“We both ken that isnae true, Elias. It would be easier for ye if it were, though, would it nae? I tried to save him after ye had yer men butcher him to the brink of death. Brandon kens it all, and it looks like they ken it, too.” Owen gestured to the English riders, who could not look him in the eye. “How many of ye did it, eh? Tell me who’s responsible, and ye can go without injury.”
The Englishmen eyed one another, and it seemed like one of them was about to speak, when Elias interrupted. “I can see when I am defeated, Laird Dunn. We will depart without further unpleasantness. You may keep my wayward daughter, for I have no further need of her. She has besmirched herself.”
“Nay,” Owen said curtly. “Yer men can leave, but ye cannae.”
Elias balked. “Excuse me?”
“Ye willnae wriggle free of yer wrongdoin’, Elias,” Owen reiterated. “Yer men can leave, but ye cannae. After all, they were only followin’ orders, however wretched. Ye were the one who gave the orders and held me in yer dungeons, despite kennin’ I was innocent.”
Elias gripped the reins of his horse, and Owen knew the bastard was going to try and run.
However, before either men could do anything, a shadow streaked out of the forest with an ungodly shriek. Two horses bolted in terror, but Elias did not move. As such, he was an easy target for the incensed woman who hurled herself at him: her blade drawn.
“I said ye’d pay,” Edith snarled, plunging the long dagger into Elias’ shriveled heart.
The shocked man stared down at the bone handle, sticking out of him, as if confused as to how it had gotten there. Meanwhile, Edith dragged him down from the saddle and sat astride him, plunging the dagger in again and again, to ensure that the wretch was well and truly dead.
None of Elias’ men made any move to stop her. Instead, they simply wheeled their horses around and rode off, knowing they would not get a second chance.
“Love, ye can rest easy now,” Edith whispered, getting to her feet. She dropped the blade and stood there, weeping into bloodstained hands.
Owen swung his leg over and got down from the saddle, intending to comfort the poor woman, when another figure darted out of the trees. She slammed right into Owen, taking him by surprise.
“I am sorry,” Heather murmured into his chest. “I am sorry I ran. I am sorry for everything.”
Recovering, Owen wrapped his arms around his beloved. “Ye daenae need to apologize, love. Nay one is hurt on our side. Indeed, ye gave us the advantage, for if I hadnae come to find ye, we might nae have won.”
He did not admit that it felt like a somewhat hollow victory, for no battle could bring loved ones back from the dead, just as no justice could heal a broken heart. Only time and love could do that.
“I thought you might die,” she whispered, sobbing. “You did not see things from my perspective. Edith and I were in the trees, hiding, when you charged into battle. It looked… so terrifying from our position, and when the muskets fired and the arrows flew, I did not know whose side they were coming from. I was so afraid I might lose you, my love.”
He held her tighter. “Never, love. I’m nae leavin’ ye alone in this world.”
As they held one another, Sawyer got down from the saddle and went to Edith, pulling her into a tender embrace. The comfort of a much-needed friend. Edith threw her arms around him andsobbed like a woman possessed, howling into Sawyer’s shoulder and beating upon his chest.
Owen understood that sound, for he had witnessed far too many wives, mothers, sisters, aunts, and grandmothers emitting that same, ancestral wail of pain. The fight might have been over, but, for Edith, her life without William was just beginning.
“Can you ever forgive me?” Heather tilted her head up to look at him.
“What for, love? There’s nothin’ to forgive.”
Heather glanced back at the motionless body on the ground. “For being the blood of that wretched man. Can you ever forgive me?”
“Love, ye daenae have a speck of him in any part of who ye are,” Owen told her, raising hands to cradle her throat. “Ye’re entirely ye, just as yer brother was entirely him. I’ll never meet yer maither, but I imagine ye were more like her.”
Heather nodded. “My father could not abide her. Indeed, now that I think of it, perhaps she did not die of natural causes, either.”
“Daenae contemplate that, love,” Owen urged. “We must all think of gladder tidings. We must nae linger in sadness.”
She managed a small smile. “I love you.”
“As I love ye,” he replied, dipping his head to kiss her with a keen urgency, for they were both alive, and though they stood on the shoulders of much misery, they were also about to begin a new part of their lives. Together.
As their mouths moved in a familiar dance of desire and love, Owen’s army erupted into rapturous cheers. It brought a smile to Owen’s lips, and he felt Heather’s do the same, for his Clan would soon have a Lady, and they now had the confidence that came with knowing they had defeated an English army.
After the losses at Dunbar, it was a considerable consolation. Indeed, more than ever, Heather felt like a gift that had been sent to Owen, to begin the reparations of a fractured country. As a healer, it seemed only right that his love for an Englishwoman should be the first slick of salve.
Epilogue
