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“Then,” I smiled, “I know a band of fierce warriors led by Ewan’s father who will deny him.”

I thought of John’s words, of the life Ewan might have had if things had turned out differently. But then I looked up at Maardok, his scars and strength and love, and knew—knew with a certainty that filled me—that Ewan’s life would be better here. With us.

And Richard… well. Richard had sired Ewan, but that didn’t mean he had been the best father for him. Maardok had become more of a father to my son in these few weeks than Richard had ever managed in his life. That thought should have pained me, but it didn’t. It only made my love for this green-skinned, stubborn orc swell all the more.

I smiled, shaking my head, even as my heart ached with how much I loved this orc. This male, who had carried me through storms and childbirth and my own stubbornness to this moment.

Maardok, as if sensing my thoughts, tipped my chin up to meet his gaze.

“Ye ken I love Ewan as much as I love ye, dkaar? Ye ken that?”

I opened my mouth to answer, but he cut me off, brushing the pad of his thumb over my lower lip.

“I dinnae mean to imply Richard wasnae a good male⁠—”

“He was not the kind of man I should have chosen. Even with Ewan, he was…distant. And I think…” I smiled. “I know that in the short time you have known him, you love Ewan more than Richard ever managed.”

Maardok’s throat worked, and he swallowed hard.

“I love him as I love Edan. As part of me. And a part of ye.”

His voice was rough, raw.

“And that will never change.”

I rose up on my toes and kissed him again, pouring everything I felt into it. When I pulled back, Maardok’s eyes were bright, that green glow flaring in the fading light.

“I know,” I whispered against his lips. “I can feel it. In here.”

I pressed my hand to my chest, and then to his.

“And here.”

Maardok’s breath hitched, and he pressed his hand over mine. Then he bent, pressing his forehead to mine, never taking his eyes off mine.

“My stubborn, perfect firebrand,” he murmured. “My Mate.”

“Mate.” I smiled. “I love you, Maardok.”

And then we went to bring our sons home. Because this—this place, these people, this life—was our future.

EPILOGUE

Maardok

The mainland stone circle was cold and quiet, the cool new green grass of spring crushed beneath my boots as I paced, hand on the hilt of my sword. The air smelled of damp earth and distant smoke from our camp, whose fires had remained unbanked despite approaching midnight.

Ewan darted between the stones, his small footsteps light and quick, while Cataline stood with her arms crossed, watching him with that soft, fond exasperation she reserved just for our son.

Aye, life was good, but our nerves were on edge this night.

The Battleborn of Islay still whispered fear into the hearts of the mainland clans. Our warriors trained harder than ever, and Severn’s trade routes had expanded now that our independence was no longer in question.

No one had come looking for John’s body, and Cataline’s letter to the baron about Richard and Ewan had borne fruit—though Severn, ever the reluctant diplomat, had delivered it with his usual efficiency.

Ewan had settled in with Brannok and Kaldun as if he’d been born among them. The lad already knew every secret fishing spot in the loch, every shortcut through the village, and the names of every warrior who would let him pester them.

Edan was another story. At six months, the bairn had taken to solids with the enthusiasm only a half-orc could muster, and though Cataline had declared herself thrilled, I knew the truth. That bittersweet ache of missing the closeness of exclusively nursing him, the quiet moments when it had just been her and the babe, pressed warm against her skin. I felt it through the Bond—small, deliberate, and private, like a secret she shared only with me.