Extended Epilogue

Four Months Later

Merry flutes and pipes rang out across Loch Briorn. Children laughed and darted underfoot, while laughter and snatches of song rose to the bright blue skies. The ground was hard with a late frost, but signs of spring were at every corner. From the soft pink of the afternoon sky to the hints of green among the trees—and the cry of the babe in the center of the celebration.

He lay on a blanket made of MacLarsen tartan, red-faced and red-haired, with Fergus beaming at him, still bright-eyed and foolish, as though the lad had just been born today instead of months ago. Kristie, meanwhile, doted on her son, along with Agnes, the auntie who would spoil him rotten, and Dusty, who'd appointed himself as a small guard dog—well, guard cat.

"Ach, he's gettin' so big already," Kristie said. "He'll be taller than Fergus, mark me words."

"I think you're right," Agnes said and tickled the lad's belly, coaxing a hiccupping laugh from him.

The merriment of the ceilidh, thrown to celebrate the lad's birth, had been a bit too much. Kristie had worried about the cold, while Fergus had worried about rain—though the skies were clear. And Granny Ro…

"Have ye given the poor child a proper name yet?"

She hobbled over with her cane, frowning, and a cat hopped up on the bench where Agnes sat. Allegedly, it was a different cat than Old Jake of yesteryear, but Kristie had confessed to Agnes that she suspected it was the same.

"Goodness kens how me grandmaither came across an immortal cat, but if anyone could…"

Dusty hissed at Old Jake, who gave them a disinterested, baleful look and slunk away. Meanwhile, the gray cat, now older with gangly limbs, curled up against the babe's side again. Kristie stroked a hand down his fur and wrinkled her nose joyfully at him, then glanced at Fergus and Agnes.

"Aye, Granny, we have," she said softly. Then she stood up and let out a long, musical whistle.

"Why are ye callin' for Leo? Just tell me," Granny Ro said with a thump of her cane.

"Ye will see," Kristie said with a smile.

Through the crowd, smiling and laughing, his gray eyes dancing as he took in his family, came Laird MacLarsen. Without his mask, smiling so that one did not even think of his scars. Not that his people did.

Indeed, when he returned with Agnes that fateful day, he'd eschewed the mask, preferring to get it over with. Still, Agnes remembered how he'd squared his shoulders as he marched in and all but glared around. A few folks had done double takes, but Hamish simply came over, bid his Laird and Lady good evening, and took the horses.

Granny Ro had come out at that juncture, as Leo had looked around, sagging a bit, and she'd let out a cry of joy. "Och, finally."

Kristie had come running out, asking, "What? What?"

"Yer braither finally took off that ugly mask. Now we might all draw a proper breath around him and nae feel as if a Seelie warrior is tryin' to suck out our souls."

"Is that how ye felt, Gran?" Leo had asked dryly, some humor flickering on his face.

At the same time, Agnes remembered how he'd looked around again, a little baffled and bashful that no one seemed to care.

"Och, aye, folks need to face a thing, Leo. And ye are their Laird. They ken those scars mean ye fought for them—and yer kin." Granny Ro had come up and laid a hand on his arm. "I'm glad ye married a dark-haired woman with common sense instead of that connivin', little demon with her blue eyes and blonde hair."

Agnes, Leo, and Kristie had laughed at that, a joyous sound that had brought Fergus out.

And since then, everyone had seemed relieved to see Leo without his mask.

"Och, it was a dreadful thing for him to wear—to carry around the burden of the past on his face," Madame Senga had confided in Agnes once, confirming to her that everyone had felt the same.

And now, four months later, Agnes knew her husband believed it. He did not even think of his mask, though he had yet to throw it away.

She smiled to herself. One day.

"Ye called?" Leo asked as he came up to Kristie.

"‘Tis time," she said simply.

"Och," he said and scooped up his nephew, then stood up on the bench, causing Fergus to let out a loud squawk of alarm.

"Oy, ye great fool, dinnae drop ‘im!" Fergus cried.

The noise around them died down. Leo looked down with a raised eyebrow, and Fergus flushed. Laughter rang out then, and Leo grinned.

"I would ne'er," he said and held up the babe. "I ken ye have all wondered what the name of this fine lad would be. There were many, many debates—mostly because Kristie is as obstinate as a mule—"

"Watch it," his sister growled.

