Chapter 35

CHAPTER 35

After two days of spending almost every moment in each other’s arms, including a memorable afternoon sharing a bath, Grant knew they could tarry no longer. The servants were a bit alarmed, no matter how many times Emma reassured them that he was her husband, as per the Queen’s Edict.

It seemed they had all expected her to wed someone named Lord Darrow—a name that was familiar to both of them yet they could not place.

On the third morning, after Grant had backed Emma up against a wall, hiked up her skirts, and taken her, he knew they had to leave today.

Packing up provisions took no time at all, for if the servants were suspicious and nosy, they were also helpful and solicitous. They had taken good care of Balfire, and if some could be a bit standoffish, they were always polite.

All in all, Grant decided that he wouldn’t mind returning to Cambarelle, the place where they’d confessed and consummated their love. But he longed to return to Scotland.

And so did Emma, it seemed.

When she joined him in the hall, with a packed bag and a letter in hand, she smiled at him. “It’s all arranged. There’s a gentle, strong palfrey that I can take.”

Grant bit back a smile. He had long suspected that if Emma could get over her fear of horses, then she might come to love the gentle, smooth-gaited, palfrey.

Unable to help himself, he feigned worry as he said, “Love, ye can ride with me. I ken how ye dinnae like to ride.”

“No, no,” she said in a serious tone. “I am to be the Lady of Clan Ronson—I must know how to ride. And Rosie is very sweet.” He smiled, and she swatted at him. “You think you are so coy, Grant, but I knew you were teasing me.” She stepped closer and crooked a finger so that he would lean down. Against his cheek, she whispered, “I have you, Grant, so I never worry.”

She kissed his cheek and then spun away.

Grant was about to grab her and kiss her senseless in the front hall, when someone cleared their throat delicately. Her aunt’s steward stood there, glancing between them with amusement written all over his face.

Emma immediately hurried over to him, pulling a letter out from her pocket and rattling off instructions. Grant listened with pride as she explained in perfect detail that they were to send along the rest of her belongings, to give her family the letter, and to post any mail to “Lady Ronson.”

Grant also could not help but beam—rather foolishly, at that. The steward seemed startled by her words, but then he smiled and saw them out.

They stepped into the fresh morning air, and Grant watched the light bathe Emma’s lovely face. Holding out an arm, he winked at her. “Ready?”

“Yes,” Emma said, smiling at him. “Let’s go home.”

“Ye are sure ye dinnae want to wait for yer faither and aunt?” Grant asked, a bit dubious. “Or yer maither?”

“My mother is still in the Highlands with Agnes,” Emma said. “And if they want to visit, they may.”

Grant nodded and said no more as they approached the stables. He thanked the stablehands for their help, then helped Emma onto the horse. She was still a bit clumsy, and he was glad for the Palfrey, who seemed gentle enough to handle a nervous rider and strong enough to plod all the way to the Highlands.

Once they were both on their horses, Grant cast a look at the manor, trying to commit it to memory. He’d always be a bit fond of this bit of England, at least. And very fond of his Sassenach . He glanced back to see her watching him and grinned. She smiled and winked, then urged her horse forward.

This time, he let her lead the way back to Banrose—and their future.

A Few Weeks Later

As the summer drew to an end, the days still long but the nights beginning to stretch, Emma stepped out into a fiery, molten evening, with red roses in her hair and her hands.

She wore a pale gold dress and a sash made of Banrose tartan. Brenda came forward to help her down the stairs, her hair shining like starlight and her eyes filled with love.

Nearly every day since Emma had returned, they had spent time together—walking in the gardens, discussing clan matters that a lady needed to be aware of, working together side-by-side in the gardens, or visiting the hospital. They had both striven to find friendship. And now, something better had blossomed in its place—true love, a sense of family.

Emma had never thought she’d want a second mother, but now she could not imagine life without Brenda. The older woman’s quiet strength and endless compassion resonated with Emma, who aspired to be as strong and kind as her. Indeed, she realized that Grant’s fears about his mother, which he’d spoken of on their long ride back, were a thing of the past.

The woman grieved, indeed. But as she told Emma, she grieved for the man Reuben could have been were it not for his father’s cruelty.

