Epilogue

EPILOGUE

The Wells sisters stood together on the front steps of Banrose Castle as the carriage pulled in. Emma reached out and her cold fingers collided with another pair. She and Agnes exchanged a look of hilarity, then squeezed each other’s hands.

As Emma looked at her sister, warmth rolled over her heart, and that strange sense of knowing. It wasn’t just that she was familiar, though more than one person had mixed them up since Agnes had arrived. It was a sense of linking, of not realizing something was missing until they’d been reunited.

Agnes smiled at her, bright and mischievous, her gaze filled with reassurance.

“It will be okay,” her sister whispered. “They only want to be reunited with you, Emma. To know that you are okay.”

“How do you know?” Emma whispered back as the horses drew to a stop and her heart began to beat too fast.

“I know,” Agnes said and looked to the carriage, with the familiar crest emblazoned on it. “They have missed you, terribly. And I think, in that, they also missed me. That’s why Mother came to Scotland.”

Emma shook her head, not sure she understood Agnes’s logic, but her sister had a deep, boundless compassion that often proved wise as any silver-haired old woman. She felt a burst of affection for her sister and yielding to impulse, laid her head on Agnes’s shoulder.

“I only wish we’d had more time together. Just the two of us.”

Agnes laughed softly. “Aye, me too.” Her cheek pressed against Emma’s hair as they waited for that carriage door to open. “But we’ll have more time. You will visit me often, and I shall visit you.” She paused. “After all, it’s not just us two, our husbands have grown quite fond of drinking, debating, gaming, jesting, and swordplay at unholy hours.”

“Sometimes all at once,” Emma said wryly, and a soft, huffed laugh came from behind her.

She lifted her head, meeting Agnes’s eyes, and then glanced back to see their husbands waiting behind them. Grant stood poised, his hands behind back, every inch the Laird of Banrose, while Leo lounged on the wall and shook his head.

“Oh,” Agnes said, and Emma turned back.

Her mother stood in the Banrose bailey, shaking from head to toe, and her hands at her mouth. There seemed to be a brighter touch of silver in her dark hair and her green eyes were filled with tears. Yet she also seemed to hold herself differently, her spine straighter and chin higher as she lowered her hands.

“Lavinia,” said a voice, and Emma felt a snap of rage.

For now, she knew the whole story, and while Agnes was working on forgiveness, Emma wasn’t sure she could.

Not until she saw her father step down, reaching for her mother, and watched his face fall as Lavinia pulled away, rushing toward her daughters. In another moment, Lavinia had embraced both of her daughters, weeping and laughing, pressing kisses to their temples.

And Matthew Wells stood alone, watching them with a tight jaw and downcast eyes.

After a stilted round of greetings, then showing her parents to their rooms, and letting them wash up, the day had passed in fits and starts. Emma had too many tasks for the wedding to worry about what to say to her father, but she’d barely managed a hello.

It soured every step, and she wanted to demand he leave—or explain, or…

“Emma.” Grant found her at the top of the stairs, their place from all those months ago, where they’d struck their bargain. “Yer faither and maither wish to speak with ye. They’re in rooms.” Emma let herself fall against her husband-to-be as he wrapped arms around her. “Ye want me to come?” She didn’t answer. “Or leave?”

“No,” Emma finally said. “I knew that I could not put this conversation off much longer. But thank you.”

She went up on tiptoe and gave him a sweet, swift kiss, and Grant caught her chin. “I will nae tell ye how to feel or what to say to yer faither, but that is a heartbroken man.” He swallowed. “And I cannae forget that he did try to save my life—or maybe did, by delayin’ the hangin.’”

Emma pulled in a breath, knowing that Grant was trying to give her something to hold onto, so she didn’t fall to pieces. To remind her of the strange coincidences and fates that twined them all. Or perhaps, Providence had intervened.

“I know terrible faithers,” Grant murmured. “The Earl would have tae work a bit harder to be as bad as mine.” Emma gave him a look. “Alrigh’, I admit that I rather like the man. But I just don’t want this hangin’ over ye on our weddin’ day. I’m a selfish?—”

Emma grabbed Grant’s shirt and pulled him down for a searing, blazing kiss. “You are not. You are trying to be fair and calm. I thank you.”

With that, she went to see her father, though every step dragged, and Emma remembered the night of her flight from Wells Manor.

What was it like to wake in the morning and find me gone? To find my letter? Emma swallowed as she opened the door to her parent’s room, not even bothering to knock, and both looked up. Relief leaped into their eyes and a piercing ache hit her chest.

Agnes was already there, sitting on the couch, and her face was calm, but her green eyes seemed wary. She tried to smile at Emma, then flashed a look at their father.

