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Reina’s smile reached her eyes, as it always seemed to do. “As are you, Galien Kerr. Son of Toren, chief of Clan Kerr.”

“And you.” He kissed her one last time before they parted for the castle. “Its daughter.”

Epilogue

“Lovely, is it not?”

Reina spun toward the sound. Rory.

She’d been peering toward the mountains, the same ones that could be seen from the walls of Brockburg. In many ways, Bristol Manor reminded her of it. No doubt it was Lady Catrina’s influence. Both were styled similarly. Both boasted the kind of lively, warm, loving atmosphere that had come to characterize Clan Kerr to her. So was it any wonder the daughter of its original chief fostered the same here, in her own home?

“Aye,” she agreed. “Your sister guided me up here but was called below on an urgent matter.”

Rory rolled his eyes. “Urgent for my twin could mean any number of things. We have two very different notions of the word.”

Since first meeting him, Reina had learned much more of one of Galien’s many cousins. But as he saved them from discovery—one which they would not have had she and Galien come to harm, even if they did not realize it at the time—she felt a certain. . . kinship with him. Despite what she’d been told.

“What, pray tell, is your meaning of the word?” she asked, sucking in a breath at the sight before them. Rory paused in his answer to watch the sun dip below the mountain. Spectacular.

“Anything that threatens the life of someone I care for could be classified as urgent.” The glint in his eye told Reina he was about to say something untoward. “Rylee? It is more likely her new gown is a different shade than she remembered when ordering it made.”

Reina was certain he exaggerated. Rylee did not strike her as the frivolous sort at all. “Is that so?”

Rory crossed his arms, turning from the sunset. He leaned against the parapet and gazed at her. Apparently satisfied, he pushed up once again and proclaimed, “You are not like most women.”

She laughed. “Am I not?”

“Nay. You are more. . . thoughtful. Or mayhap insightful is the word.”

That surprised her. “Your own mother seems to have a healthy measure of both.”

Rory’s answer was swift. “She is no ordinary woman, but a goddess. There is no comparison.”

“Not even your sister,” she pressed.

Rory laughed. “Especially not her.”

As they spoke, Reina spotted Galien in the distance. He’d ridden out that morn to meet with “men of import.” Since he had failed to name them, Reina knew he actually met “supporters of Wallace.” For how often Galien conducted such meetings, or met with men she knew were dangerous if remaining alive under King Edward’s constant threat were important, Reina would not become accustomed to it. She did not begrudge him, of course. But was always glad when he returned home safely.

Galien lifted a finger as if to let her know he would be right along. All was right in the world once again.

“And he said you were not flirting,” Rory quipped.

“Pardon?” She strained to see him still, but Galien disappeared beneath them. And then, she remembered his accusation in Keston House. “Ahh, yes. I do believe you were correct in your assessment.”

“I’m rarely wrong,” he said with more confidence in that one statement than most people possessed in a lifetime.

“Is that so,” she asked, amused.

“Hmm.” He pretended to ponder. “Nay, I cannot think of a time that I was.”

“So,” she said. “You are never wrong. Have never met a woman that could resist you. . .” Rory’s mock horrified expression made her laugh.

“Whoever told you such a thing?”

“I did.”

She could hear his voice a hundred times a day and still Reina’s stomach flipped around every time. When Galien came to her, kissing Reina on the cheek, she sighed. Aloud. Unable to stop herself.