Epilogue

R ose was normally slow to wake fully. Which was a polite way to say she was as cross as a bear until she had had a cup of tea and something to eat. Early in their marriage, Ruadh had discovered one other thing that put her in a good mood first thing in the morning—morning intimacies woke her up in the most delightful of ways.

For the last two months, however, she had been unable to do anything active first thing in the morning without reaching for the clean chamber pot that was kept for the purpose. Ruadh's husbandly duty had changed from giving her as many orgasms as he could manage to ringing the bell for a cup of tea and a slice of dry toast while she lay as still as possible.

If that cure for an upset stomach did not work, he held himself responsible for keeping her hair out of her way while she heaved over the chamber pot.

Mama assured them both that morning sickness seldom lasted beyond the middle of the third month, which would be some time in the next few weeks, and certainly, the tea and toast were generally enough to settle her digestive system enough for her to cautiously get out of bed.

Today she lay obediently flat while he rang the bell, then allowed him to help her up so he could place a couple of pillows behind her, propping her up enough to drink the tea when it arrived.

The kitchen would have a kettle on the hob, the toast cut, and her teapot warming, so her maid would be here with her tea tray soon. The whole house knew that the Master's lady was with child, and went out of their way to make sure she was cherished.

Ruadh climbed carefully back onto the bed, taking care not to rock the mattress, and settled with his arm around her. She rested her head on his shoulder and he kissed the top of her head. The sound she made in response was more like a growl than not, which made him smile. Who would have guessed that the woman who had brought sunshine into his darkness would be such a grump in the mornings?

At the knock on the door, he called, "Come in." It could only be the maid. She knew not to enter without an invitation, and no one else would be at their door at this time of the morning.

A few minutes—and half a cup of weak black tea and half a slice of toast later—Rose spoke for the first time. "Good morning," she said.

"It is at that," he agreed.

And it was. Every morning waking up with Rose was a good morning. Even on the nights that the nightmares hounded him, he had only to reach out and touch Rose and she grounded him in the present. Or, if he was lost in the dream, her voice would bring him back, her love warming the depths of his soul and soothing his pain.

Work helped, too. There was plenty of it. The previous Earl of Glencowan had favored his privileges over his duties and Ruadh's two cousins had been interested only in spending their allowances to the maximum, not in cherishing the people dependent on the estate and the family. Ruadh's father and mother needed the help of Ruadh and Rose to undo years of mismanagement, disdain, and neglect.

Even so, they had greeted Ruadh's hospital project with approval, and each allocated time to help first with seeking the support of their peers and later with practical advice and assistance. The facility would be opening in Glasgow in April.

"Do you think they will be here today?" Rose asked.

Rose's sisters were coming to spend Christmas with her. Not Peter and Arial. Arial was close to being confined with her next child, and could not make the long journey, but Vivienne and Pauline would be here in the coming days.

"If not today, then tomorrow or the next day," Ruadh told her.

She had managed the rest of the cup and the slice of toast, and—he leaned his head forward to check—had not turned any shade of green. "Are you ready for your bath?" he asked her. Maggie, the maid, had left the door to the adjoining room open a crack when she went through after stoking the fire, and he had heard the footmen filling the bath while Rose was eating.

She met his lips with her own. "You are so good to me, Ruadh."

"I love you," he told her.

"I love you."

He would never tire of hearing her say it.

*

Ruadh rode out after breakfast to check on one of the tenants who had been ill. Rose and her mother-in-law met with Mrs. McGregor, the housekeeper, to ensure that all the plans were in place for the coming festivities. The Glencowan household celebrated both the English Christmas and the Scots Hogmanay, but the previous earl and his sons had usually been away at house parties during the season, and besides, the new Countess of Glencowan had her own family traditions that she wished to incorporate.

"And you, Rose, dear," she asked. "Is there anything we can add from your own family celebrations?"

Rose suggested a special recipe she had begged from the cook before she left and wondered if Mama would consider adding red and gold ribbons to the swags and wreaths of Christmas greenery.

Arial had been a wonderful older sister, but Rose had never experienced a mother's loving care until she met Mama. Mama had taken her into her arms and into her heart from the day she and Ruadh arrived at Lannock Castle. Father, too. Though Rose missed her English family, she had found a new family here in Scotland.

And soon, Vivienne and Pauline would arrive. Perhaps even today!

After the meeting with Mrs. McGregor, Rose and Mama spent an hour with Grandfather Hardwicke. He was much improved—Ruadh's friend Nate had said that his condition was worse than it should be because he had been malnourished, and prescribed plenty of good food.

It had worked to the degree that Grandfather now had the use of the right side of his body, though his speech was still slow and sometimes hard to understand. The Glencowans had made a couple of rooms on the ground floor into a bedroom and parlor for him, where he could be pushed into the great hall or the drawing room to join the rest of the family, and where new French doors had been installed so that his attendant could take him in his chair straight out onto the terrace.

Not in this chill, though. He was sitting by the fire playing chess with the attendant who had come with them from Weatherstone Hall, but he gestured for the attendant to carry the board away when the ladies entered. "How are my daughter and granddaughter today," he asked, as he did every morning, rejoicing in the pair of them, and added, as he had since Ruadh and Rose had shared their news, "And how is my great grandson?"

They caught him up on their good health and on the preparations for Christmas. A maid arrived with refreshments, and they enjoyed a cup of tea together until Rose saw out the window that a rider was approaching along the carriageway. "Ruadh is home," she said. "Would you excuse me, Mama, Grandfather?"

With their blessing, she hurried to the front hall, arriving just as Ruadh entered. His face lit up and, heedless of the butler, he held out his arms. She hurried into them for his kiss.

"I have news to make you smile, my love," he told her.

"The Quigs are well again?"

"Better." His grin showed he was delighted at whatever it was.

"Then tell me…" she demanded.

"I passed a carriage on my way through the village and had the pleasure of greeting your sisters. They had stopped because one of the horses had thrown a shoe, but the inn was putting a new one into the traces as we spoke. They will be about ten minutes behind me."

Rose had to hug the man again. "How wonderful. Oh, how shall I wait ten minutes? I must tell Mama. And Mrs. McGregor! I must tell Mrs. McGregor."

In fact, the ten minutes flew as she rushed from person to person, and it seemed like no time before she was weeping all over her sisters' shoulders, which alarmed them, rather, until she explained, "Do not mind me. I am with child and Mama says that breeding women often cry at the least thing. And here is Mama!"

She proudly introduced her sisters to Lady Glencowan, and then to Lord Glencowan, who had emerged from his study to meet them.

Finally, she led them off upstairs to their bedroom, where Vivienne whispered to her, "The castle is not nearly as wild as I expected, and nor is Galloway."

"It is not as tame as our part of England," Rose admitted, "but I like the wild."

Especially the kind of wild that was Ruadh Douglas. Master of Glencowan and of her heart.

THE END