Chapter 25

Chapter 25

"To Laird and Lady Brennan!" James called, holding up his drink, and around the large banquet hall every other guest echoed his toast, cheering and celebrating as they did.

Deirdre, dressed in her pale blue gown and the circlet on her head, flushed with food and wine and happiness, found her cheeks turning red as Ciaran—her husband!— pressed his lips against her cheek. She was married, and she could barely believe it was real. She had never been happier.

The celebration had started early in the morning, when her sisters had all descended upon her to prepare her for her wedding day and, as Aoife had teased, give her advice for her wedding night . The girls had shrieked with laughter at that, and the four of them had traded stories and spent the morning together, joined by Gracie and Marjorie.

The moment of the actual marriage had been indescribable, but Deirdre felt it blurred in her mind, her only focus the whole time being the intense gaze from her beloved's storm-grey eyes as he looked at her as though she was the only person in the universe. And when she had said, "I do," the happiness in those eyes had been enough to melt her heart.

Now they were gathered here in Castle Brennan, her new home, and representatives of all of her roots were around them to celebrate the wedding and this new union that would move their clans forward as one. McMillans, Brennans, and McFergusons drank and laughed and sang and danced, and it felt like a weight had been removed from the Highlands, a shadow retreating and dissipating like smoke in the air.

Deirdre had thought she'd known what it would be like, based on Aoife's wedding a few weeks before, but this was something new. Aoife and Liam had insisted on a quiet ceremony, then sailed off on a week-long trip to France, where Aoife experienced her first journey as a merchant's life. The strangest, most wonderful thing had come when Aoife returned and announced that she felt much more suited to this life, much more comfortable, than had she ever achieved her dream of being the Lady of a castle.

"I've found me freedom, ye ken," Aoife had told them, "And it means travelin' the world, with Liam at me side. But don't ye worry—I'll always ken where's home."

This wedding, though, the marriage of Ciaran and Deirdre, was itself a representation of the end of the conflict and the bringing together of the clans. Subsequently, it was one of the most eventful, raucous, loud, and wonderful parties that Deirdre had ever seen, bigger and more spectacular even than Jocelyn's wedding had been as all the clans celebrated the marriage of two people as well as the marriage of their clans.

James spoke again. "I have an announcement tae make," he said. "Regardin' the lands of Clan McMillan, which have been temporarily under me own patronage."

The whole room fell silent, and all eyes snapped to him. Deirdre felt butterflies in her stomach, because she knew what was coming. Blair had told her beforehand, and then Deirdre and Ciaran had a long discussion about it.

She leaned over to her husband. "Are ye sure about this?" she whispered.

"Positive," he assured her.

James said, "As Laird Ciaran Brennan was the one who slew Bram McMillan and ended his tyranny, the council and meself have all agreed that he is the rightful ruler of the McMillan clan, of course through his marriage tae one of the McMillan sisters." He turned his eyes to them. "Ciaran, Deirdre, will ye accept this?"

Ciaran and Deirdre both stood, and Ciaran glanced once at Deirdre, then spoke. "No, we won't," he replied.

A stunned silence filled the room.

Deirdre filled it. "We won't, because we don't think it's in the best interests of the clan. Clan McMillan has faced fractured, dangerous leadership for too many years, and as me husband and I have duties over Clan Brennan, it seems tae me that they deserve a leader who will give them the focused leadership they deserve, devoted to them."

She saw a secret smile cross Blair's face and James's too, and realized suddenly—her sister and James had been expecting this. That Blair! Always one step ahead.

"That's why, after discussion with me wife," Ciaran went on, "We have decided tae pass the Lairdship of Clan McMillan tae another of the McMillan sisters and her husband, who we'll ken will lead the lands and their people intae prosperity."

"Jocelyn? Lachlan? Will ye do this?" Deirdre asked.

" Us ?" Lachlan asked, and he sounded so uncharacteristically surprised that a round of laughter sounded around the room.

Deirdre raised her glass. "Tae the new Laird and Lady McMillan!" she announced, and the room followed her in her cheer.