“Here, Emma,” Lavinia said. “Come sit.”

“I have no wish to stay longer than needed,” Emma said coldly.

Agnes’s face creased with worry, and she flew to her twin’s side. “Do not let what happened all those years ago cast a pall on your celebration,” she murmured. “Please. We are together now.”

“We could have been together all our lives,” Emma burst out, and clutched at her heart. Agnes slid an arm around her.

“You don’t know that.” Of all things for Matthew to say. Emma felt her temper surge like a storm under her skin.

Have you always been so unfeeling? Did I simply refuse to see it?

Her father seemed to stare at them as though he couldn’t even see them.

Emma might have flown at him if not for Agnes. “So, you don’t care what you’ve done? Or what you took from us? How could you be so selfish?”

“I thought your mother would die if Agnes did,” Matthew said, and closed his eyes. “She nearly did when our first child—our first daughter did not live. It was wrong and selfish, I knew that. I took that sin on to save her. I thought I…”

“You—you are the monster,” Emma spat. “All these years and you said it was the Scottish, but it was you. My husband—Agnes’s husband, they would never do such a thing. They would never be such a coward.”

“Emma,” Lavinia said, and came to her side. “Listen?—”

“No.” Emma looked at Agnes, whose eyes were glassy with tears. A sob broke from Emma, thinking of Agnes, alone and unaware, and for herself, longing for a sibling all those years. “How could you?”

“I…” Matthew stared at Emma, then at Agnes, and his chest heaved. Suddenly, he turned and went to the window. Silence pervaded the room, Emma’s chest burning, and she wanted to scream at him to leave—was about to demand Grant throw him from Banrose Castle when a dull shock went through Emma.

He's—he’s weeping.

The Earl of Cumbria and Fairisle Lakes, her father, had pressed his face into his hand as he wept. Lavinia pulled in a breath and both her daughters looked to her.

She seemed young then, a little uncertain, and then she began to move, walking faster and faster, until she came to her husband’s side. Lavinia pulled Matthew’s hand away and he looked at her, devastation written in every line of his face.

“I have always been so selfish when it came to you, my wife,” Matthew said. “And unreasonable.” His throat bobbed. “I meant to do right by you, and instead, I have broken your heart, your trust—lost you.” The Earl turned and let out a bitter laugh. “Emma is a canny thing, and she is rarely wrong. I am a monster.”

“Matthew.” Lavinia’s voice was soft, and their father tensed. “Matthew, look at me.”

Slowly, the Earl turned, and Emma thought she sensed it cost him a great effort. More than she could ever know, for such a powerful man to allow himself to be so raw and broken by his mistakes—and his love.

“I am so sorry, Livvy,” he murmured.

Lavinia put her hands on his face and gave him a tremulous smile. “And I am so furious with you, but…” Her face creased. “I forgive you—or I am close. Agnes wants that.” At that, Matthew startled and looked over at his daughters, while Agnes tightened her grip on Emma. “I want that, too. And… loath as I am to admit you are right…”

At that, Matthew let out a weak chuckle and looked back at his wife, some of old fire and mischief in his eyes. Emma started, suddenly realizing how similar Agnes and Matthew were. It softened her heart.

“You know that I always defer to you, Livvy,” Matthew murmured. “You are the wise one.”

“So, hark me now. Agnes told me of the Nuns and the old healer who cared for her,” Lavinia said. “And I wonder, if perhaps, you did save our daughter.” Emma felt a spike of temper and her mother looked over, giving her a warning look. “We shall never know. And we will go mad if we keep looking backward.”

Agnes drew in a deep, watery breath, and Emma looked to her, noting her twin was crying, but her eyes were shining. She seemed to be seeing their parents in a new light and a soft smile played around her mouth.

“I agree. Let us look forward and do our best to do right by each other.” Agnes drew in a deep breath. “After I give birth, I would be honored if you would both visit.” She glanced at Emma. “All of you. I shall need your help if the babe is anything like me or my sister.”

Matthew stared at Agnes, tears still tracking down his face, and he shook his head slowly. “You cannot have forgiven me.”

“Oh, Father, I believe the nuns and my husband would tell you that there’s no telling me what I can and cannot do,” Agnes said, with a bit of spice behind her words. “And I thought you understood that, too.”

“After all, she does take after you in that,” Lavinia said wryly.

Matthew mopped at his face, rough and sloppy movements that made him seem younger and more human. “I would be honored.” He looked at Emma and his mouth tightened. “And believe me, Emma, seeing you two together does make me realize what I took from you, your mother—and me. It brings me a terrible, terrible pain, guilt, and regret—and joy.”

