Epilogue

No one objected when Diarmuid united the two clans under his kingship. Ian, in particular, appreciated the change of leadership as he matured. His new king was more than willing to train him, where his father had not been. By day they battled, attacking nearby clans, and by night they spoke of the Greeks and Christ, sparking the lad's imagination as well as building his confidence in his own abilities.

Astrid believed Diarmuid's friendship with the lad was helping Diarmuid heal from the great loss of their brother, Fergus. She certainly did not miss the fact that Ian and her younger brother would have been of a similar age had Fergus not died. No doubt they would have been very good friends.

Tucked tightly in bed between the wall and Marcán's warm body, Astrid could not be happier. They lay belly to belly, and she was hoping for the baby to resume the violent motion that had awakened her, the little elbow or knee even visible as it rubbed along the inside of her womb.

"There! Did ye feel it?" Astrid asked.

"No." Marcán's disappointment tugged at her heart. She adjusted herself a little more, pressing her belly flat against him again.

They waited.

"There! That time?"

Marcán beamed. "A strong child." He cupped her cheek. "And a beautiful wife. I am a blessed man, indeed."

The snow continued falling outside as it had for two days now. The supplies in their little longhouse dwindling, this would be the last day they'd be able to stay within. The thought of leaving their intimate cocoon, where no one mattered but the three of them, made Astrid sad.

"Do ye believe 'tis a boy?" Marcán asked, his palm reaching beneath her léine to slide over the bare skin of her stretched abdomen.

Astrid's eyes closed at the pleasant sensation, the baby again moving about.

"I felt him," Marcán offered without being asked.

She smiled. "'Tis a girl."

"Ye sound quite certain."

Her eyes flew open, a look of fear there, but he stroked her cheek.

"Do not fret. No one questions yer source. Ye are a good guesser."

"Or God makes these things known to me."

"Does He?"

Astrid frowned. "I do not know where else I would get the knowledge from."

Marcán kissed the tip of her nose. "As I said, ye are a good guesser."

"I am a good guesser, and I am always correct."

He narrowed his eyes at her. "Always?"

She gasped and slapped his chest. "Aednat had twins! And I was still correct."

Shrugging, he pulled her close against him, urging her head against his shoulder. "Ye were not correct, or ye would have known 'twas both a boy and a girl, but Diarmuid and Aednat did not mind."

When she tried to escape his hold, he pressed his lower body closer to hers, leaving no question of what he desired, and she stopped resisting.

"I am so large, how can ye still desire me?"

Such an expression of disbelief spread across his face, Astrid had to stop herself from laughing. "Yer size matters not. 'Tis my child growing inside ye. How could I not desire ye even more now?"

Marcán covered her mouth with his own, his tongue seeking hers out, and she was again drawn into his pleasurable lovemaking. This was not what she had imagined marriage to be like, this closeness between them. His concern for her, in all things. Whether he was holding her hair back while she threw up each morning—and that had gone on for many weeks—or rubbing her swelling feet that ached, or holding her in his arms throughout the long nights, she now knew what it was to feel safe and loved. The love they shared was more than physical. It met a need deep inside her. A need to belong. A need to be accepted. A need to be cared for.

While she and Marcán spoke more of her father, the times she had shared with him, she remembered many instances where Kane had tried to tear down Beibhinn's defenses. Teasing her sweetly, bringing her flowers, and providing her with more lovely trinkets than any woman in their clan had ever received. Mayhap his desire had been to bring her around to loving their family as he had. Astrid even believed deep down that he'd loved her. At least in the beginning. But the woman had refused to let go of her anger and resentment. Their marriage had never stood a chance at happiness.

Fintan and Thomas had accompanied Beibhinn to the priory and, no doubt, got an earful as the location was the very island Laoise had come from. Laoise. That was Marcán's mother's name, and it was the name Astrid had decided on for their daughter. Since he refused to consider the possibility that his first child might not be a boy, she'd wait until the birth to share her decision with him. It was a beautiful name. She was certain he'd be pleased.

Fintan had decided to remain at the priory as well. Always a good friend of Kane's, he had chosen to watch over his widow and, if possible, give her some peace as she became more and more confused. He wrote to them, telling them how Thomas was trying to help Beibhinn let go of her anger and her fixation on the past. The priest believed this would give her room to build new memories. Happy memories. That was Astrid's hope for her mother.

Astrid's hope for herself was that she could accept her mother as she was rather than continue to wish she could change. Beibhinn had to live with the choices she'd made for herself, but Astrid did not have to live in the shadow of those choices.

She snuggled against Marcán. "Glad I am to be yer wife."

"A ghráidh." He kissed the top of her head, pulling her tighter against his length. "If not for ye, I would be living the celibate life of a priest."

"Ye said ye were never serious!" She tipped her head back to look at him. "Besides, Thomas said that not all priests remain unmarried."

"How could I settle for anyone else when all I wanted was ye? If I'd had to watch ye marry another, knowing ye were lost to me, I would have taken those vows, abstinence and all."

"And what a waste that would have been!" She stroked his plump bottom lip. "I've heard yer kisses could make an angel sigh. Is that true?"

Easily flipping her beneath him, he hovered over her now. His strong arm surrounding her, arching her against him. "I cannot speak for the angels, but I do hear quite a bit of moaning from my passionate wife."

Raising an eyebrow, she gave him her most dubious expression.

"Do ye doubt me?" His disbelief seemed genuine.

She shrugged. "I may require proof."

His lips covered hers, silencing her teasing, and she was lost again in his embrace, moaning in passion just as he had said.

The End