Highlander Mine (31 page)

EPILOGUE

A
S
IT
TURNED
OUT
,
I
had
been carrying the heir of Kinloch, from that very first night. Nine months later, to the day, I gave birth to a son. Effie, the lead healer—one of an army of healers who attended to me, at my husband’s lordish and understandably tense insistence—said it was the easiest birth she’d ever witnessed and that she’d witnessed too many to count.

Knox Mackenzie the younger has rich black hair that, in full sunlight, tints the slightest shade of red. He has jewel-blue eyes. He is strong and healthy and looks like a small replica of his noble father. His temperament, alas, skews rather more heavily toward that of his mother. He is, it must be said, rather headstrong and insists on the constant adoring attention of both his parents, which we are only too happy to give. Already, at the age of one year, the child seems to understand that he holds in his hand the key to an empire. He possesses the air of a thoughtful aristocrat: fearless, clever, spirited. With a marked trace of superiority, already; this I blame entirely on his father.

My son is happiest when we are with him, close around him, and when he is holding his most coveted possessions: my small red notebook and his wooden sword, a gift from Hamish. He is, without a doubt, the most beautiful child I have ever seen. I admit I am somewhat biased on the subject, being his mother, but it is an oft-made comment of all who meet him.

Kinloch is a paradise. Each day I marvel at the paradise of my new home. The Highlands are a wild and stormy landscape, but here within the walls of our keep, all feels safe and lovely and untouchable. This idyll is achieved through the relentless hard work of the wider Mackenzie clan, but the work is carried out with obvious pleasure and skillful industry. My husband, as I continue to watch him and learn his ways, possesses all the best qualities of leadership. He is patient and knowledgeable and, most of all, kind. He has a moral center that grounds his clan and drives them to please him. They work with his approval in mind.

And so do I. Mostly.

I married Knox in the apple orchard. We took our vows under the tree where we’d first fallen in love, at that very first encounter, even if neither of us had admitted it to ourselves at the time. My husband has had no hesitations whatsoever, though, about confessing his love for me since then. Each day—each hour, in actual fact—he showers me with poetic litanies of his undying devotion, his rampant desire, his unequalled happiness. His romantic tendencies, already quite pronounced, have become more and more developed, so much so that I have become certain that I must be the luckiest woman who ever lived. I am regularly gifted with small treasures to remind me of his affection. This morning I woke with rose petals strewn across the fur covers of our bed. Yesterday I was delivered a bountiful breakfast with a single-stemmed thistle flower, stripped of every last thorn, and a poem. The night before, I was escorted under a full moon to our mossy terrace by the loch, where we go when the nights are quiet and warm. I was enlightened to yet another decadent detail on his secret list of lurid thoughts. It is a long and very thorough list.

My husband has yet to best me in a card game, although he continues to try with stubborn tenacity.

I have continued to teach Katriona’s children, and many others, with successful results. But my husband prohibits me, as best he can, from working too hard. The work is a joy to me, even more so as I begin to teach my own son and also when I am able to spend time with Hamish, who has become a leader among his peers and a promising young soldier. Hamish has two swords now, and a hunting knife, and has taken an interest in weapons development. He has had several long discussions on the subject with Knox’s brother Kade, who is somewhat of an expert, I believe.

Katriona and I have forged an amiable working relationship. She remains stoic and reserved, as I believe she must do to preserve her own sanity in the face of her substantial loss. She still pines for her husband, and I have gently prodded her to discuss his memory with me, over time. This she has become more and more willing to do, and I can see the change in her. We have forgiven each other for whatever wrongs we might have once begrudged, and have spoken of this at some length. Recently, a particular officer has made his presence known several times when I have been in her company. The map-writer Robb, who has dark hair and green eyes.

Edward has been appointed as a leading apprentice to oversee farming practices and continues his tutelage by the agricultural clan masters, who praise his intelligence and his knack for innovation. Greer excels at French and calligraphy and is still working on etiquette. Her mother has agreed to allow her to practice her drawings, which are gaining the attention of the clan artists and artisans. I sense that Katriona’s attitude to her daughter’s talent is changing; her disdain has largely been replaced by a quiet pride that I do my best to encourage.

