Epilogue

Drummond frowned down at the flimsy cards he clutched in his hands. The numbers and suits ran together and he wasn't certain if ‘twas because he still didnae understand this infernal game the Arabs invented…or if he was drunk.

"Do ye…" He squinted across the table at his companions. "Do ye have any threes?"

"Nay!" Barclay declared happily. "Go fish!"

Fook . Scowling, Drum scooped up a card from the pile in the middle of the table. "What does this have to do with fishing?"

"I dinnae ken," Payton rumbled with a shrug. "Do ye have any threes?"

Cursing, Drum tossed his old friend a card. "This game is easier if ye dinnae cheat."

"Cheat? I dinnae cheat!"

Barclay came to Payton's defense, of course. "'Tis no' cheating for him to pay attention. Now it's my turn, and if I ask for three, ‘tis because I'm cheating."

Drum squinted. " Are ye cheating?"

"Aye! Do ye have any threes?"

Drum slammed his palms down onto the table, ready to launch himself at his friend, but Craig's rumbling laughter stopped him.

When everyone looked at the giant, he tossed down his cards, showing the numbers, and reached for his flagon. "I dinnae understand why we would care about cups, swords, coins, and clubs when we're among friends. We have plenty to eat and drink, and this is the only cup that matters."

As Payton and Barclay slowly relaxed, Drum realized his friend was right. "'Tis a dumb game," he grumbled, reaching for his cup. "Whose idea was it, anyhow?"

"My wife learned it from a friend of hers at court," Barclay announced, tipping his mug. "And dinnae insult my wife."

"Far be it," Drum muttered. "I could've told ye the pair of ye would end up playing card games."

Barclay pretended to scowl. "As I recall, ye told me to stay away from her, because missions with women always end puirly."

"Aye, he told me the same thing," agreed Craig, "and I married her!"

"He never warned me away from Flora," Payton rumbled, "but only because he didnae have a chance. How about that? The man spends a decade telling us to be wary of working with women…and we all end up married to women we met on our missions."

Barclay snickered. "No' only that, but Drum's found a way to replace us…with a woman!"

"Aye, Drum, how is yer new partner?" taunted Payton. "I mean, yer wife."

He knew they were teasing him, getting back after years of having to listen to his harping…er…advice. So, Drum just shook his head, wearing a wry smile. "She's doing well, as ye ken. She's on guard duty tonight with the Queen."

Of course, he'd told his oldest friends—his men —about Brigit's role. He didn't spill all the Queen's secrets, but he was proud of the work his wife did for the monarch. The work they both did for Their Majesties.

And now that his friends had brought their wives and families to Scone to celebrate his recent marriage, Drum had to admit, it felt… good to have everyone together. As if…they were his brothers. His family.

"I'm glad ye're here," he announced abruptly, holding up his ale.

Payton clinked his flagon against it. "Here, as in Scone?"

"Or here , as in at this table, attempting a lads' night out after the marriage?" Barclay asked, a sparkle in his eyes, as he tipped his mug up as well.

"Or here ," Craig announced, his ale joining the bunch, "as in alive and well and lucky bastards?"

Drum felt his lips curling as he met the eyes of each of his friends. " Aye ," he drawled.

"Wait, which one—?" Craig began, but the laughter drowned him out.

Chuckling, Drum tipped his head back to swallow his ale.

The men were relaxing once more in their chairs, teasing one another about married life, when a knock at the door heralded Lawrence's entrance. He shuffled in, carrying a tray.

"More ale already?" bellowed Barclay happily, but Payton smacked his shoulder.

"Larry is the butler, no' a servant."

"I thought he wasnae the seneschal any longer," Craig asked, confused.

But Drum had met the old man's gaze. "He's no'. Now he and his wife have their own estate and he occasionally delivers messages for the Queen. Aye, Lawrence?"

"Just so, Sir Hunter," the old man said with a formal bow and a twinkle in his eyes. "The wife hates it when I'm away."

"And how is the Lady Avaline settling into married life, Lawrence?"

