EPILOGUE
Elsy
Scottish Highlands
September 1, 1302
Elsy smiled up at Connell. Her right hand rested against his. Scott and Brann stood near her, while Ian, Grant, and Donald stood at Connell’s side. Ian dabbed at his eyes with a dirty cloth while Grant rolled his eyes at Donald’s sniveling. Scott smiled brightly up at Elsy, holding a large bouquet of wildflowers.
“Now, I will have ye declare yer love for each other,” said the local village leader, Fraser, standing between them. “And only then will ye be bound as husband and wife.”
Elsy smiled, stepping closer to Connell as Fraser tied a long, red ribbon around their hands. “I, Elisabeth Tandie, take thee, Connell MacArthur, to be my wedded husband until the end of our days. I will love him, care for him, and do everything within my power to make him the happiest man in Scotland. And thereto I plight thee my troth.”
Connell bowed his head, his forehead nearly touching Elsy’s as he said, “I, Connell MacArthur, take thee, Elisabeth Tandie, to be my wedded wife until death do us part. I promise to love her, honor her, protect her, and ensure her happiness. And thereto I plight thee my troth.”
“Oh,” Ian rasped while dabbing at his eyes, making Elsy chuckle.
Tears prickled her own eyes as she closed the distance between them. The ribbon now tied them together. They were bound in this life and Elsy felt as if the world was suddenly righted. Everything looked greener, appeared brighter.
“I love ye, Elsy,” Connell whispered.
“And I love ye.”
They kissed each other. Elsy smiled against him as she heard clapping around them. She felt Scott’s arms around her waist and pulled away, laughing as she took Scott’s bouquet. The men congratulated them. Ian was still clapping while trying to hide his tears. Elsy felt so happy as she looked around at her new family. Her gaze landed on Connell, and she knew, finally, she was home.
The feast they shared was rather meagre, supplies still tight, but Elsy did not care. They stayed only as long as propriety demanded. After, Connell carried her toward his chamber and deposited her on the bed, his body covering hers immediately. He pushed up her skirts, hardly able to wait while her own hands tugged at his tights.
“Yer so beautiful,” Connell whispered against her throat. “I don’t know how I was able to keep my hands to myself.”
Ely chuckled as she raised her arms, allowing him to pull her wedding gown up and over her head. “Surely, ye didn’t have to wait all that long.”
Connell growled as he padded toward her, grabbing her legs, and throwing them over his shoulders. “It was long enough.”
He entered her hard and fast and Elsy gasped, clutching onto him as he thrust in and out of her. His hands explored her body, touching and pinching her breasts. Her fingers dug into his back, clinging to him as he continued to rock against her. His fingers slipped between them, rubbing her nub, making her whole body tremble as she felt herself climbing higher.
“Connell,” Elsy gasped.
Connell moaned as his teeth raked against her jaw. “Say my name again.”
“Connell!” Elsy shouted, his fingers circling around her faster, adding more pressure. She screamed her pleasure. It came over her in a wave, all consuming. Connell continued moving in and out of her, his moans becoming longer, deeper, his hands grabbing desperately at her until finally his pleasure took him and his body relaxed in her arms. Elsy kissed him. She kissed him as if she wouldn’t be able to breathe without him. They fell asleep in each other’s arms, and Elsy smiled, feeling loved.
* * *
Scottish Highlands
September 17, 1302
Elsy wrung her hands as she recognized the MacArthur Castle ahead of her. She didn’t know what the elder Laird MacArthur would think once he saw them, or if he would believe Connell’s story. If he did believe his son had come back from the grave, would he accept their marriage? She knew Laird MacArthur had never cared for her due to her social status. She was nothing more than a healer’s daughter, but perhaps time had changed the elder laird’s opinions on the matter.
The MacArthur banner waved in the distance and her heart lurched as the portcullis raised. Several men rode toward them. She recognized the man riding in the front. He looked similar to Connell, but his hair was greying, and his eyes were dark. However, the similarities couldn’t be mistaken. The elder man shared Connell’s strong jaw and his straight nose. They had the same narrowed eyes, scrutinizing everyone around them.
Connell fidgeted on his horse next to Elsy. Scott sat in front of him, her eyes wide in awe. The MacArthur soldiers stopped several feet in front of them while Laird MacArthur continued forward, his brow furrowed, and his jaw clenched tight. Tears glimmered in his gaze as he stared upon Connell.
Laird MacArthur pulled out a letter from his cloak and held it up. “I’ve received a letter of a visitor coming to my lands. Are ye he?”
Connell glanced at Elsy, and she gave him a reassuring nod. She could see the worry in his brow, the way he held the horse’s reins in a white knuckled grip. “I never sent word,” Connell said with a shake of his head.
“Nae,” Laird MacArthur said gruffly. “The letter is from Robert the Bruce.”
