His people forget him, his face fades from sight
His soul dwells in darkness, he forgets the light.
Alexander felt a rush of sadness, remembering the pain he’d been in for so many years without even realizing how much it had hurt. He glanced at Cicilia, who was listening, enraptured, and suddenly he realized what she’d done.
His brave, clever, chaotic wife had somehow made a deal with the bard. She’d told him the story, all of it, knowing that the people gathered at the fair would listen. After all, there was still suspicion about him in the clan—suspicion that Alexander had garnered upon himself. He needed to regain the Clan’s trust.
And Cicilia was helping him.
He caught her eye, and she simply winked as the bard went on.
But then comes the farm-girl, a secret she holds,
Bicker though they may, fortune favors the bold,
She comes to the castle an’ brings wi’ her light,
Nae kennin’ just yet that she’s solvin’ his plight
An’ the Laird o’ the Castle is savin’ her to,
Above an’ beyond what a leader should do.
Alexander caught Cicilia’s hand and pulled her close, his other hand on her waist. They danced together in time to the music, swaying in a small circle as though the rest of the massive crowd had vanished.
He loves his people though he doesn’ae ken,
How to show outwardly, to his women an’ men,
So he saves them in secret, nae care for his fame,
A false veil o’ harshness has sullied his name
The song went on, surprisingly complimentary—to the point where Alexander found himself blushing at points—and even more remarkably accurate. It revealed some of the works he had undertaken in secret, some that he hadn’t even known anyone had noticed.
Once the story was done, the bard put down his lute. There was silence for a long moment, then the crowd broke into a crashing wave of applause.
“The winner!” Alexander announced, stepping up onto the platform. He handed the bard the silver pin and held his arm up in the air in triumph.
The bard smiled and thanked him while the crowd cheered. And then the most shocking thing of all happened.
Someone—Alexander would never know who—called out his name from the back of the crowd.
“To Alexander MacKinnon, Laird o’ Gallagher!”
All at once, the whole crowd had taken up the cheer, and they were chanting his name, applauding him, loving him as their Laird. The bard patted his back, but Alexander only sought one pair of eyes.
There was Cicilia, looking up at him with eyes shining with love and pride.
And Alexander finally knew he’d done well. For the first time since he lost them both, he knew beyond a doubt that his parents would be looking down on him, proud.
Epilogue
Audax at Fidelis
Bold but Faithful
Around a year had passed since the wedding, and Clan Gallagher was thriving. The Laird of the Clan was more popular than anyone could have possibly anticipated, and his wife was a beloved favorite of the people. They split their time; two-thirds in the Castle, a third on trips to the O’Donnel farm—though on many of these trips, Alexander stayed behind.
Not this time, though. This time it was Annys and Jamie’s birthday, and so the whole family traveled to Wauton. Cicilia would check how the farm was running and greet her friends, while Jamie would spend some time familiarizing himself with what would soon be his.
Sooner than I’d have thought. How can me wee siblings be nine already?!
Of course, Alexander had chosen to accompany them. Nathair stayed behind at the Castle to handle any emergencies for the next few weeks, and although Jeanie wanted to see her parents, she had opted to stay back, too. It was perhaps for the best, for two reasons. One, Jeanie had been carrying a baby for seven months now.
The second had been much more of a surprise. Jeanie, it turned out, had a remarkable aptitude with numbers, honed from the days of working at her stall and keeping house for herself and her grandfather. She had unofficially stepped into the gap left by the traitor Thomaes. She had been invaluable in helping Alexander with the clan’s wealth.
Is it nae just so strange how everythin’ worked out?
Cicilia smiled to herself, running her brush through Ailill’s mane. Alexander had insisted that he and Aibreann be the horses hitched to the small carriage that had brought the family to the farm. Cicilia found it rather adorable. Her husband was remarkably sentimental for a supposedly fierce Laird.
She glanced around the stable, her eyes falling on the place on the floor where Alexander had first kissed her, and a pleasant shiver of nostalgia ran through her body. How different everything had been then! How different they were now!
The stable doors were open, and it had just gone midday, so there was no real surprise when a shadow fell over the ground. She looked up, smiling, to see Alexander leaning against the doorway.
“Ye in here reminiscin’, Madame Gallagher?” Alexander teased.
She jokingly shook the brush at him, and he laughed, approaching deeper into the stable and petting Ailill’s nose when he reached their side. Cicilia grinned at him. “Finished tendin’ the bairns, have ye?”
“Och, they’re barely bairns anymore. Jamie’s gettin' so tall he’ll be lookin’ over me heid soon enough,” Alexander replied. He casually wrapped an arm around her, kissing her cheek.
Cicilia laughed. “Ye’re tellin’ me! I’m the short one. I dinnae ken how I’m supposed to control him when in a few years he’ll be literally lookin’ down at me!”