The old man straightened, cleared his throat and settled his shoulders. "She claims to hate it, Sir Hunter, but I ken that isnae true. I've learned the trick is to allow her complete control over the estate. It allows her to feel powerful, which is how she thrives."

Drum nodded. "Impressive. Ye ken what they say…"

Drummond, Barclay, Payton and Craig all chorused, "Happy wife, happy life."

Smiling, Lawrence stepped forward with the tray. "And I shall be returning to her in the morning. First though, a message, Sir Hunter."

Drum's brows rose as he reached for the scroll. A message from the Queen? Nay…

Barclay read over his shoulder. " When my garden blooms, the true colors emerge, showcasing love, light, and scent. First plant seeds gently one by one, placing to the right depth. Bed the soil carefully, gets roots to grow. Prize each bloom."

"Ye're getting gardening advice now?" rumbled Craig.

Payton's head was tipped back against his chair, eyes closed. "Must be important gardening advice, considering how late it is. "

Barclay hummed. " Bed the soil carefully, gets roots to grow ? That's no' good gardening advice. That's no' even good grammar."

But Drum was already counting. He handed his ale to Lawrence. "Take my seat, auld friend, and dinnae let Barclay teach ye to play; he cheats."

"What?" Craig blurted. "Where are ye going?"

Grinning, Drum waved the scroll. "'Tis an Angel code, every fourth word being important."

Barclay snatched it from him and began counting. "When…the…showcasing…scent…Gently…placing…depth…carefully—Christ, Drum, this makes nae sense!"

"Nay, that does no'," Drum agreed with a grin, pushing himself to his feet.

Craig pulled the scroll from Barclay. "Try the next word. My…true…love…first…one…to…bed…gets…prize."

From where he rested, Payton snorted. "Well, that message is unmistakable."

Drum was already out the door when the laughter began behind him.

Bridget held her breath, balancing carefully against the wall. Her bare toes were dug into cracks between the stones, and her palms were braced against the tapestries.

Waiting .

She wore only her shift, having stripped out of her favorite purple gown and arranged it on the bed as a distraction. It had worked once, many years ago, when she'd been sent to find evidence against a cardinal. Tonight, it would work again.

Heavy footsteps in the corridor, ones she recognized. Moving quickly. Likely excited.

She gathered herself to spring, heart already pounding in excitement.

The door opened, and from her place behind it, Brigit leaned forward.

When Drum stepped into their chambers, his eyes immediately went to the gown on the bed, and he stepped toward it. "Brigit—"

‘Twas all he had the time to say before she dropped on him.

If she'd yelled, she knew he would've had time to turn, but instead she threw herself at his back, arms wrapping around his shoulders to hold her in place. ‘Twas amazing to feel his response in his muscles, to realize the exact moment he recognized she wasn't a real threat.

Still, his growl sounded realistic as he reached over his shoulder to grab her by the chemise and pull as he twisted. Somewhere along the way he also kicked the door shut, which was remarkably athletic, she thought.

Brigit ended up plastered against his front, legs wrapped around his middle, arms around his neck, as his tongue plundered her mouth.

Right where she wanted to be .

His hardness poked at her, telling her he was as ready for her as she was for him, and the knowledge made her smile against his lips.

He was the one to drop her on the bed, and she propped herself up on her elbows to watch him yank his shirt over his head. When he dropped to one knee, she thought he was untying his boot… So, she let out a squeal of surprise as he grasped her ankles and yanked her toward him.

Then his head was under her chemise, and Brigit let her thighs fall open with a happy sigh.

God in heaven, would she ever get used to the way he licked her?

Each stroke of his tongue, each caress of his fingers, sent her higher and higher, until she was squirming beneath his ministrations.

And when she came, she screamed his name to the canopy.

Drum emerged from her chemise looking quite pleased with himself, and Brigit, breathless, reached for him.

His kiss tasted of her .

And apparently somewhere along the line he had managed to lose his boots.