Emma looked down and then pulled away from Agnes, needing a moment. She pulled in deep breath after deep breath. As much as she and Agnes had talked about this, what they needed from their parents was so vastly different.

“Emma.” Matthew had come over. “If you need to yell at me more, you may. Or send me away. You do not have to forgive me.”

“Do not tell me what to do,” Emma flashed. “And I am…”

“You cannot know how sorry I am that I made such a selfish choice—” Matthew swallowed hard. “Or that… when I learned Agnes was alive, I did not bring her home.”

“You knew?” Emma asked and whirled on him.

“Yes, I found out a year ago,” Matthew said. “By chance. We were in London, in the market, and I saw a nun staring at you. She made to approach you, then seemed to think better of it, and vanished.” His chest rose and fell, then he pressed a hand to his heart. “I knew, then. I made inquiries, of course, but I knew. She’d recognized you—and such a thing should have been impossible.”

“I would not have come,” Agnes said. At that, Matthew, Emma, and Lavinia all turned to her. “I would have chosen to stay, believe me. I only came…” Agnes gave Emma a wry smile and guilt twisted in her gut.

“Because I also take after our father,” Emma said. Pulling in a deep breath, she reached for Matthew’s hand and squeezed it. Her father jumped and gave her a disbelieving look. “I am sorry, too. And I… I forgive you.”

A weight seemed to lift from Emma’s shoulders, and she sighed, the relief of laying down a heavy burden.

“Thank you for coming such a long way to see me wed, Father,” Emma added softly. “And for apologizing.”

Matthew pressed a hand to Emma’s cheek, and she let out a hitched breath. “Of all you—you were the one I thought would never forgive me. Oh, Emma, Agnes.” He pulled Emma in, and then Agnes was there. “Oh, my sweet daughters. I am so sorry. I do not deserve you.”

Together, they hugged and wept and laughed a little. Sometime later, they got a hold of themselves and sat together, talking and snacking, trying to try at being a family.

While it was not as easy as when it was Agnes, Leo, Emma, and Grant, one day it might be.

After all, it was as Lavinia pointed out, “Your father might have made some terrible choices—but seeing the two of you so radiant and happy… I must say it has worked out. Somehow.”

“Well, I am a Wells,” Matthew said, with a glimmer of his old cockiness, and then laughed as Emma pelted him with a pillow, and Agnes followed.

Their laughter filled the room, and Emma thought she would enjoy seeing their parents as doting grandparents.

But she also would never let go of Agnes for as long as she lived.

For she was also a Wells and could be a tad unreasonable in her wants. It was a good thing that Grant was so accommodating in meeting all of them.

For the first time in months, Grant had awoken alone in the cool gray dawn. He went to the windows of his old rooms, staring out at the serene loch, and he closed his eyes as joy threatened to overwhelm him.

I never kenned I could feel like this.

No wonder poets went mad, and kings and queens waged war for it. No wonder he’d risked his life and freedom for it—for her . He opened his eyes and went to his desk to pick up the thick envelope there.

Again, he slowly unfolded the parchment within, his heart thrumming as he reread the missive. Written in a fine, dashed script of deep blue ink.

You are very lucky I adore a good love story, Grant Miller, and can read between the lines of your actions as MacCabe’s Blade.

May you and Emma Wells have every happiness.

I bless your union—and include your pardon within.

Q. Marianna.

Again, Grant felt a wave of dizziness, and he chuckled. Queen Marianna, the most powerful woman in all of England had held this paper and written to him. Blessing their union. Even jesting with him.

And his pardon lay within, with another copy at her Court.

He was free, and his children would be, too. Banrose was safe and recognized by the English crown. Those bastards wouldn’t be able to touch it.

They’d spotted some trouble near MacCabe’s lands, but Damien was already chasing whoever it was off. He’d been on his way to Banrose when he’d stumbled upon some Northern English bandits.

So long as he had Damien, Leo, McWirthe, and Fergus keeping an eye out, Grant could focus on his wedding.

Smiling to himself, he wondered if Emma had woken up yet. He knew that Agnes and Emma had slept together in Emma’s old room last night, and probably had been up half the night laughing and sharing stories.

He almost felt a bit put out that Agnes and Leo would be leaving soon, for he liked having them around, as well as Fergus and his feisty wife, Kristie. Damien had arrived late last night, while Emma’s family had joined them a few days ago.

Grant groaned. He couldn’t wait to get shut of Matthew Wells and his sister. Lavinia was lovely and had struck up a friendship with Brenda, which was nice. But the rest of those English fools had his staff running around day and night, it seemed.

