by Lynn Kurland
She realized she'd fallen asleep only when she felt Thomas stir next to her. She lifted her head off his shoulder and looked around her.
No ghosts.
"We're alone?" she asked sleepily.
"I'm sure it won't last," he said. "Jamie invited us for dinner. Let's drive there while we have the chance to do it by ourselves."
" 'Tis likely safer than walking," she agreed with a yawn. "Wouldn't want to trudge into medieval England by mistake."
"Heaven forbid."
She let him bundle her up, put her in his car, then drive her the small distance to Jamie's keep. He walked with her to the door. She stood on the top step and looked at him standing on the step below her.
"Did I dream today?" she asked with half a smile.
"I certainly hope not. You agreed to marry me, remember?"
She put her arms around his neck and held on tightly. "Thank you," she whispered. "Thank you for my life."
"No, the thanks are mine." He hugged her and was silent for several moments. "I love you, Iolanthe."
She pulled back and looked at him. There was but faint light from the stars above, but she hoped he could see that there was no lie in her eyes.
"I love you, Thomas McKinnon. I loved you before. I just couldn't say it to you."
He was silent for a moment, but he was smiling. "Thank you," he said finally. "I wondered."
"You won't have to wonder in the future."
"Neither will you." He kissed her softly. "Let's go inside before we freeze. And then call me when you get up tomorrow if you want company. My company," he clarified. "We could go for a walk."
"Aye."
"With a map."
"It would probably be safer that way," she agreed.
"A map and a score of chaperons," he groused.
"What more could you want?" she asked with a smile.
"What indeed?" He smiled, kissed her, and ushered her inside the house.
She held him back at the door. "Thomas?" she said.
He stopped and looked down at her. "What?"
"Thank you. For the tomorrows."
He smiled, that same smile that had taken her aback the first time she'd truly seen him in the guard tower when she'd first put her hand in his.
As if he'd found what his heart had sought his whole life.
It was a smile to take into her heart and treasure.
"Let's go," he said gently. "Your family is waiting."
"My family is here," she said, squeezing his hand.
And the smile that earned her was enough to bring tears to her eyes. So she didn't protest when he kissed her, then led her through the great hall to the kitchen.
Epilogue
A month later, Thomas stood on the deck of his house and stared out over the beach in front of him. It wasn't really the kind of day that was made for standing outside. It was January, cold as hell, and blustery to boot. But he loved the sea, so there he stood.
And as he stood there, he thought back over the past month and all the things that had changed in his life.
That had changed his life.
First and foremost, of course, was finding himself married to Iolanthe MacLeod. He'd expected to have it be the best thing he'd ever done. He hadn't expected to have it rock him to the core.
Her passion had just about done him in. And it wasn't just making love to her that devastated him so. It was watching her seize up every shred of enjoyment from every moment of life that left him breathless. It didn't matter whether she was walking along the beach or praying out loud on a transatlantic flight; she never did anything halfway.
It was like seeing his entire life afresh from someone whose eyes never missed a thing and whose bone-deep satisfaction in whatever came her way left him no room to take anything for granted.
And that made him wonder what she was doing at present— and how dangerous that thing might be. With Iolanthe, one just never knew.
He turned to go back into the house, sparing a nod for the Highlanders who decorated the outside of his house.
"My laird," several said, with nods of deference.
Well, that was something else entirely, but he'd think about it later, after he'd found his wife and made certain she hadn't found herself bested by a modern invention. She usually came out on top, but it had been touch and go there for awhile. He suspected that she hadn't done all that much investigating at Jamie's. Either that or she felt more at home in his home.
Which he hoped was the case.
He found her, finally, in his study, staring up at the painting over the desk. It was the portrait he'd had done of her months ago.
"It is a beautiful picture of you," he said quietly.
She shook her head. " 'Tis haunting, Thomas. I can scarce take my eyes from her. Was she so miserable, then?"
He put his hands on her shoulders. "I can't answer that, Iolanthe. Your book would tell you more than I could. When I met that woman, she'd had centuries to grieve for what she'd lost."
"But you gave her love."
"And she gave me love in return."
Iolanthe turned and looked up at him. "And so I've loved you twice," she said with a smile. "Perhaps I am doubly blessed."
"I know I am," he said fervently.
She laughed, then turned and lifted her book from the top of his desk. She smiled at him.
"I have something to show you. Come outside with me?"
"It's January."
"It's the sea. And I can tell by your cheeks that you've already spent a goodly amount of time staring over the railing, so I daresay you can bear a bit more. Besides, I hear the sound of piping, and you know how you love a goodly bit of piping whilst you watch the sea."
"Well, you have a point there."
She led him through his own house, seemingly as comfortable in it as if she'd lived there all her life. He wasn't sure how it was possible, but it felt more like home since she'd come, as if it had been built more with her in mind than him.
"What are you going to show me?" he asked, once they'd reached the deck.
She leaned on the railing, then handed him her book.
"Look on the last page," she said.
He opened the book, which he had to admit he hadn't read very much of. It hadn't been from a lack of desire. It had been painful to read, and he'd only managed it in short doses. He was far from the end, which he supposed was why he'd never seen what he was looking at now.
A drawing of his house in Maine.
Of the ocean in front of his house.
He looked at it silently, startled.
"When did you do this?" he asked, finally.
"After I'd read the book. Jamie told me to sit and think of where I would go if I could go anywhere. And," she added, looking at him, "who I would share that anywhere with. And so I drew this from my dreams."
"My house."
"Aye, apparently."
He stared at the drawing for a moment or two more, then shut the book. He drew his wife into his arms and rested his cheek on top of her head.
"I love you," he said quietly.
"And I love you, Thomas McKinnon."
He closed his eyes and listened to the waves rolling ceaselessly against the shore. He felt as if they had been standing there together for centuries. He had an idle memory come to him of thinking that he would be wise to duck just in case Fate sent any stray arrows winging his way.
A good thing he hadn't taken his own advice.
"I can," he murmured against her hair, "hardly believe you are mine. I can still see you standing in your hall with the sun streaming down on you. I thought I'd never again take a normal breath."
She pulled back to look at him. "You came to me first in my dreams, then in my memories, then in my life. And I don't know now if I'll ever manage a normal breath again."
He laughed. "If we're dreaming, I hope we never wake up."
"We're not dreaming, Thomas." She put her arms around him and hugged him tightly. "Not anymore."
Their dreams had come true.