Together, they squirmed out of the rest of their clothing, their lovemaking unhurried and leisurely now after the frantic beginning. Each touch was a caress, each brush of their lips against skin a tease… Their murmured words were meant to heighten the pleasure.

Soon she was throbbing in need once more.

Drum moved between her legs, then paused, staring down at her .

She knew what he was waiting for, and smiled as she reached up to clasp his shoulders. "Please, husband," she whispered.

He loved her. Even now, months after their marriage, he cared enough to ensure she found her pleasure first. That, more than anything, sent Brigit soaring toward anticipated joy.

When he entered her, they both sighed with pleasure.

His strokes were slow, sensual, each plunge filling her completely and teasing her toward another orgasm. She arched into him, rocking her hips so his cock reached deeper.

Finally, in desperation, Brigit lifted her legs to clasp around his waist, finding the angle that suited them both.

His thrusts increased pace until he plunged into her hard and fast, each stroke releasing a little grunt or mewl from someone's lips. Brigit was panting and Drum held her gaze, his eyes full of intensity.

The sensations grew stronger and stronger, until he reached between them to press his thumb against the small bud of her pleasure hidden among her curls.

She exploded again. "Drum!" she gasped, clutching at him with her arms, her legs, and her inner muscles.

With a low growl, he allowed his own ecstasy to overcome him.

After, he cleaned her carefully before ministering to himself, then gathered her into his arms and tucked them beneath the blankets.

She wouldn't be surprised if he fell asleep. After all, her reports showed he'd been drinking with his friends and apparently playing some sort of card game. But after a few minutes, he pressed a kiss to her temple.

"Ye were lying in wait for me, eh, lass?"

She smiled in the darkness. "I was. Did I surprise ye?"

"Quite a bit. Ye're lucky I didnae shite my kilt. A lesser man would've."

Snuggling closer, she chuckled. "I wouldnae have married a lesser man. Please note the first time I tried that trick, the cardinal nearly had a heart spasm."

Drum snorted. "Well, of course he would've. A beautiful half-naked woman dropped from the rafters atop him? Could ye blame him?"

‘Twas one of the things she loved about Drummond Kennedy; he never judged her for the things she'd done as a Queen's Angel.

It had taken him a few weeks to understand that they were equals when it came to past missions and struggles and what they'd done for the good of Scotland. But that night in the royal chapel, it had all become clear to him.

Now that he recognized she did what he would have done, he seemed to admire her for it.

And ‘twas a heady feeling, to be admired by someone she loved.

"All I ask, love," Drum murmured with another drowsy kiss, "is that ye dinnae employ that technique when we're on missions together. I'm at risk of becoming…distracted."

Chuckling again, Brigit allowed her hand to creep along his chest, reveling in the feel of his strong heartbeat. "I promise, husband. When we are on missions together, I cannae afford to be distracted by yer…physique either."

His hand covered hers and Brigit supposed she was tickling him.

"I kenned ye would find a way to bring up me losing my kilt last month."

"Well, if ye hadnae, that serving maid likely wouldnae have taken pity on us and allowed us to infiltrate the castle kitchens, and we wouldnae have made the rendezvous in time."

Partnering with Drum had been the best thing to happen to her. They were mismatched when it came to most things—size, strength, expertise—but perfectly balanced each other. Where he was silent and scowling, she was flirtatious and charming. Where he was skilled with a huge sword, she preferred her small throwing blades. And where he had plenty of experience overseeing larger missions, she was more familiar with the everyday skills to make an infiltration a success.

Aye, they were perfectly matched. Perfect partners.

And here at Scone, in the employ of the King and Queen of Scotland, they'd found their purpose in life. Their mission.

Together.

"I love ye, Brigit," he rumbled sleepily.

She pressed a kiss to his chest. "And I love ye, husband."

Partner .

He hummed, then his breathing slowed until it became a snore .

Brigit smiled against the darkness then closed her own eyes.

She was a Queen's Angel, aye, but also a woman and a wife.

And thanks to Drum, she could be all three, equally.

She fell asleep, secure in the love of a good man and a bright future.

Together.