“Not when you’re Cowen stock,” she says with a grin. “We take vows seriously, lassie.” She winks. “You ought to know that.”
“Oh, I do,” Fran says. “Thought we’d just have a party or something though, since we’ve already taken vows.”
“You took vows under duress,” Nan says. “And believe you me, we’ll have a party.”
And do we ever. It isn’t just our wedding we celebrate, though, but so much more.
The end to the danger that threatened us.
The reunion of a family.
A brother come back to life.
The promise of starting anew.
“Now, lassie,” I tell Fran, as I kiss her pretty cheek. I watch as the Clan celebrates around us. Trays of food are passed around, and glasses clink, as we give ourselves over to a full night of celebration.
“Yes?”
I brush my lips against hers. “It’s time for you to write the next story.”
“But I’m not writing anymore, Tate. You know that. No more Scottish, anyway.”
I kiss her again. “No, lassie. It’s time for you to write ours.”
EPILOGUE
Fran
I fallinto Clan life easier than I expected I would. And I have to admit, it’s everything I dreamed it would be. Everything.
Nan and I cause mischief, which earns her quite a few eye rolls and me a few trips over Tate’s lap, so in other words… win-win. I love the way his eyes give me that twinkling stare, the way he shakes his head from side to side, then pats his knee for me to take my comeuppance.
He knows exactly how to play me, and it always ends up with us tousled in the sheets, a mess of tangled limbs, panting, soaking up every moment as we delight in each other.
And being in such close proximity to my mates is bloody brilliant. Islan and Paisley spend a few nights having a sleepover at our place. Tate’s a patient sort. We paint each other’s nails, eat way too much chocolate, and watch chick flicks until the wee hours of the morning. There still isn’t a bloody television in this place, but we make do with our laptops.
It’s a fair trade-off, I think. For I can see the appeal of coming home to a tech-free living room, nothing but the warmth of a fireplace and a frequent visit from Bailey at the door, wagging his tail and licking our hands in greeting.
I love this home. It’s the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen, and to get to spend my time here is nothing short of perfection.
The living room, with its double-sided wood-burning stove, sprawls out to the kitchen. I work from home, working on my writing. Tate doesn’t want me to stop, and I don’t either.
Slowly, over time, people forget about the Clan Chronicles. And I’m okay with that. As Tate says, we’re writing our own story now, and this one is better than any fiction ever could be. I needed a change from the genre, anyway.
“What are you writing?” Tate asks one night, while I’m sitting on the sofa, laptop perched on my knees, and he’s stirring something fragrant on the stove.
“Thought I’d try my hand at vampire fantasy romance,” I say.
He raises a brow. “Oh?”
“Aye. Fancy a trip to Transylvania for our honeymoon?”
He blinks, and only stares as his lips quirk up. I don’t blame him. Even I don’t take myself seriously half the time. “Well, now,” he says, returning to the stove. “While Romania isn’t exactly top of the places I’d really want to go to, much less on my honeymoon, I could see the appeal. Castles and whatnot. And Prince Charles does rave about it.”
“Does he, now?”
“Och, aye. But don’t they have bears that like to maul unsuspecting tourists?”