My sister, Cecelia, continues to settle into her new life at Kinloch and I am grateful for her presence here. Her years of hardship are not cast off easily and she remains quiet and subdued much of the time. I see glimpses, though, of the vibrancy that dominated her character in her youth. She has spent time with the weavers and has struck up a friendship with Marin, the pretty young wife of Lachlan, and also Fionne, Marin’s associate. Lately my sister has spent more and more time in their cottage workshop and has taken comfort from the bustle of activity of the clan women that gather there. Her health has returned to her over time, with sun and company and the absence of the constant stress her marriage was defined by. The fresh, plentiful food also helps, especially when delivered by a handsome, earthy, honest gardener whose name is Fyfe.

Our guests arrived late last night. I have met each member of my husband’s family at least once before now, and the more I get to know each of them, the more I see in them their romantic natures. All of them possess it, this close-held philosophy that steadfastly revolves around love; it is as much an ideal they aspire to as it is a way of life.

My husband’s brother Wilkie, his royal wife, Roses, their small daughter, Kenzie, and three-month-old son were escorted from their faraway home by a brigade of regal guards and greeted amid much excitement and commotion. Wilkie and Roses are striking-looking people whose bond to each other is immediately apparent. They are the sort of people that enter a room and hold the collective attention, seemingly giving off a linked aura that somehow holds the eye. What strikes me most about them is their awareness of each other. There’s an anticipation in them, as though even when engaged with the wider crowd, they are already concentrating on their very next opportunity for contact.

Knox’s second brother, Kade, also arrived yesterday, along with his wife, Stella, and their lively two-year-old twins, who have visited Kinloch regularly over past months. Their keep is only a day’s ride from our own. I have grown close to Stella, whose soft-spoken manner is kind and comforting and quite the opposite to my own rather more unruly outlook. We are mutually fascinated by each other for our differences and have developed a sisterly bond. I am also fascinated by Kade’s attention to his wife. Stella is a rare beauty, with unusual amber eyes and luminous skin. There’s a vulnerability in her that I’ve yet to learn the intricacies of, but this timidity is offset by a sparked strength in her that is indefinable yet serves as perhaps her most engaging feature. Outwardly, Kade is the fiercest-looking of the three brothers—and in fact, of any warrior I have yet to see, with his abundant weaponry and rather abrupt manner. But each time his gaze lands on Stella, which it does often, his expression softens markedly. He becomes enchanted by the sight of her, smiling, laughing and altogether losing his pronounced ferocity. It is quite entertaining to watch. His children appear to idolize him and spend a good deal of their time vying for his attentions. He is so gentle and patient with them that the overall effect of the wild, intense first impression he gives is all but swept away.

Ailie and her new husband, Magnus Munro, are also in residence. Theirs was a long and somewhat tumultuous engagement, but they are so in love they are scarcely able to hold a conversation with anyone other than each other, which Ailie’s siblings find endlessly amusing.

And a new player has recently entered the Mackenzie fray. Blake Macintosh, a topic of much discussion, has also been invited to the revelries, at the request of Christie. Knox has an inkling that another romance might be brewing. I am interested to meet Blake and learn his story. Any love interest of Christie’s is bound to be intriguing.

It’s time. Knox comes to me, holding my son who insists on squeezing me tight with his little cherub arms. But Knox will not allow me to carry him, considering my condition, which brings my husband equal amounts of elation and angst. I am still in the early stages of my second pregnancy, but this time I have suffered a mild case of morning sickness. I do my best to hide this from my husband; any sign of illness or distress on my part drives him almost mad with worry. He kisses me, his eyes searching mine. “I’m fine,” I assure him. “More than fine, in fact. I’m happier than I’ve ever been and so besotted with my husband I can barely contain not only my glee but also my unbound lust.”