As the revelry went on inside, one of the wedding guests stood separate from everyone else, her wild moonlit hair loose in the cool breeze. The old woman smiled to herself as the raucous sound of laughter rose from inside, mixing with the night air in a pleasant symphony of sounds.

The relief in Agatha's heart to be here tonight, for all four McMillan sisters to be safe and happy and even wed, was more than her old bones had ever thought they'd experience again. She'd lived for a long, long time, and would live for a long time yet, but the saga of the McMillan family, and the part she'd inadvertently played in it, would always be a keystone in her memory.

She still remembered the horror in her heart when she'd realized what her prophecy had started, though she knew that she could not have possibly understood the results, even with all her years. Blair and Jocelyn had both, separately, expressed that it was not Agatha's fault that the brothers and later the son had turned upon their own family, and Agatha was at last beginning to believe it. She wondered if, perhaps, this would have always happened, prophecy or not. Fate had a funny way of making itself known no matter what.

She didn't know the Brennan lands very well, but that didn't matter—the things that Agatha sought, she could find in any direction. Wrapping her shawl more tightly around her shoulders, she walked down the twisting outer steps of the keep and onto the grounds.

Agatha walked for a long time, long enough that the castle disappeared into the horizon, long enough that the echoes of the celebration vanished into the night. She kept going until she reached the edge of a forest. She'd never been there before, but it didn't matter; any forest would do for her, any place where they could be waiting. Smiling to herself, she stepped in past the tree line.

"I've come," she said out loud as she strode further into the darkness. The moonlight barely filtered through the thick canopy, and the forest was so dark that Agatha could barely see, but she kept going with complete confidence, knowing that she would reach what she sought soon enough. "Are ye here, waitin'?"

A responding howl sounded through the darkness, and Agatha changed her pace slightly, altering her path so she was walking toward it. Misguided hunters and royal edicts were making wolves rarer and rarer in Scotland these days, and Agatha knew that one day, they'd be gone entirely. But she'd known there would be one waiting for her here, and she knew she had to find him.

Suddenly, she found herself in a wide clearing, almost a perfect circle of field in the middle of the forest, with the moonlight shining down so brightly it might have been a chandelier. In the middle of this clearing sat the wolf, a magnificent creature, beautiful even amongst its kind. Its fur was a mesmerizing blend of silver and midnight black, each strand glistening like a cascade of stars. Eyes, deep pools of amber, held an ancient wisdom, reflecting the moon's glow. It was huge and it exuded an aura of untamed grace. The wildness was unmistakable in its gaze, but it watched her as she approached, not moving from where it rested.

As Agatha walked closer, she saw more glinting eyes in the surrounding circle of trees. Another two or three wolves waited in the shadows, watching. Though she was sure she was in no danger, her heart sped up. One false move, and these creatures could end her without a thought. Yet, despite it, she walked straight to the front of the wolf in the clearing, sat cross-legged in the grass before it, and held out her hand.

After a few heart-clenching moments, the wolf tapped her hand with his snout, then rested back on his haunches, watching her carefully.

Agatha smiled. She petted the creature's snout once, then spoke. "I guided them best I could," she told the wolf. "For the last seven years, I've done what I could. And it's over now. The usurper is dead. His son is dead. And the lassies have been welcomed tae their birthright once more."

The wolf's tail swept through the air, once, its eyes unblinking.

"I ken it cannot make up for me mistakes," she went on. "I ken. But the McMillan lassies are strong. Blair is a leader of men, a strong heart in the darkness. Her flame has saved both her father's clan and her husband's. Jocelyn, who will soon become Lady McMillan, shines with fierce intelligence, and her bravery and wisdom has been their guide."

The wolf tilted its head.

"The youngest pups are women now, too. Aoife's depth of love and Deirdre's free spirit are what saved us all, I believe," Agatha continued. She paused for a moment and sighed. "Three Ladies and a profitable merchant's wife. Despite all odds, despite the worst that me visions could have shown me, all four of those lassies have found their paths."

A low rumble sounded in the wolf's throat, not a growl but some more gentle sound.