More laughter, and Leo grinned wider. "Some of us wondered if he'd ever have a name. But last night, I came up with a perfect idea, and these two fools agreed." He lifted the lad higher, who blinked around at the crowd and nipped Leo's fingers. "Meet Callum James of MacLarsen."

Next to Agnes, Granny Ro pulled in a sharp, wet breath, and Agnes reached out, squeezing the old woman's hand. Meanwhile, Leo leaped down, swinging the babe to his chest and eliciting cries from the crowd. Kristie swore at him, while Fergus reached for his blade, but Callum was safe and held out to his great-grandmother.

"Callum," Granny Ro said and took the babe, hugging him. "And James." The names of her husband and her son. She pressed a kiss to Callum's forehead and then smiled up at Leo. "Thank ye."

Leo pressed a kiss to his grandmother's cheek. "Think nothin' of it."

"And we shall name our daughter after you," Agnes whispered.

Granny Ro's eyes went dry in an instant. "Ach, away wi' ye, ye fresh thing. Ye will do nay such thing—givin' a poor babe me strange name."

"I told ye," Leo whispered in Agnes's hair as she bit back a laugh.

"Me Laird, Me Lady, ye have guests," came a breathless voice as a guard ran up to them. "And a letter."

Agnes took the letter as they exchanged a commiserating glance. Leaving behind Granny Ro fussing over Callum, Fergus still glaring at Leo, and Kristie cursing in Gaelic, they followed the guard to the edge of the crowd.

There stood a small knot of people, including a tall, calm man and a smaller, less rotund man mopping his bald pate despite the cold day.

"He came," Leo murmured.

"I told you he would," Agnes replied and hurried forward, tucking the letter in her pocket. "Thank you for coming, Laird Grierson."

"‘Tis nothing between good neighbors," Grierson said with a smile and then glanced at the man next to him. "Meet me braither. Younger, wiser, and—dare I say—perhaps a far better laird than I'll ever be."

The man started. "Ach, dinnae say such things."

But Agnes and Leo exchanged a soft, sad smile.

Grierson had changed much since his daughter had been sent away and his son had taken to the sea. Now, the man's gaze always seemed to be fixed on something distant that only he could see, and he seemed to slip away a bit more every time they saw him.

Leo greeted the Laird's brother, while Agnes drew Grierson aside and offered him a gentle smile. "She is well, My Laird."

Flora's father all but sagged. "‘Tis good to hear, but still…"

Agnes nodded and told him more about her visit. She and Leo had visited the convent and Flora a month ago, then went to visit Lord and Lady Cumbria. The visit with Flora had been hard, for she was struggling to adjust, but there was a tinge of peace in her blue eyes that Agnes had not seen before.

Yet, for all her earnest apologies to Leo and Agnes, she did not think she deserved grace or forgiveness.

Moreover, she was adamant that she did not want to see her family.

At that, Larid Grierson's eyes glistened with tears. "But when?"

"Give her time, My Laird," Agnes said in a soft voice. "She feels that she has done you a grievous wrong. She needs to heal and mend her soul—her heart. Perhaps later this summer."

"Thank ye," Laird Grierson said and squeezed Agnes's hand, before hurrying back to Leo and his brother.

Agnes sighed as she watched him go, thinking of her parents. It was still surreal in many ways to think of Lavinia and Matthew as her parents, though she exchanged constant letters with her mother. In some ways, it hurt to think of what she had missed as Lavinia's daughter.

But then, she would not have been Sister Theresa's daughter. Sister Theresa and Joanna, who had come from Craeghil to meet her and Leo by the Lowater for a glorious picnic one afternoon. Craeghil, which was slowly changing now that Mother Superior was gone and Sister Theresa was in charge.

"I may even send Joanna for a visit," Sister Theresa had whispered to her, and Agnes hoped in her heart that she would, but also that it might be impossible.

Pulling out her mother's letter, she flicked it open, though she knew she should wait. Skimming over the first few lines, her heart lurched and then fell.

Emma is still away, no sign of when she might return—or if she'll visit. I'm sorry, my love. I know you will meet one day.

"No word from Emma?" Leo asked. Agnes looked up with a smile and then shook her head. "She may need time, too."

Agnes pulled in a deep breath and nodded.

