As for the treasure, it had also been relocated. Among Elliot’s effects when he’d arrived at the prison was a battered letter dated from the turn of the century detailing the contents of the vault of gold and riches and how the fortune had been stolen from a series of French frigates on their way to Scotland. French support had been crucial for the Stuart exile in the years between the Glorious Revolution of 1688, when King James II was deposed in favor of William and Mary, and 1701 when the French diverted their funds to their efforts in the War of the Spanish Succession.
It was to have been transferred to King George’s coffers prior to the first duke’s untimely demise. Instead, its location had been lost to time — to everyone except Boyce.
Since the money could no longer go toward the cause for which it was intended, everyone thought it fitting that it be distributed among the Scotsmen who had fought for their cause and for those who would suffer in its aftermath. They would play Robin Hood against the English king.
A far more noble cause than revenge.
And Aila’s life was far more like a fairy tale than she ever would have imagined. She almost believed in them now. Rossmore fit in nicely as the perfect setting despite the damage to the north of the castle. The view over the firth was lovely, as were the grounds where they would build their future home together. One that would last for as many generations in the future as the castle had for generations past. The long drive to the south was shaded by dozens of towering trees, branches woven together to form a picturesque canopy of vivid autumn color.
The children ran circles around the trees with Rab chasing after them. Their whoops — and howls — of joy reverberating back to him. They were glad to be home.
As was Finn. For Aila, it would soon become hers. With her family.
With her love.
Finn stood under the umbrella of trees watching the children play. Having set the past free and embraced their future together, he’d become far more lighthearted. His heart-stopping smiles more ready. That wasn’t all that stopped her heart today. In open defiance of the law, he wore a kilt. She’d been right about him looking magnificent in one. He’d promised her a detailed demonstration of how to get around taking it off. Unfortunately, it would have to wait.
Aila joined him and Finn slipped an arm around her waist as a fine carriage rumbled up the drive. “There’s Ian at last.”
A few minutes later, the vehicle came to a stop close by. Ian opened the door and jumped down to greet his friend with a hug and a brilliant smile. “Glad to see ye won her! I wisnae certain ye would.”
He turned back to the carriage door and extended his hand.
Oh, aye…. They’d done one other thing in that time.
A gorgeous young woman with dark auburn hair descended the carriage. Ian looked at her like she’d hung the moon. “Aila, I’d like ye to meet my bonny wife, Fiona.”
Fiona smiled, then blinked in surprise. “Why, I know you! Ian, this is the woman who came to Raven’s Craig to warn us about the attack from the firth. Oh, my dear, I owe you my life!”
She hugged Aila long and hard while Ian protested. “There’s nae way Aila could have been the one.”
His wife ignored him, and Aila offered him a shrug and a smile over her shoulder. So, they’d worked a little magic. Aila — and Finn, as he’d insisted he retain the memory of the event for himself — had traveled back to the day of the attack on Raven’s Craig Castle from the English ship on the Firth of Forth. Fiona and Ian’s parents had been spared the sudden and painful death they’d once suffered. To the MacKintosh clan, the events had been seamless with no recollection of the tragedy that had befallen them. Which was not to say that Ian hated the English any less. He did, and perhaps always would.
As would many Scots for generations to come.
There wasn’t anything she could do to change that.
* * *
“And that’s it,” Aila finished her heavily edited retelling of the story for Fiona as they sat around the table following supper that evening.
“Such a tale! You have a way of telling it that gives me chills,” she declared.
“Aila’s talented that way,” Ian assured her as he sipped a moderate amount of his whisky.
“And the stag? The motto?” Fiona offered a heartfelt sigh.. “Why, it’s almost as if Fate knew you would be there to solve the mystery, isn’t it?”
“Aye, it is.” With a secret smile, Aila snuggled against Finn’s chest and smiled at Brontë who was similarly ensconced in Tris’s embrace. Evil had tried to have its way many a time. Looking around the table, she knew love would always win out in the end.
Ian lifted his glass to Finn. “Naming the millstone theBlàr an Buieto honor the elder Boyce’s sacrifice was a nice touch.”
“He deserves some recognition,” Finn said. “The truth Mr. Boyce spoke of wisnae the truth of who poisoned the millstone and by extension killed him. Rather it was Derne’s exceedingly huge secret that was kept in there with the treasure.”
They’d fudged a bit on the nature of Derne’s objective for Fiona and Ian’s sake. The device must have mystified the first duke, but he was smart enough to hide it away from Derne to assure that he was never able to flee his misdeeds completely. A life sentence, so to speak. He’d deserved it.
“I’d never thought Sassenachs were capable of such subterfuge.” Ian’s lip curled. “And I ken they’re capable of many atrocious things. What is their endgame, though? Whoever it is that commands these men maun have a goal in mind.”
“There is only one person I can think of who would ken,” Aila said bitterly. “I’ll wager I’ll no’ see his face for a good long time.”