It will be nice to have Emma all to meself again.

He got dressed in his rough clothes, planning on speaking to his steward and McWirthe, having a bit of breakfast, and maybe going out for a ride. Then, he’d hurry back, take a bath, and prepare for his afternoon wedding.

And then we shall make merry all night.

As he walked into the kitchens, his eyes fell on the tall, rangy man sitting on the table, chewing on an apple. His thick, unruly curls were fighting to get out from beneath his cap, falling into a single, brilliant blue eye. A blue that looked almost indigo or purple in some lights, and black in others. The other was lost to an enemy of his father’s when he was only sixteen.

“’Lo, Grant,” the man said cheerily. “Should ye nae be havin’ a bath, nae dressin’ like a farmer on yer weddin’ day?”

Grant laughed and shook his head. “Did ye sleep, Damien? I thought ye planned for a midnight ride or somethin’ along those lines? Gettin’ up to nonsense in the village now?”

“I slept well, Braither,” Damien said and hopped down. “Under the stars, dreamin’ in hazel and recitin’ old poems the English bastards would pretend our folk didnae write.”

Grant laughed and slapped his friend on the back. They had breakfast together, as they had a hundred times before in MacCabe Castle’s large kitchens. Standing, eating, and drinking coffee.

As hard as the days after he’d been exiled from Banrose had been, then later, when MacCabe had shaped him into a blade, an assassin, and a mercenary, he’d always found a steadfast friend in Damien.

Damien, who’d saved his life—and his soul—too many times to count.

“Thank ye for bein’ here,” Grant said in a low, serious tone as they stepped outside.

Damien’s head whipped around, and he nearly fell off the stairs.

Grant felt himself flush. “What?”

“Nothin’. I’ll just have to thank Emma again for bringin’ out this side of ye. I remember when ye would barely look at me, never mind speak.”

“See, this is why ye get thrown into lochs so often, Dames,” Grant drawled, his breath clouding the cold air.

A fresh coat of snow had fallen overnight, giving the world a soft and lovely look, and the sky overhead was a soft pink, mingling with the brighter blues.

All in all, it would be a lovely cold day.

“Is it?” Damien said, scratching his scruffy chin. No matter what, no matter how much he shaved, he always had a shadow of a beard. “I thought it was me good looks, intimidatin’ all the weak-willed fools who cannae charm a lady.”

“Christ, nae this,” Grant muttered. “Ye better keep it in yer pants and behave around me uptight English in-laws.”

Damien barked out a laugh. “Nay promises, love.”

“Bastard,” Grant said, even though he laughed. “Are ye comin’?”

But Damien didn’t answer.

Grant slowed down, glancing back at his friend, and he started at the cold, furious look in his eye and the tight smile on his face. He grabbed the pommel of his sword as he spun around. “Who?—?”

A tall woman stood there, wearing a fine silver dress, though it was dusty along the hem. A worn bag was slung over her shoulder, but it did not look like anything a highborn lady would wear. Because of this, Grant stared at her instead of bowing and watched her push silver-framed glasses up her pert nose, behind which big, brilliant hazel eyes inspected him.

“Greetings, do you work here?”

Behind him, Damien choked on a laugh, and Grant felt a surge of amusement, too.

“I—”

“Oh, good,” the woman said in a business-like tone. “I am a guest. But before I’m announced, is it true that Laird Ronson has a big library? I’ve heard so many wonderful things about the Banrose book collection. Would it be possible for me to see it? Emma won’t mind a whit.” She smiled, and there was something sweet there, something that told Grant that she did not care for titles or rules, but perhaps saw the world as it should be. “And once upon a time, I was meant to wed Laird Ronson.”

Grant couldn’t resist. He said in a low, stern voice, “Ach, we meet at last, Lady Helena.” He folded his arms. “Ye are late.”

Helena Lovell paled, her hands going to the straps of her bag, and she took a step back. “You—you… Oh. Oh no, I’m–”

Grant was about to say that it was all right, that he was only teasing her and she was welcome to see the books, when Damien elbowed him in the ribs.

“Enough, Grant,” Damien snapped. “Ye had yer fun. And I shall show ye the damn books… What was it? Lady Helena?” He gave a bow, and the movement seemed bitter. He stepped closer and gazed down at the woman. “Well met, lass. Laird MacCabe. Damien.”

Helena Lovell’s eyes went wide, and she seemed to turn as white as a ghost, staring at him as though she could not believe her eyes. Was she afraid of his eye patch? Or that he was a Highlander?

Or, had they met before somehow? For Grant could’ve sworn Helena seemed to recognize his friend.

