’s strong and serious, just like his da! He’ll make a canny laird one of these days! I just want him to hurry home afore sunset—ye ken it’s nae safe out there after dark.”

###

“Move an’ I’ll slit yer throat from ear to ear!”

It was the snarl of the voice that shocked Beathan Craig more than the ice-cold blade pressing against his neck. Looking up, he tried to stare into the face of the man wielding the blade, but it was covered completely. It didn’t stop him speaking, although the voice was muffled and strange.

“Yer money! An’ the jewels! I ken who ye are—laird heir! So dinnae try an’ cheat me!” the voice came high and vague, but the menace behind it was clear enough.

His breath coming in waves, Beathan tried desperately not to move in any way, lest the brigand make good their threat.

Glancing through the gaps in the trees, Beathan Craig tried to catch a glimpse of the man who had assaulted him. It was hard.

The winter sun shining crisply through the clouds was so bright, it almost blinded him. All he could make out was a shape dressed in black. In the terror of the moment, it seemed to Beathan that it was an Ankou, helper of Death, come to take him.

The lad’s mind was working overtime, trying to see if he could fasten his hands upon the dagger in his sheath, which was strapped to his waist. Tentatively, he reached down, sending numbed fingers to explore his belt whilst maintaining a rigid demeanor. But there was nothing.

Then, with sinking heart, Beathan recalled that he had thrown it a short while back in an attempt to spear a white hart—but that it had missed and slid into the mud. He was without a weapon in the heart of the clanless lands!

“Come on! Hand it over, if ye want to live!” hissed the voice. It had a strange edge to it, making Beathan wonder about its owner. “An’ dinnae dawdle about it!” the brigand barked.

By now, shock was beginning to be replaced with anger. Beathan found his temper rising, causing the hairs on the back of his neck and arms to lift up. A determined glint came into the young man’s green eyes, resonating dangerously in the pit of his stomach.

“Yer addressing a noble! I’ll have yer head on a platter for this!” he threatened.

But the assailant just laughed; a curious, high-pitched, mocking laugh.

“Dinnae mak’ me laugh, laddie. There’s nothing ye can do to stop me! Now hand it over, all of it, the jewels an’ everything!”

The voice was positively malevolent, but this was not the reason that Beathan turned to look at its source. The ginger-haired lad felt sure that he had heard it before somewhere, but he just didn’t know from whence it had come.

One thing was for certain—whoever it was seemed to know a good deal about him, including the fact that he had been carrying his mother’s jewels with him.

In his knapsack, the lad had a tiny treasure trove, all laced securely up. Inside was the plaid brooch with the Cairngorm stone in it so highly prized by Freya, his mother. It had belonged to her father, Finlay, the previous laird of Craig, and rested between a small shoal of other trinkets, sparkling stones, and bronze brooches. There was no way that Beathan was about to give it up without a fight.

But to fight without a weapon was going to be tricky, especially with a blade up against his throat. What would make it easier would be getting the measure of the man in front of him. However, it was still hard for him to make out the details against the hazy winter sunlight.

Even when the sun went in, disappearing behind the leaden skies which had threatened his hunt all morning, it was difficult to see. For a start, the figure wore a mask, which was pulled up tightly from the base of his neck to the tip of his eyes.

The shape of their outline revealed nothing much, except that the robber was small and slight in stature. The only giveaway was the color of the eyes, glinting out at him, from just above the black muffler—they were dark and strange.

From somewhere, something resonated inside him, prickling at his memory—but just who could it be? He knew those eyes with their almond shape and blue-gray centers, but for the life of him, he could not work out who they belonged to.

For now though, he just wanted to get away. Lacking a knife to fight with, Beathan thought fast. He could hear the breath of the brigand coming hard and fast onto his neck. They were so close he could feel their body heat.

The young heir searched about frantically with his eyes for anything that might be at hand to help. He had to be careful. Just a simple twitch of a muscle could be enough to end his life. He had no doubt that the robber was desperate enough to make good his threat and slit his throat at the merest provocation.

Inside, Beathan berated himself for losing his blade. It was the middle of the clanless country, where attacks were frequent and rising all the time. Only yesterday, the lady of Ross from a neighboring clan had been attacked and violated at knifepoint by an armed gang.

But Beathan hadn’t been thinking of this when he had set off for the morning’s hunt. All that had been preoccupying him had been whether he would get in a morning’s hunt before the heavens opened up. He should have been focusing on the task at hand—which was safeguarding the valuables his parents had entrusted to him.

If things weren’t bad enough, he had also left his horse a couple of miles back as he slipped off on foot to hunt.

Then the chance he needed presented itself. Behind him, a twig snapped, causing the would-be thief to spin about to look. This was all Beathan needed, taking full advantage of the confusion to grasp at the man’s arm and shove him down.

The robber wasn’t going down without a fight, though, pushing and cajoling, trying to get back up. Even while collapsed on the ground he struggled, lunging up at Beathan from every angle, a contorted cry sounding from inside his throat.

As the pair tussled, Beathan was aware of the noises coming through the undergrowth of the wood. All around them was dense forest, trees packed so thickly it was hard to see through them. Beathan strained his eyes once more to try and secure a peek through the boughs of the Scots pine trees which surrounded them, but it was impossible.

Flushed and red in the face, the young heir battled against the slight but determined brigand.

“Yer gonna regret this!” the robber gasped.

“Nae, ye are!” Beathan hissed, bringing his leg up to secure the man’s neck in place, pinned to the ground, whilst he stood up to catch his breath.

