Epilogue

An hour later, Leitis and Ian were married by Scots law, an agreement binding by the sincere, mutual consent of the participants. The words were simple, each spoken by one to the other.

"I will have you as my husband, to live with as long as God decrees," she said. "Before my clan I promise this."

"I will have you as my wife, to live with as long as God decrees," Ian said. He turned and looked around him. Those on deck were, in varying degrees, smiling back at him. An act of welcome and approval that he seemed to understand. "Before my clan, I promise this," he finished.

He opened his arms and she walked into his embrace. But a moment later, he pulled back. Reaching inside his waistcoat, he withdrew a length of plaid.

"You took it from the loom," she said, surprised. She clasped it in her hand, the wool still warm from his body.

"I'm afraid I did so with less care than you would have shown," he admitted, "but I wanted you to have it."

Her arms reached up and encircled his neck. They kissed through most of the journey through Loch Euliss.

Finally, she lay her cheek against his chest, hearing the thudding beat of his heart and feeling a dazed delight. A month ago she had no future and the only emotion she could feel was grief.

Now she stood with the man she loved and her clan. The world seemed a special place now, one in which they could write their own destiny.

Above them in the rigging men shouted at each other, while the first mate bellowed orders from the forecastle. Children laughed, a woman asked a question, a mother's soothing voice calmed a querulous complaint.

The day bade farewell in hues of purple and indigo, a riotous display of color as if fearing the sun would never come again.

The sound of the pipes came faintly at first, then grew louder until it swelled through the air. Not a defiant tune, but a call of forever and home and the soul's longing for itself.

Leitis sighed, lay her cheek on Ian's chest, feeling the spike of tears.

It wouldn't be the last time she heard the pipes, but never would it again be with Scotland echoing the sound back from craggy hills and thickly green glens. Shadows draped the earth as if to gradually hide it from their view and ease the parting.

It was a farewell Hamish played, the twilight mist adding a soft and sweet benediction as if the notes comprised a hymn. The world fell silent around them. Not one person on deck spoke, but more than a few wiped their eyes.

Ian's arms were around her, holding her tight as Leitis recalled the MacRae Lament. The words were oddly fitting for this moment, and this place.

Here is our island, here is our pride.

We are a past never to die.

In good times or bad we'll always endure

In the home of our hearts—Gilmuir