"Aye," Agatha agreed. "It's at last time for me tae rest me weary bones. I shan't leave this earth any time soon, but I can go back tae me cottage and find peace. Jocelyn has come tae me as a student, and I'm sure young Deirdre will too. Both are strong with the gift, though they may not ken it."

She stood again and reached out a hand. The wolf bowed its head, allowing her to pet between its ears for a moment.

Then, when the wolf stepped back, Agatha said, "And yer job is done as well. See in the treeline beyond? Yer lady waits for ye, and yer brother besides. I hear the pups who were lost playin' in the grass. There are amends tae be made and bonds tae be healed, but not on this plane, not in this world. The prophecies are over, me fine wolf, and at last ye can rest."

The wolf stepped back and raised its head to the moon. It let out a deep howl, not mournful but joyous, echoing around the forest and seeming to shake the very stars. In the depths of the trees, the other wolves joined the song.

Agatha closed her eyes, allowing herself to be immersed in this moment, until at last the sounds faded once more. When she opened them again, the wolf had turned its back to her and was pacing toward the trees.

"I'll watch over them," she promised quietly.

The wolf looked back at her once, a bright understanding shining in its eyes. And then it vanished behind the treeline, and soon Agatha was alone, with only the magic of the moon and stars for company.

She watched for a moment, then smiled to herself, turning back the way she had come. She'd rejoin the festivities, and none would be any the wiser. But her heart was relieved as, at last, the longest chapter of her long life came to a close, and fate's loom readied for a new thread beyond her.

Ciaran and Deirdre stayed at the party as long as they could, speaking to everyone and thanking and accepting congratulations, but it became too much after a while. Both of them met eyes across the room and they knew that it was time. They snuck out of the room shortly after, leaving Lachlan talking to James about finding a replacement for his service, Aoife excitedly talking about her next journey, Blair and Jocelyn dancing with the children…all wonderful things, of course, but not what they wanted right now. Now, at long last, all they wanted to do was finally lose themselves in each other.

They reached their rooms in silence, and as soon as the door was closed behind them, Ciaran's mouth was over Deirdre's, blistering hear in his kiss. She felt her body responding in an urgent instant, her hands tangling in his hair, her skin prickling against clothes that suddenly felt far too restrictive. Their kiss deepened, and Ciaran made a low growling sound against her mouth that traveled right through her body and down to her deepest parts.

"I've wanted ye since that first moment I saw ye, Deirdre," he whispered into her lips. "Since that first kiss."

"Ye tasted like strawberry wine," she mumbled back, her fingers lacing in his hair. "I thought ye a dream, then, a conjurin' of the darkness from me books here tae tempt me tae a life of wickedness and sin."

He pulled back and looked down at her, his eyes smoldering with need but a small smile on his face. "Oh aye? And what do ye think of me now?"

Her eyes sparkled wickedly in return. "Well, husband, now I ken it's true."

Ciaran laughed throatily in a way that made Deirdre's entire body shiver. Then his arms were around her, his hands cupping her buttocks, and he'd hoisted her up. She wrapped her legs around his waist, and entangled in each other, he stumbled with them both over to the bed.

Ciaran lowered her onto the mattress, then stood above her for a moment, just looking at her with pure wonder in his eyes. "My God," he whispered. "Could it be that ye're me wife? Truly? What gods have I pleased tae deserve this?"

"Nae gods, nae magic," Deirdre replied, staring up at him with wonder in her own eyes and voice. "There's nothin' now, Ciaran, but me and ye."

He smiled at that with genuine warmth, then in one fluid movement he had pulled his shirt off over his head, and Deirdre gasped at the sight of him. His chest was toned and muscled, with less hair than she'd seen on many men working in the fields, but that which was there was as dark and springy as the ebony locks on his head. In the dim light, each line of his torso seemed to be highlighted, every muscle shining. There were old bruises and scars on his skin, and she knew that over time she'd trace them all, maybe learning the stories of each as she went. She thought of how that surprisingly soft skin would taste, and her own skin prickled in response.

"Ye are a fae prince," she told him. "Come tae steal me away. No other man could be so beautiful."