Feverishly, Beathan checked the contents of his sack. He didn’t trust the brigand not to have them by stealth somehow, but taking the tartan knapsack from his belt, an instant surge of relief washed over him.

In the middle of the checkered plaid was the solid gold brooch sparkling in the pale sunlight. Nestling in its center was the smoky topaz stone so highly prized by the clan. As the heir, Beathan was charged with its safekeeping, and had just been on his way to deliver it to another place when he had been jumped. His mother Freya would be heartbroken if anything happened to it!

This thought made a firm resolution stir in his heart. No matter what, the cur on the ground should not get it—and more than that, he should be brought to book for his crimes.

Beathan hunted for his sword belt, wrapped around his waist. Taking it off, he prepared to tie the brigand up, pushing him slightly into the dense, wet grass beneath to do so.

Then, calamity! A high-pitched whinnying sound made both of them turn right around. A battery of hooves approached with a loud, shrill cry.

“Prince!” gasped Beathan, as the sight of his black stallion pounded into view.

The weighty horse snarled and leaped, nostrils flaring at the brigand on the floor. It was all the chance that Beathan needed. With a broad smile, he leaped up onto the stallion, planning on returning for the robber in due course.

But just as he mounted the beast, a slingshot took him, sending him faltering from Prince’s back. He landed hard on top of the robber.

On the ground, the pair of them tussled vehemently, Beathan fighting and kicking for all he was worth. In the heat of the fight, Beathan finally managed to get a hold of the black muffler covering the rogue’s face and hair. He rammed it down sharply and got a shock.

Golden-blonde locks cascaded down from the well-wrapped muffler that had been bound tightly around the robber’s face.

Beathan gasped; it was a woman!

“Gadzooks!” gasped Beathan, amazed.

The woman’s bluish eyes glinted against the turbulent skies. It seemed for a moment that she was amused.

“Well, hello!” she murmured, still catching at her breath.

The lad stared uncomprehendingly into her face. It was soft and smooth, with the sheen of nobility. Her delicate features weaved into an attractive shape, and were strangely familiar.

“Long time, no see!” she said.

Beathan stared into the woman’s eyes, wondering what she meant. They were pits of slate, with a profound mirth dancing in their blue cores.

But by now, the woman was getting free and preparing to run fast. To try and make good her escape, she picked a stone from the ground and flung it at him, hitting him squarely in the jaw.

“Aargh!” cried Beathan, rolling around in agony. But it was too late—she was gone, mounting his horse and laughing.

Staring down at him from the stallion, the woman scoffed once more before turning to leave.

“Ye should ken better than to try and stop me, Beathan!”

Beathan watched as she cantered off on top of his precious horse. His heart beat fast and his stomach clenched tightly. From deep down, something nagged him painfully. He knew this girl; her name hovered on the tip of his tongue.

Then he remembered.

Edme.

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Five years after Finlay became the laird of the Craig clan, the past seemed like a distant dream, not just to him, but also to his people. He and Sine had managed to undo the damage that Seoras had caused to the clan, bringing peace and prosperity to the people and lifting them out of poverty.

Sine had helped him more than anyone, as she reached out to the people and showed him what they truly needed.

The two of them were enjoying breakfast, which included Mrs. Baran’s famous bannocks, along with Finlay’s mother, when their little girl Freya ran to the room, chased by a maid, as she usually was.

“Forgive me, my lady. I tried to stop her,” the maid said, but Sine simply waved her hand dismissively.

“It’s quite alright,” she assured her. “Freya, come here.”

Once Freya was within reach, Sine pulled her up to her lap, tapping the tip of her nose with her finger. She smiled as Freya laughed, her tiny hands reaching for Sine neck and her arms wrapping around her.

Finlay watched them with a smile on his face. They didn’t look alike, not even close; where Sine had dark hair, Freya had fiery red, and where Sine had pale, porcelain skin, Freya was dotted with constellations of freckles. Still, he could think of them as nothing else but mother and daughter.

Freya had come into their life when her mother—one of their servants—died at birth. Neither Finlay nor Sine could bear leaving the child alone, so after two years of being unable to conceive their own child, they adopted her and decided to raise her as their own,.

Now Freya was of three years of age, and Mrs Baran liked to point out that she was just as feisty as her father, keeping everyone on their toes at all times.

“Shall we go and play?” Sine asked Freya, once they had all finished their breakfast. Freya nodded, and the two of them rushed outside, Sine chasing her little girl around.

She had so much to show her and teach her, and she tried to spend as much time as she could with her every day, either just the two of them together or with Finlay, who would often sneak out of Padraig’s watchful gaze to neglect his duties and play with his daughter instead.

That wasn’t one of those days, though, so Sine and Freya ran around the Craig land alone: just the two of them, as mother and daughter.

Neither of them noticed the woman that was watching them from afar, nor her own child.

Nora put a hand on her son’s shoulder, urging him to follow her back home. They had been around the Craig land for too long already, and she didn’t want to spend a single moment longer there.

Her stomach churned every time she laid eyes upon Lady Craig and her daughter, but even more so when she saw the laird. The entire Craig family was her enemy, as long as she was concerned, and one that she would make sure to annihilate before it was too late.

She was running out of years, after all. Soon, she would be getting too old for revenge.

“Did ye see them?” she asked her son. “They are the most vile, terrible creatures in this world. I think they are not even human…no, they are demons, sent here by Satan himself to torture us. One day…one day, ye’ll have yer chance to defeat them.”

The boy said nothing, but he glanced at the woman and her daughter over his shoulder, a sliver of hatred boiling up in his gut.

One day, he would have his chance.

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