Epilogue

Epilogue

Four years later . . .

A group of messengers rode into Glen Arrin, wearing the insignia representing Edward of Caernarfon, the King of England. When Marguerite saw them, she clutched her young infant daughter protectively. From the serious manner of the men, she could not imagine that they bore good news.

“Stay back,” Callum warned, transferring his bow into his left hand. His three-year-old son Ailric gripped the child-sized bow in his own hand, mirroring his actions.

“Do you want me to take the children away?” Marguerite asked, unsure of why the messengers had come.

“Not yet. They didn’t come to fight.” Callum nodded behind him. “But keep your distance.” To Ailric, he warned, “Go with your mother.”

“I help,” Ailric offered, raising his miniature bow.

Callum ruffled the boy’s hair, pushing him back to Marguerite. “Obey me, my son.”

The men remained outside the gates, and Callum walked closer to them. Marguerite held the baby and gripped Ailric’s hand, her heart pounding with fear. Though they had done nothing wrong, she couldn’t guess why the king’s men were here.

A few moments later, the men entered the fortress, led by Dougal. The young adolescent had grown into a handsome young man, and Marguerite hoped that one day he would find a good woman to wed. He spent far too much time tending the animals than sharing time with people.

“Why have you come?” Callum asked, still keeping his bow in one hand.

“We wish to speak with Lady Marguerite de Montpierre, daughter of the Duc D’Avignois, wife of Callum MacKinloch,” the first man said.

Marguerite stepped forward. “I am she.”

Callum remained in front of her, and she didn’t miss the subtle tension in his stance. If needed, he could release half a dozen arrows, defending them if necessary.

“And you were once betrothed to Peter Warrington, the Earl of Penrith?”

She nodded. “Has something happened?” Fear rose in her stomach. Lord Penrith had been a good man, one she’d been fond of, even if she could never wed him. After her marriage to Callum, he had written to her from time to time, and seemed especially pleased that she’d birthed a son so shortly after she’d wed.

The messenger came forward and lowered his head to Marguerite, “The Earl of Penrith, is a close friend of His Excellency, King Edward.”

A blush colored her cheeks, for she now understood who it was that Lord Penrith was fond of. And it was no wonder he could not share the life he’d wanted. “What does this have to do with me?”

“King Edward wished to bestow more estates upon the earl, as gifts. There are lands here in Scotland that were seized by the Crown. It is His Excellency's wish that peace be restored in Scotland.”

Marguerite waited, still not understanding what the messengers were speaking of. “But why—”

“His Majesty, out of favor for Lord Penrith, has agreed to grant the earl’s request. The land in Scotland will be given to your firstborn son.”

Shock rendered her speechless, and she could think of no reply. Lord Penrith had wealth enough of his own and needed nothing further. That he had passed this land on to her own son, was a gift she had never expected.

The messenger’s gaze fell upon Ailric, and he added, “The king has honored the bequest, and you and your husband shall guard the land until your son comes of age.”

Marguerite dug her fingers into Callum’s arm, hoping he understood what this meant. He exchanged a look with her and nodded. Covering her hand with his own, he asked the messenger, “Should we plan a visit to court, to offer our thanks to the king?”

The messenger inclined his head. “That would be most wise. And Lady Marguerite may wish to spend time with Her Majesty, Queen Isabella, since they share the same homeland.”

The man began speaking of land rights, but before he could go on, Callum interrupted. “Where is this land that will be granted to our son?”

“It is a few day’s journey from here.” He shrugged. “The keep burned to the ground, I fear, and it isn’t a large fortress, by any means.”

A strange premonition sank within her blood, and Marguerite suspected where this was leading. “Who owned the land before?”

“The Earl of Cairnross,” the messenger admitted. “You may have heard of him.”

Marguerite nearly choked at the mention of the man who had killed her maid and caused torment to so many prisoners. To own the land, rebuilding a fortress upon the blood of so many men, seemed like a cruel jest.

Callum gripped her hand to keep her calm. In his eyes, she saw the reassurance.

“Come inside, and you may take shelter with us before you return to England,” he offered to the messenger. To his younger brother Dougal, he instructed, “See to it that Laren finds a place for these men.”

The messenger withdrew a gold ring and handed it to Marguerite. “This ring is to be given to your son. It belongs to the earl and is a sign of the king’s favor.”

She smiled and thanked him, concealing the ring in her palm. Her daughter began to fuss, and Marguerite handed the infant into Callum's arms, where she calmed instantly.

The men followed Dougal back to the fortress, and after they had gone, she turned back to Callum. “Will it be painful for you to return to Cairnross?”

He shook his head. “The memories of that place will never be gone from me. But we’ll rebuild it and make new ones.” Leaning in, he stole a kiss from her. “I always wanted to give you land and a castle. I suppose I finally can, thanks to the earl.”

With their children between them, she rested her forehead against his. “I never needed them, Callum.” Smiling at their son and daughter, she added, “For you’ve already given me treasures beyond price.”