When they had visited her parents, Matthew had told them that the Queen had rejected his plea to spare Emma from the Edict. Even though one Wells daughter had wed a Highlander, it was not enough—not when Emma had flouted it.

"Within a year, she must wed a Highlander, and one that the Queen approves of."

Agnes swallowed hard and thought of her twin, who had tried and failed to escape.

May you find the freedom and joy that I did, Sister.

Leo nudged her, and she shook her head. "Apologies, I was daydreaming."

"Emma will be fine," Leo said. "Perhaps nae as lucky as her twin, but I cannae imagine such a high-spirited lass nae being a good match for a Highlander."

"And then perhaps she'll be close by," Agnes said. Music started up, and her heart stirred, then she handed Leo the letter for safekeeping. "Will you hold on to this?"

"Aye," Leo said and carefully tucked it into his sporran. Then his brow furrowed, and he snatched his wife back by the elbow as she began to walk away. "Where are ye goin'?"

"I should check with Gilley and Marta—"

"Nay, nay, leave all that to them," Leo said and stepped back, even as he held out both hands. "Ye should dance with me."

Agnes thought back to the bonfire, of yearning to dance, and of the times since then when there had been music but no opportunity to dance with her husband. This was all she wanted, and yet…

"I-I don't know how to dance," she stammered out, blushing.

"That's why ye have me, Nes," Leo said with a smile that made his gray eyes twinkle. "I shall teach ye."

Now Agnes felt her smile turn from bashful to mischievous. "Don't I ask you to teach me too much?"

Leo swung her around with a groan. "Nae nearly. Ye are a fearsome thing—if ye kenned everythin', Fergus and I would rightly bet that ye'd rule all of England and Scotland. Leave somethin' to the rest of us mortals, wife."

"I am also mortal, husband," Agnes sassed, with a hint of a fib on her tongue.

Leo spun her around again, moving her in rhythm to the music, and something in her seemed to recognize what to do.

Her eyes lit up. "Oh, it's like—"

His eyes flashed with alarm and amusement as he pulled her close and pressed a finger to her lips. "Aye, wife, but dinnae go shoutin' it out here, wild heart. And follow me."

She did, stumbling over some steps, but then getting the hang of it. She twirled and clapped, and every time she nearly fell, Leo was there to catch her. He spun her around and around, out and then back to him. Laughter bubbled out of her, and Leo laughed, too, and then the music slowed.

Leo's head flew up, and he made a face, but then he hauled Agnes close. His lips brushed against her forehead, and she shivered then pressed against him.

"I think I prefer this kind of dancin'," Leo said.

"I think I prefer the type behind closed doors," Agnes whispered before she could stop herself.

Leo let out a rough laugh and shook his head. "Ye are such trouble. I dinnae ken how ye grew up in a convent."

"Too much restless energy," Agnes said in a soft voice, and Leo met her eyes. His gaze was heated. "Too curious."

"Aye, and what are ye curious about now?"

"Where we might find a quiet corner where you can pick me up and do what ye did last—"

"Nes," Leo groaned, and his teeth grazed the shell of her ear. "Enough. Ye will make me come during this dance."

Agnes laughed and then fell silent, while Leo held on to her tighter. "D'ye want to go find a spot?"

Agnes bit back a shriek of laughter and swatted at her husband. "Oh, you wicked man. This is how you got me with child, you know."

"Aye," Leo said, his eyes molten. "I ken. And I cannae wait."

"You know, when I learned that I was with child," Agnes confessed, for of course, she had learned on the road between her parents' estate and Craeghil, "I prayed for the first time in an age."

Leo's face softened, and he slowed their steps. "Och, Nes." Then his brow furrowed as he caught her fighting a smile. "Why, when was the last time ye prayed?"

"When I saw how big you were," she said, and he choked on a laugh. "How I prayed."

"Ye wee devil," Leo murmured, shaking his head. "Were ye so terrified?"

"No," Agnes said, and he tilted his head, puzzled. She lifted a hand and crooked her finger at him to make him come closer. "As aroused as I am right now." She pressed a kiss to his cheek. "Your sister told me that being with child makes you want to make love night, day, and all times in between."

Leo laughed and kissed her hard, then, hand-in-hand, the Laird and Lady stole back to their tower.

For as their people knew—and would long speak of them—they did not like to spend a minute apart. How could they, when two souls so belonged together?

The End.