“My love. I knew you would come for me.” She closed her eyes and leaned against him, sinking into his strength and the warmth of his body.
They turned Arkan toward Duntulm through bloodied ground, toward the path home. As they rode, the clouds thinned and the sun slipped free, casting pale, bright shafts across the battered shoreline.
Kenneth lifted his gaze to the sky, holding Selene safe and close, feeling the weight of years beginning to ease.
EPILOGUE
One day later
Wrapped in a fur coverlet, Selene reclined by the fireside in the solar, the warmth of the hearth seeping deep into her bones. She wore a gown of the softest velvet, its color the dark-green of the forest, the luxurious fabric sensuous against her skin. The room smelled faintly of beeswax and woodsmoke, pleasing scents that spoke of safety and home.
She had bathed when they had returned to the castle, astonished to discover that hot water could, in fact, be summoned at Duntulm after all. She had sunk into the tub with a sigh, fragrant steam curling around her shoulders, and allowed the grime and sweat of yesterday loosen and drift away. For a long while she had simply floated there, eyes closed, breathing slowly, as though the water might draw the memories of terror from her soul.
Of course, she would never forget what had happened. The sharp edges of fear and pain could not be erased so easily. But the horror had dulled, and in its place was the sensation that a great weight had finally lifted from her shoulders.
She turned as a knock sounded at the door.
“Come,” she called.
Kenneth entered with Maureen and Elsie close behind. Selene’s breath hitched in her throat at the sight of him.
He was clad in his great kilt in the red and blue of the Macdonald plaid, and over it a formal black velvet jacket that lent him an almost ceremonial air. The cut emphasized his broad shoulders and powerful frame, and the contrast of dark cloth against his lighter hair made him all the more striking. He was every inch the laird.
She could scarcely tear her eyes away from him.
He crossed the room and leaned over, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead, his hand resting briefly at her shoulder as though to reassure himself she was truly there. Maureen and Elsie stood side by side behind him, their relief written plainly on their faces.
“It daes me heart good tae see the roses have returned tae yer cheeks,” Kenneth said softly, “and the sparkle is there again in yer bonnie eyes.”
The memory rose unbidden – how he had carried her back to the keep the day before, her limbs trembling, her tears soaking his shoulder. He had borne her to her chamber as though she weighed nothing at all, his grip unwavering. Maureen and Elsie had hovered anxiously, helping her change into her night shift, their voices tumbling over one another as they demanded to know what had happened.
Kenneth had dismissed her sister gently, insisting rest was what she needed most. Exhaustion had claimed her utterly. Her body, after the long the long bath, finally released from fear, had surrendered to a deep and dreamless sleep.
She remembered little beyond the feel of cool linen against her skin and the weight of his arm around her as he lay beside her. When she woke that morning, she had been curled in his embrace, her back pressed to his chest, his breath warm against her neck. The memory of his closeness, the feel of the steady rhythm of his heart, and the unshakable sense of safety was with her now.
“I cannae stay, dearest,” Kenneth told her. “There are things I must see tae.”
Selene nodded, reaching for his hand, “Am I to be robbed of your company already?” Even now, with the danger past, she could hardly bear the thought of him leaving her side.
She pouted despite herself, unwilling to let him go.
“Promise me you’ll not place yourself in danger.”
He responded with a soft, reassuring laugh. “I’ve been with our patrols already this morning. Ye can rest easy,mo chridhe. There’s nay trace of Clan MacLeay tae be found on our land.”
Relief flooded her so swiftly it left her a little weak.
“Dear Lord.” She pressed his hand to her cheek, “I am thankful for that.”
Elsie pressed forward bringing back her smile.
“Ye are indeed looking bonnie this day, dear sister,” Elsie said warmly. “It daes me heart good tae see ye so well.”
She held up a small parcel wrapped in linen. Unfolding it, she revealed two lengths of green silk that matched Selene’s gown. Kneeling before her, Elsie bound each of Selene’s wrists with gentle care, the soft silk concealing the salve and linen with which Aonghas the healer had dressed the raw wounds left by the cruel ropes.
Emotion tightening Selene’s throat. It was a small thing, the silk, yet it was a quiet reclaiming of what had been marred.
Maureen, meanwhile, hovered nearby with a small silver platter containing caramels and sugar-coated almonds.