Alexander laughed, and the two of them returned their attention to the horses, chatting about small things in the way that couples do. Life was smooth, these days, in a way that Cicilia had never dreamed it could be after the death of her father.
Eventually, Cicilia said, “I cannae believe how long ago it a’ seems. How is it that just two years before now, I dinnae even ken what ye looked like? I feel I’ve kent ye me whole life.”
Alexander nodded. “I ken what ye mean,” he agreed. “Hard to believe ye were naught but a thorn in me side for so long.”
She smiled. “Aye, well. I’m naught if nae consistent. I’m still a thorn in yer side.”
He chuckled as she put down the brush. “Are ye ready to go?”
Cicilia nodded, opening each stall to let the horses out. Alexander took Aibreann by the reins, Cicilia took Ailill, and they led them out of the stable.
Neither of them spoke as they mounted the horses and began to ride the two-hour journey into Wauton. Cicilia had brought the twins on the way here, but now she wanted to take just Alexander. Her excuse to him had been that she wanted to talk with him alone.
Which is true. I do want to talk to him without the twins…though nae entirely alone.
It was a quiet ride, though not an uncomfortable one. In their time together, Cicilia and Alexander had learned how to be happy together in silence. They spoke little, occasionally commenting on the scenery or stopping for water. Still, Cicilia’s mind, at least, was firmly on their destination.
It was mid-afternoon when they reached Wauton Kirkyard. They tied the horses to the provided posts, made sure they had hay and water and then walked together through the iron gates.
Cicilia knew the path to the headstone that marked her parents’ grave so well she could walk it with her eyes closed. They arrived reasonably quickly, and she reached into her bags and drew out the wreath of flowers, which was surprisingly still neat for such a long journey. She knelt, placing it on the grave.
“Daddy. Mammy,” she said, feeling Alexander kneel next to her. She touched the words on the headstone, trailing the words with her finger like she always did.
For all the family’s wealth, it was a simple inscription.
Here lies Lillian MacRorie, beloved wife, adored mother.
And then a little further down:
And her husband, Ca
meron O’Donnel. Adored father.
Cicilia had only been able to add her father’s name once everything was in the open, and she still found herself getting used to seeing it there. It was a strange feeling, both extremely happy and terribly sad.
“Greetin’s to ye, Mr. O’Donnel, an’ ye, Mrs. Lillian. It’s always good to see ye,” Alexander said politely. “I hope heaven’s treatin’ ye both as well as ye deserve. Cicilia was determined we were comin’ to visit ye today, but I’m nae entirely sure why.”
He looked at her, and Cicilia smiled, realizing that she had not been as subtle as she thought. She supposed it didn’t matter; she needed to tell him anyway. Perhaps it was good that he knew some news was coming. Maybe it would make saying the words, making it real, much more comfortable.
“Aye. I wanted ye two to witness this. Ye deserve it more than anyone,” she said. Then she reached into her bag again, taking out something that made Alexander’s eyebrows raise in surprise.
It was a book. The book. Her father’s ledger, the one that she had taken such pains to hide from him what seemed like so long ago. Both of them kneeling at the graveside, she handed it to him. “I think,” she said, “It’s time that ye read this.”
Alexander blinked in surprise, then laughed loudly. “Och, ye’re really doin’ this now? I already ken most o’ it, an’ what I dinnae, doesn’ae matter much anymore, eh?”
“Humor me,” Cicilia entreated. “I want ye to read it.”
Though Alexander rolled his eyes a little, she knew he could not refuse her when she used that tone of voice. Sure enough, he opened it somewhere in the middle and began to read.
He chuckled every so often, perhaps every time he found another secret trick that she’d used to boost farm profits or hide her identity, but he didn’t show any anger. In fact, he seemed thoroughly amused, maybe even impressed.
But Cicilia’s stomach was in tight knots, waiting impatiently. She didn’t want to rush him, but she was so excited and nervous that every passing second made her feel like she may throw up.
Eventually, she couldn’t take it anymore. “Och, ye win!” she said impatiently.
Alexander looked confused. “I win at what? What did I do?”
Her own lack of patience would make her laugh later, but all it did now was make her point to the book and demand, “Turn to the last page.”
He furrowed his brow but did as she asked. The very last page of the book had fresher ink than the rest, scrawled by Cicilia’s own hand just this morning.
Alexander read it slowly while Cicilia anxiously watched his facial expression. It was unreadable as he took in the words, completely neutral, and it was impossible to tell what he was thinking.
Finally, slowly, he looked up. “Is this true?” he asked her. It sounded like he had something stuck in his throat.