He leaned down, his body over hers, his lips and tongue against her neck as his hands worked at the lace on her bodice. Every nip of his teeth or touch of his tongue was jangling every nerve in her body, filling her with a new kind of desire, every touch leaving her wanting more.

"I'm the one bespelled," he whispered, his hot breath tickling her in a way that made her squirm. "I'm yer willin' servant. Forever."

Her bodice came loose, her breasts spilling out, and he lowered his head to those, kissing and teasing, then held them both in his hands as he rose to kiss her again. His thumbs lightly stroked the nipples as he pressed against her, his tongue in her mouth, and when she moaned into him, he gave a low growl in response that almost ended her there and then.

The undressing started slowly, but neither of them had the patience for it, and soon she was pulling at his belt and he at the remaining ties on her gown. They did not hesitate longer, eager to see each other, all of each other.

Soon, their clothes were abandoned, and they lay by each other, naked and bare. Deirdre was overwhelmed by how much she wanted to touch him, to be touched by him, her body aflame by even a look.

"And now?" she whispered.

"Now, I will show ye how ye make me feel." He rolled onto her, and she thought that he would slowly push inside her, but he did not. Instead, he ran a hand down her naked side, then lowered his lips to her ear. "I will taste every inch of ye, and give ye the pleasure ye were made for."

Ciaran nipped at her earlobe, then slowly started his way downward. His kisses were torturous, delicious, as he took his time exploring her whole body, leaving a trail of fire in his wake. He teased her neck, her breasts, her hips, sending jolts of pleasure and little whimpers from her that made his own excitement grow, and every time he made a little sound in response, it made her whole body shake.

When his mouth found her secret place, the jolt made her cry out his name. His hands were gentle but firm as they prised her thighs apart, and then his fingers and tongue went to work. She was desperate to touch him, and she gripped his hair as he pressed against her core, gently at first but then harder and harder with a rhythm that took over her whole world. She was panting, sweating, and something was building inside her, almost too much to bear. And then all at once, the climax washed over her, and the pleasure was so much that she cried out. Her whole body seemed to lift into the sky.

Then he positioned himself over her, and their eyes met. There were no words, but she nodded to him, he to her, and slowly, excruciatingly so, he pressed into her. The feeling of warmth, of fullness, of connection was more than Deirdre could ever have imagined. He fit her like he had been sculpted just for her, and the low sound he made as they joined was a song to her ears.

He began to move, slowly at first, and her hands found his back, holding him in place then pulling him closer. He bent down to kiss her, then focused on his movements, not in a rush, finding their joint rhythm. It was an exquisite dance, their skin gliding against each other, their lips scalding, their fingers dancing, and their hips moving together in perfect time.

"Ciaran," she whispered, her breath like a butterfly in the air, her whole world consumed by how he felt on her, in her, with her. "Ciaran."

His left hand found hers and their fingers curled together as his movements sped, deep in parts of Deirdre she'd never known, bringing her to a world beyond what she'd ever dreamed. The feeling curling inside her now was like before, but even more intense, even more insistent. It built, and built, and when the climax came, she called out his name, gripping his back so tightly that she was sure she left marks. It didn't take long after that for him to follow, and then they collapsed together.

Ciaran landed atop her, and they lay there for a moment, their heavy breathing matching each other. She could feel his heartbeat, strong and pulsing, through the point where his chest connected to her own. Then he withdrew from her, gently, and rolled off so that they lay side by side, the night air cooling the sweat on their skin.

Deirdre just stared at the ceiling for a moment, collecting herself. She began to feel a chill as her skin cooled, and she pulled the blanket up from their feet to cover her. After she caught her breath, Deirdre turned and laid her head on his chest.

His arms wrapped around her as he said, "I love ye, me wife."

"And I ye," she whispered. "With everythin' I am."

As they faded off to sleep together, Deirdre had just one thought in her mind. She'd spent her whole life dreaming of escape, of freedom, of hope, and here she'd found it. All of them had. Freedom had come to them through love for each other and love for the husbands who had saved them.

For every rose may have its thorn, every wolf its snarling teeth. But the rose's petals were soft and beautiful, and the wolf was powerful and dedicated to its pack. At the heart of the matter, they were strong. And they were free. Forever.