Epilogue
Caisteil an Dòchais Castle Dochash—Castle of Hope— Spring, in the year of Our Lord 1376
It was not a year and a day but it was as long as Athdar was willing to wait before solemnizing their union. Though their new tower and chapel would not be ready for some time, they decided that the hall would do just fine for them.
And considering that she was well pregnant with his child, he preferred to have it done before she delivered. Surrounded by many more MacLeries than MacCallums, they spoke their vows and he could have sworn that even her father celebrated their marriage.
When Isobel recognised the pattern of what he thought had been his curse and exposed Laria’s terrible plotting that had cost them a dozen or more lives over the last three decades, she had given him his soul and his mind back. Being able to finally talk about the truth of the accident and to understand his part in it now, looking back as adult, he was able to mourn the friends he’d lost fully.
The nightmares, the spells, all disappeared over the months since that night. Because of his love for her, he faced the black pit that night and rescued her. In truth, she had rescued him and he never let a day go by when he did not show her what she meant to him.
After the vows, after the celebration, after everything they had to do in front of their kith and kin, he carried her up to their chamber for the one thing he’d been longing to do with her...to play a game of chess with the winner claiming a prize of their choosing. He’d spent weeks with the recuperating Rurik, honing his game skills, and was determined to win.
Later after she’d explained what she wanted as her prize and Athdar did as she demanded, he held her in his arms and fell into a peaceful sleep, knowing that she was the true prize and she was his.
* * *
Even as he watched Athdar carry Isobel up the stairs, Connor knew that Jocelyn would claim victory. But, as the rumours around this keep told him, neither the winner nor the loser ever seemed to mind when love was the ultimate prize of the game.
‘So, I wonder if we must allow them to claim victory,’ Duncan said, clearly reading his thoughts. ‘Did we set down any rules about meddling mothers?’ he asked, always the peacemaker.
‘Meddling was not permitted by the mother, but there was no rule about meddling aunts or other kin,’ Jocelyn said.
‘This is twice now you have overstepped,’ he said to her as he lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed the inside of her wrist. She shivered, as he knew she would, in response. ‘I think that gives us the win in this one.’ He knew she would argue, but the result was the same—a well-made marriage for another child of theirs or their closest, most loyal friends and family.
‘I think we can call this match an even one,’ Duncan said. ‘Which means that the women won the first, but these last two have been ties.’
‘So we won?’ Marian asked. She was thinking already of what prize she would claim from her husband—even Connor could see it on her face.
‘I guess we must concede then?’ He looked at each of the men who nodded or shrugged their assent without trying to show their anticipation for whatever boon their wives claimed of them this night.
The other couples began to stand, to go off to the chambers they’d been assigned during their stay when he just couldn’t help himself.
‘Of course, there is always Aidan.’ Their eldest son was still not married, though it took little more than a look at the woman he’d taken as his leman to understand Aidan’s delay in seeking it.
‘Nay!’ Jocelyn said. They’d barely survived their daughter’s path to marriage, so she could not want to jump back in the fray so soon.
‘Aye!’ said Rurik. His friend just wanted to see another father fret over their daughter as he had over Isobel.
‘I think we should see how things proceed when we get back to Lairig Dubh,’ Duncan advised.
‘So, for now, I supposed we will have to consider the women to be the victors,’ Connor declared.
Within a few minutes, the table cleared and everyone went off to seek the pleasurable end now that this game they’d played was done...
Or was it?
* * * * *
Author Note
Post-traumatic stress disorder—PTSD—is a condition that we know about in today’s modern world and it is diagnosed and treated by mental health professionals. But not too long ago, this condition was misunderstood and feared because of the sometimes frightening symptoms.
In the medieval world, this condition would not have been recognised and would have been one of a myriad simply called ‘madness’ by healers, physicians and the clergy. The methods of treating that were more horrifying than the condition itself.
Athdar MacCallum is a victim of a trauma in his childhood that led his mind to hide the truth because it was too terrible for him to process. His symptoms—nightmares/terrors, overwhelming guilt, sleepwalking, blackouts linked to triggers and more—were/are common in PTSD sufferers. But in 1375 Scotland, madness would have been the likely diagnosis for Athdar.
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ISBN-13: 9781460321515
THE HIGHLANDER'S DANGEROUS TEMPTATION
Copyright © 2013 by Theresa S. Brisbin
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