And though things were peaceful, Emma sensed that it would take time for those wounds to fully heal—for all of Banrose.

Yet, as she walked the grounds alone as Lady Ronson, she sensed something different in the air. A lightness, despite the heavy stones, and new hope. Laughter and song seemed to come quicker and easier, and folk strove to be kind and decent.

When Emma had spoken to Grant about it, wondering whether the cruel actions of his brother and father had spurred their folks to be better, he had smiled and nodded.

“Aye, in part,” he’d said. “But also…”

“What?” Emma had asked and tilted her head as he gave her an inscrutable look.

“Ye, Emma,” he had murmured. “Ye’ve brought somethin’ here that none of us kenned we needed—and now we dinnae ken how we lived without it.” He had kissed her softly and held her close. “Light, joy, and somethin’ else I cannae name. But I see it in yer smile, in the way ye toss yer hair, in the twinkle in yer eyes. Banrose is blessed to have such a Lady.”

Emma’s entire body ached with happiness, gratitude, and humility every time she thought of those words—and no more so than tonight, it seemed. Brenda squeezed her hand, as though sensing that she was overwhelmed with joy.

The congregation joined them at the garden gate, dressed in tartan and flowers, nodding their heads.

Kyla came forward and waved her hand, leading the way. They passed through until they reached the oldest part of Banrose, where a gnarled tree stood sentinel, carved with generations of names and initials, and roses ran riot over the stone walls.

Grant stood there, waiting. He was dressed in a white shirt and a kilt, with his hair tied back. His eyes and smile were soft as he stepped forward to take Emma’s hand, and then he kissed his mother’s cheek.

“Thank ye.”

Kyla stepped forward, holding a book and smiling. She wore a circlet of white flowers, and it seemed to Emma that they’d stepped into a different world. The land seemed to call to her with flowers and song, and she sensed that she’d always belonged here. That the land had been waiting for so long and now welcomed her with open arms.

The fading light poured into the garden through an archway that faced the loch as Kyla bid them all welcome. Emma had wanted her new friend to officiate their wedding, and Grant hadn’t been sure she could, but then he found a way.

For they’d told no one of their secret handfasting ceremony and instead had immediately agreed to Brenda’s idea of having one on the day they returned.

In a few months, they’d be married, when all of Emma’s family could attend, and she looked forward to that. But these sacred vows, witnessed by Banrose, bound her to this place.

And Grant, who she fell more in love with every day.

Kyla spoke in Gaelic at first, sweet and lovely, and while Emma was learning bits of it, she did not understand all of it. Instead, she let the music of it wash over her and pictured Grant murmuring against her skin. Then, Kyla switched to English, and Emma tried not to weep at the healer’s declaration.

“Now, ye shall be bound as the Lord Above intended—husband and wife cleaving unto each other,” Kyla said. “With this cord, ye shall be bound, and these fine folk of Banrose shall bear witness.”

Emma pulled in a breath as Grant pulled out the red cloth they’d used in their secret ceremony. She had not seen it since that time and had secretly feared they’d forgotten it at Cambarelle. He winked at her, for it now had gold and blue tasseled cords braided around it.

He passed it to Kyla, then reached for Emma’s hand and threaded their fingers. Kyla took the cloth, reverent and seemingly fighting back tears as she wrapped it around the wrists of her Laird and Lady.

“Now ye are bound with a tie that nay man or queen—” folk burst out laughing at that—“shall break. We bear witness to the bindin’ of Laird and Lady Ronson, Grant Miller and Emma Wells. May ye always find each other, and may yer love grow stronger every year.”

Emma’s eyes filled with tears as she went up on her tiptoes. Grant was already reaching for her with his other hand, and their lips met in a kiss.

She laughed as cheers rang out, then fiddle music and trumpets sounded from beyond the walls—for all of Banrose was waiting outside the garden to celebrate the new Lady Ronson.

“I love ye,” Grant said, “and ye cannae think I didnae keep our cloth, Emma.”

Emma gazed up at her husband, his joyous smile and bright eyes, and all she could say was, “I love you.”

And they kissed again, before rushing to dance and make merry until dawn broke.