The remainder of the children had stolen off to the barn to play with a litter of kittens and pet a new lamb. Their laughter drifted in on the wind.
This moment,Isolde thought.This is the moment I want to remember when I am old and gray.A perfect evening spent in the company of those she loved.
She nearly said as much to Tristan, but Ethan stood and tapped a fork to his wine glass to command their attention.
“I am grateful we are all gathered together here.” Ethan smiled, his habitual charismatic smile—the one that routinely made women swoon at poetry readings. “Though Thistle Muir is my childhood home, I ken that it is now Malcolm and Viola’s abode. However on this occasion, my brother bid me say a few words about our family and the house ye see there before us.”
“Hear, hear!” Fox lifted a glass of water in salute.
Ethan tilted his head in acknowledgment. “As ye all know, my gentleman-farmer father fell in love with our highborn mother. And as a condition of their marriage, our grandfather required our father tae build his bride this lovely home—a house commensurate with her station in life. And so, for us, the house has always stood as a symbol of our parents’ love, both for one another and for ourselves.”
“Aye,” Malcolm agreed gruffly. “That it has.”
On a nod, Ethan continued, “We three siblings experienced our first lessons in love here. And as we all know, love begets love. Nothing demonstrates that more distinctly than our togetherness tonight, surrounded by the laughter and harmony of family. So in honor of us all, I have written a poem, if ye will bear with me.”
Ethan unfolded a piece of paper from his waistcoat pocket and cleared his throat.
“I found a heartbeat in these walls.
A rhythmic pulse of hope and care,
From childhood’s glee to aging’s grace,
The footfalls of time ringing there.
I hear a song within these stones . . .”
Ethan continued, his words evoking the love that Thistle Muir had borne witness to over the years—heartache and laughter, tears and triumphs—a sacred sort of music embedded in its walls.
Isolde watched Leah wipe away a tear before Fox handed her a handkerchief.
Viola dabbed at her eyes.
Soon, Isolde’s own nose stung with emotion.
Even Malcolm cleared his throat more vigorously than usual.
Reaching the end, Ethan finished—
“ . . . and thus,
With hearts well full and memories drawn
Our symphony of love plays on.”
His words echoed across the garden, dissipating into purple shadows of shrubs and trees.
Allie sniffled and reached out to grasp her husband’s hand.
“Well said, Penn-Leith,” Tristan said at Isolde’s side. “I think we can all agree that—”
Whatever he intended to say was drowned in the cacophony of children, a dog, several cats, and a bleating lamb clamoring toward them.
“Biscuits!” Bea and Arthur shrieked in unison, reaching for the plate of sweets at the table’s center.
Tristan laughed, catching Bea around the middle.
Ethan swept the plate above his head, causing the rest of the children to jump and stretch for his arm.