“Aye,” Cicilia said, tears prickling at the back of her eyes. “Aye, I found out yesterday. I wanted—”
But she couldn’t finish her sentence before he’d grabbed her close, pulling her into a deep kiss. She threw her arms around his neck, responding in kind.
When they finally separated, Alexander was crying, too, a broad smile on his face. “Ye’re sure?”
“I’m sure,” she sobbed happily. She glanced at the book he’d dropped in the enthusiasm of her writing there under today’s date.
Future expenditure expected with the help of Laird Gallagher. Cicilia O’Donnel expected to birth a child in several months. The child will be heir to Gallagher clan and nephew to the future Farmer O’Donnel.
Alexander sniffed. “Such a ridiculous way to tell me,” he said, his enthusiasm bubbling up like a small child. “Ye’re a nightmare.”
“But I’m yer nightmare,” she teased.
He kissed her again, gently this time, then turned to the gravestone. He muttered something under his breath. Cicilia couldn’t hear, but she thought it sounded like he was thanking her parents. Then, looking back at her, he said, “Nay, Cicilia. Ye’re nae me nightmare.”
“Oh?” she asked. “Then what am I?”
“Ye,” he said, and then he lowered her hand to her stomach. It was still flat, of course, but his eyes were as full as wonder as if the child had somehow responded already. “Ye, an’ this wee bairn, cannae possibly be a nightmare. Nay, the pair o’ ye are beyond anythin’ I’ve had in me best dreams.”
She took his hands, resting her forehead against his. “It’s nae a dream, mo chidre. It’s real. We’re gonnae be a family.”
“Have ye told the twins yet?” Alexander asked quietly.
Cicilia shook her head.
“Then let’s head back.” He stood up, helping her to his feet. “We’ve told yer parents. Let’s go tell yer siblings. Together.”
“I’d love nothin’ more,” Cicilia answered, and they left the kirkyard, together and whole and happier than anyone had a right to be in the entire world.
The End?
Extended Epilogue
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Preview: Captured by a Highland Pirate
Chapter 1
Alec never felt as free as he did when he was standing at the helm of the Blazing Fire , sailing across the open waters of the sea. He breathed deeply and smiled, savoring the heavy salty scent of the ocean air. He leaned back against the aft railing and turned his face up to the sky, admiring the stars twinkling in the heavens above. He thought they looked like chips of diamonds nestled among the black velvet of the sky.
The moon sat high in the sky, climbing inexorably toward its zenith. It was nearly full, and its silver light sparkled off the surface of the sea, making the small whitecaps around them glow as if with an inner light. He thought it was beautiful. Magical. And it never failed to fill him with awe. With wonder.
Whenever he was out on the water, Alec loved looking at the stars in the sky above him. The heavens were so vast and so seemingly endless; it made him feel so small. But Alec often imagined himself one day sailing away, chasing the stars. When he was on his ship, he felt so free that Alec sometimes pictured himself letting the tide take him to where the stars eventually ran out.
“Tis a peaceful night.”
Alec turned to find his best friend and first mate, Rory Bathgate, ascending the stairs from the main deck to where he stood at the helm. Rory handed him a mug of mead and Alec watched the steam wafting off the surface, drifting upward to join the stars above them.
“Aye,” Alec replied. “‘Tis a soft, steady wind blowin’ us right along.”
“We should make Fortershire in thae small hours,” Rory said. “Should I wake thae lads’n get ‘em tae work?”
Alec shook his head. “Nay. Nae yet,” he replied. “Let ‘em sleep a wee bit longer.”
Rory leaned against the aft rail beside him and Alec raised his mug in appreciation. Together, they stood in silence, reveling in the night air. Alec had been friends with Rory for more years than he could remember. It seemed to him there wasn’t a time in his life he didn’t recall his oldest friend being around.
Rory was loyal and one of the best men Alec knew. And he appreciated the man’s friendship more than he could say. There weren’t many who saw Alec for who he was rather than for his position. Rory was one of the few exceptions.
“Why Fortershire?” Rory asked.
“Thae Viscount of Fortershire,” Alec replied. “He’s a cold, cruel man. Been wantin’ tae ‘it ‘im for a while now.”
&nb
sp; “Is he wealthy?”
“Aye. Wouldnae be sailin’ intae Fortershire if he wasnae,” Alec grinned.
“Seems like ye’re takin’ a big risk.”
“Big risk comes with big rewards, lad.”
Rory chuckled. “Is this ye doin’ one more big mission b’fore ye settle down intae ye’re Lairdship then?”
Alec looked over at him and snorted as he rolled his eyes. He scratched at his thick red beard then turned his face back out to the endless sea stretched out before him.
“Nay,” Alec said softly. “I’ll keep sailin’ as long as I can. I’ll sail for’ver if I can.”
A Hellion for the Highlander: A Steamy Scottish Historical Romance Novel Page 28