And again, Grant grabbed the pommel of his sword as he gave Damien an uneasy look.

What in the hell was going on here? Was he going to have to duel his best friend on his wedding day? For Damien looked ready to murder the English lass.

No, was it…?

“Damien is right—I was uncouth,” Grant said and grabbed his friend’s shoulder. The man’s entire body was as tense and hard as steel. “Forgive me, Lady Helena, I am in a joyous mood and actin’ foolish.” He steered Damien away and bowed. “Welcome to Banrose. Ye are welcome to all our books, always. And I ken Emma has been anxiously waitin’ for ye.”

This seemed to break the spell, and Helena rallied, once again a cool and aloof lady of contrasts. For all that she was tall, elegant, and stylish, she also had her glasses and horrible, ugly bag.

“Oh, Emma said that you like to jest,” she said. Her eyes narrowed as she studied him. “Yes, I can see how you two are well suited. I am glad that you found each other, truly.” She smiled that sweet smile again, and Grant heard Damien suck in a sharp breath.

“I can show ye inside,” Grant said and offered her his arm, but she shook her head.

“No, I can find my way.” She glanced at Damien again. This time, her cheeks seemed to flush, and she swallowed hard. “Thank you.”

Grant knew he should protest, knew he should escort her inside, but she was already gone. Dazed, he turned to Damien, about to demand that his friend tell him what the hell was going on.

But Damien was gone, and Grant heard the thundering hooves as his friend tore into the countryside.

Well met, me arse . Wait until I tell Emma.

As it was, Grant forgot about the whole strange business of Damien and Helena thanks to the whirlwind of the day. Before he could go out on a ride, the steward had come to inform him that Matthew and Lavinia needed to speak with him. He’d dreaded it, but when he’d walked in and seen Leo giving him an ironic look, he’d relaxed.

Ach, I bet Queen Marianna told Matthew to give us gifts.

And indeed, she had. And Her Majesty sent her own.

By the time he concluded that business, Grant barely had time to go upstairs, scrub himself clean, and get dressed for his wedding. His hands were shaking a bit as he adjusted his kilt and tied his tartan sash. Finally, he threw on his furred cloak, strapped on his sword, and then stepped into the hall, where his mother waited.

“I am so happy for ye, me son,” she said. “Are ye ready?”

“Aye, I cannae wait a moment longer.”

They walked together downstairs, then outside, where a carriage waited. Already, there was a line of people streaming out of Banrose Castle and heading to the church sitting on a hill overlooking the loch, right before the village.

Snow fell from the trees as they rode along, but the frozen and hard ground made for a smooth ride.

Still, it seemed to take forever, and then Grant was walking down the aisle and nodding at people, before taking his place. His heart fluttered with anticipation, each moment taking longer than the next, and then a lone fiddle started up. He saw Damien slip in, then Agnes and Leo, Matthew and Lavinia, and finally, Emma.

She walked toward him, veiled in soft blues, and he saw nothing else. When she took his hands, trembling all over, he did not know how he would restrain himself from taking off her veil.

Somehow, he managed to stay his hands, perhaps by holding hers. But as soon as they were pronounced man and wife, he lifted her veil and kissed her hard, his heart leaping with satisfaction and triumph.

“I missed ye,” he murmured when they finally parted.

Grant thought she might tease him, might point out that it had been less than one day, but instead, she cradled his face and whispered, “I missed you, too.”

And he kissed her again to the sound of cheers and applause.

There was feasting, dancing, and toasting. It was a blur of handshakes, greetings, hugs, and good music. But all Grant wanted was a moment alone with his wife.

Finally, when they were dancing together, he murmured in her ear, “I am stealin’ ye from this damn crowd for a bit, wife.”

And Emma turned her face up to his, beaming. “Please do.”

The two of them managed to sneak off, hand-in-hand, and were nearly caught by another couple.

Only the couple was Helena and Damien. They were deep in a heated conversation, gesturing wildly with their hands, before Damien all but dragged Helena to the dance floor.

“What was that?” Emma asked.

Grant laughed. “I dinnae ken, but I have a feelin’ we will soon find out.” He then told her about that morning.

“Oh, I do wonder…” She stopped, realizing where he had brought her. “This is our place.”

“Aye,” Grant said. “Where I should have told ye I loved ye and never wanted to let ye go.”

Emma’s blue eyes were shimmering with tears and laughter as she reached for him. “I should have done the same. I love you, Grant.” She cupped his face in her hands. “My husband.”

“Me wife,” he murmured and bent to kiss her. “How I love ye.”

And standing together in their place, warm despite the cold, Laird and Lady Ronson knew that finding each other was all that mattered.

The End?