He studies my face coolly, testing for mockery or sarcasm. Once I had perfected both of these arts, but I can unreservedly confirm that I have no need for either with him, ever. I kiss him. “I never mock my perfect husband,” I whisper. “I love you with all my heart. You are the most beautiful man that has ever existed, inside and out. I cherish you every minute of the day and night. And tonight I’m going to cherish you until you weep or faint or see God, or possibly all three.”

His slow smile breaks my heart. “I look forward to it.” He kisses me tenderly but he says, “They wait for us below.”

We have gathered here at Kinloch to celebrate our son’s first birthday, the marriage of Magnus and Ailie, which took place privately at the Munro keep, and the birth of Wilkie and Rose’s second child, whose name is William. We make our way belowstairs to the grand hall, which is as immaculately prepared as ever and full of the lively conversation of our extended family.

I have met Wilkie and Roses before, but I am struck again by Wilkie’s resemblance to his oldest brother, although his manner is more carefree and verbose than Knox’s. His hair is longer than my husband’s and his garb more colorful; he wears the Stuart clan dark red tartan sash over a Mackenzie-tartaned kilt.

My husband’s family appears amused by a change in him.

“I hardly recognize my elder brother without his stern glower,” Wilkie teases him, but kindly.

Ailie smiles. “He laughs all the time now. And yesterday, I actually heard him whistling.”

“Amelia, we have much to thank you for,” says Kade. “You have done a great service to the entire Mackenzie clan, near and far, by taking him on.”

“Aye,” agrees Wilkie, “’tis a brave lass indeed that would dare to tame such superiority.”

“It hasn’t been easy, I can assure you of that,” I tease my husband, who smiles at me.

Kade’s tone softens. He looks down at Stella, who is seated close to him. “We have some news to share.” He leans to give his wife a rather scorching kiss on the lips, which makes her blush. To his assembled family, he says, “We’re expecting another baby in the summer.”

Knox stands, raising his glass. “That’s good news, brother. Congratulations to you both.” After a small pause, he says, “We also have news to share.” And with a distinct shine in his eyes, he looks at me with more devotion than I had ever thought humanly possible; it warms me and fulfills me. “We are also expecting another baby in the summer.”

After more congratulations have been exchanged, the focus of the assembly shifts to another figure, who stands behind Christie, somewhat removed from the gathering. He is tall, possessing what could be described as a lazy yet graceful athleticism, as though he is supremely comfortable in his own skin. This is understandable. His appearance is forcefully beautiful, in a much different way than that of the Mackenzies. His is a golden beauty. His hair is dark blond and reminds one of ancient treasure, glinting and gilded in the firelight. He leans against the stone wall with his thumb insouciantly hitched under his leather belt in a posture that suggests an unscrupulous nature.

This must be the famed Blake Macintosh, who has been the subject of much whispered attention in recent days. I know very little about him. I’ve heard fragments of various rumors to indicate that there has been some infighting among Clan Macintosh, regarding eligibility and suitability for the lairdship of the clan, but I do not know many details. I’ve overheard that both Blake and his half brother Thane, the man who visited the Mackenzie keep one night long ago, are in the running. I will make a point of asking Knox about it, and about Blake himself. He is an intriguing figure, with his golden, sparked, cavalier charm.

“Your Mackenzie clan is expanding at a prodigious rate,” he says casually, and his glance slides to Christie. I cannot help noticing she looks somewhat upset, and nervous. This is highly uncharacteristic of my lively sister-in-law, whose outlook is unwavering in its sprightliness and vivacity. “’Tis a veritable bounty of fertility,” Blake comments.

All eyes are on him and he does not shy away from the collective attention. I suspect he is used to attention, looking as he does, like a fallen angel up to no good. There is a pronounced thread of mischief in him, but a compelling one, as though whatever mischief he might be involved in would be highly engaging, irresistible even, and all because he was its instigator.

Blake Macintosh is working the silence, using it for effect. He is about to say something we all want to hear. We can sense this and we are riveted. He does not disappoint. “I’m pleased to say,” he drawls, “that I have also made my contribution, as it were. And I would like to use this opportunity to humbly—and quite necessarily—ask for Christie’s hand. We, too, you see, are expecting a baby in the summer.”