Chrissa had no idea they were all to appear. She peeked up at her grandfather and whispered, “Grandpapa?”
“’Tis to let all in the land know that Clan Grant does not stand alone,” he said proudly, and she could swear his eyes were misting as he beheld the gathering. “Nor do any of the others. The Ramsays, Camerons, Drummonds, Menzies, Grants. We all stand together. We’ll not be put asunder easily. Stand fast, stand sure, and stand together.”
Once the procession had finished, the horses moved back to allow the onlookers to move in closer.
Drostan placed his sword on the ground in front of Alex, Jamie, and Connor Grant. He gave each of them a nod before he came to her, his grin wider than his face, it seemed, and assisted her down. He whispered in her ear, “You are gorgeous. I’m so pleased our day is here.”
Chrissa stood next to her betrothed, soaking him in with her gaze simply because she loved his handsome profile and the many colors of his eyes. He squeezed her hand as the priest continued on in Gaelic.
How she adored this man. Even though there were probably thousands observing them, it felt as if it were just the two of them, the sun shining down on them. When the priest finally said the words, it seemed as though she’d missed the entire ceremony.
Drostan kissed her, his arms wrapping around her, and leaned her back to a bevy of hooting from the onlookers, but he ended it quickly and whispered, “Finally, we’ve both kept our promise.”
Epilogue
The most beloved scene for some, the most hated for others…
And yes, readers still tell me, but I love it.
Alexander Grant sat in front of the hearth and whistled, an ear-splitting noise that all the wee ones in the clan had learned to listen for a long time ago. He smiled as they gathered around him. John considered himself too mature to sit for bedtime stories, but Alex noticed he never stepped too far away, lingering at a nearby table close enough to overhear whatever tale he told that eve, Coira nearby.
Dyna and Derric’s two daughters, Els and Joya’s daughter, Alick and Branwen’s two sons, and Alasdair and Emmalin’s two young sons sat waiting patiently forSeanairto begin the telling of this eve’s tale. The new lassie was cradled to Branwen’s chest. Other bairns gathered round to participate in the wee ones’ favorite time of the eve.
Ailith came up to her great-grandfather and leaned on his knee, looking up at him with her odd insightfulness. “Seanair,do you cry? Why?”
Alex patted her head as he thought on the story he planned to tell in his mind, knowing some of the memories would rid him of the odd pricking of tears in his eyes. “Och, wee lassie, you imagine it. I’m not crying, just thinking hard about which tale I’ll tell.”
“The swordfight against Grandmama’s betrothed,” one of the ladies suggested.
“When Growley and Loki saved Gracie.”
“Nay, the battle to save Aunt Kyla,” another offered.
“I love the one where Aunt Jennie believed Uncle Aedan died. Such trickery!”
“When Maddie saved Claray.”
Loki sat in a chair not far away, a bairn in his lap, and nodded to Alex. “’Tis a night for the telling of the Battle of Largs, my laird.”
He glanced over at Loki, who was as much kin as if he’d been born a Grant. “I believe you are right. I’ll tell the tale of that battle. Then I’ll tell you one more tale about a fine lass who came to me long ago and will come again someday.”
The youngest bairns knew not what he spoke of, but he noticed his grandchildren moved closer as did all his nieces and nephews, his brother Brodie, his sister Jennie, and so many others.
As if they knew what he knew.
Out of nowhere, Dyna, Astra, and Chrissa joined the circle, their faces as rapt as if they were still bairns.
It was time.
Alex had clung to life with everything he had to see this end, to leave his sons and daughters, his grandsonsand granddaughters, and his great-grandbairns with what they deserved most—freedom.
Finally, thanks to Robert the Bruce and the guts, gumption, and tenacity of the Scots, they had prevailed against the English bastards. They had sent Edward running.
Now he could rest at peace, knowing his clan, his people, were led by a Scot. The sudden surge of exhilaration he’d felt this eve would carry him through this tale of the Battle of Largs. He wished to make sure the courage and strength of his clan and his brothers would not be forgotten.
“It was a dark day in the history of the Scots when the Norse thought they could bring their multitude of galley ships up the firth and attack our land and our people. They came out of their galley ships, swarming the beach near Largs, swinging their swords against us, but they couldn’t defeat us. Robbie was there with a strong force of Highlanders he’d been training for quite a while. Brodie was there, fighting harder than anyone I’ve ever seen.
“And then there was a lad with a slinger who took out Norsemen so slyly the victims never knew what hit them.”
