With Lachlan by her side, she would fight to the end.
Epilogue
December 1314, Benbecula, The Western Isles
For six years she’d waited for this day, and now that it was finally here, Bella could barely contain herself.
She waited anxiously by the window in the Great Hall of the magnificent tower house her husband had built for her in paradise—or their little corner of it, anyway. The small isle of Benbecula, straddled between North and South Uist, was remote, private, and as beautiful as the Garden of Eden, with its long stretches of sandy dune beaches, lush green grasses, and wide-open vistas of sparkling blue waters.
In spite of the king’s anger at their unsanctioned mission all those years ago, Robert had kept his promise and awarded Lachlan the lands and coin he’d earned for his service. Whether it was Bella’s urging, Lachlan’s vow to serve the king until the end of the war, or his young sister Mary’s release from prison a few weeks after their return that was responsible for the king’s change of heart, she didn’t know.
But the families of Lachlan’s clansmen who’d died fighting for him had their security, and Lachlan had the quiet, peaceful home he’d worked so hard for. Especially now that he’d returned for good. The elite warrior had fought his last battle in June. The war was over. A war that had demanded so much of them all. But they’d done their part and survived.
Yet as full as her heart had been these past years, there had always been an empty corner. Today it would be filled.
She gazed out the window, scanning the crystal-clear horizon, her hands twisting anxiously in her skirts.
She glanced over her shoulder, her heart catching as it always did every time she looked at him. Lachlan was even more handsome now than the first time she’d seen him. The fierce brigand had been transformed. He was just as physically imposing, but the cruel lines around his mouth had softened. Smiles, once infrequent, now came easily. Their happiness had been hard won, but it had been won.
“Are you sure it will be today?” she asked.
One of those easy smiles curved his mouth. “Aye, just as I was sure the last five times you asked me. Don’t worry, Bel. She’ll be here. Hawk said by around midday.”
He stood from his chair beside the fire and came up behind her, wrapping his big arms around her waist and nuzzling her neck. She squirmed, giggling like a girl and not a woman of six-and-thirty. “That tickles.” She turned around and playfully tugged the square of stubble below his lip. “You and your cousin come up with the strangest ideas.”
This one—a contest of sorts—was for the most unique beard. Bella had to admit, she looked forward to seeing what they came up with. Lachlan’s most recent was a small square patch just below his lip. Somehow, rather than look silly, it only seemed to make him even more wickedly handsome.
He arched a brow. “I thought you liked it.”
She blushed at the memory of exactly when she’d told him how much she liked it and gave him a playful shove. “You’re incorrigible.”
He spun her back into his arms and kissed her. “And you’re beautiful.”
She melted into him, sliding her hands around his neck, and savored the long, slow strokes of his tongue.
“Ah hell, they’re doing it again.”
Bella shot Lachlan a glare that only grew sharper when she saw how hard he was fighting not to laugh. “I thought you were going to try to watch your language.”
He gave her a boyish shrug. “I am—trying.”
Bella turned, putting her hands on her hips to admonish the five-year-old interloper, who not only looked but sounded exactly like his father. “Erik, what did we talk about?”
The dark-haired, green-eyed charmer graced her with a dazzling smile. “My, you look beautiful today, Mother.”
Oh, God help her!
Bella shot Lachlan another glare when she heard him laugh.
“Don’t look at me,” he said. “You’re the one that wanted to name him after Hawk.”
He might look and sound like his father, but Erik MacRuairi was as charming, roguish, and irresistible as his namesake. It was impossible to stay angry with him. He had her wrapped around the hilt of one of his tiny wooden swords. He insisted on two. Just like his father’s, each was engraved with the words “usque ad finem.” To the very end. Again, just like his father’s.
Lachlan crossed the room and knelt beside his firstborn. Despite his amusement, he managed an impressively stern frown. “Remember our talk, son?”
Erik nodded, a disreputable wave of dark hair falling across his forehead.
“I’m disappointed in you,” Lachlan admonished gravely. “It’s not polite to curse around ladies.”
