Epilogue

Lyongate Hall

Northern Scotland, nearly ten days later

 

“It took ye a long time to get here, laddie.”

Budge, Lyongate’s indomitable steward crossed his arms and swelled his plaid-draped chest as he stood before the estate’s huge wrought iron gate.

The old man’s scowl was fierce, and it was pinned on Lucian.

“A new bride for Lyongate and ye slow your pace to a snail’s,” he scolded. “Nearly a fortnight since you crossed onto Scottish soil. I cannae believe it.”

Lucian reached for Melissa’s hand, drawing her close. “She is my bride, though you are right. She is now wed to Lyongate, too. And I’m sure everyone here will love her.”

“We already do!” The steward’s frown vanished as he turned to Melissa. “Heard all about ye, lassie. That we have. ‘Tis ne’er happier we were to greet a new mistress.”

“Thank you, sir.” Melissa smiled at him, her eyes already misting. “You can’t imagine how happy I am to be here.”

Budge’s face split in a grin. “You’re for liking it here, what? This auld pile o’ stones?”

“Oh, yes.” She looked down the long expanse of lawn toward the ancient castle on its soaring cliff, the proud turrets wreathed in mist, the glint of the sea beyond. “I have never seen a more glorious sight.”

And it is making me cry.

“It’s quite wild and rugged here, isn’t it?” She clasped a hand to her breast, unable to stop a delighted sigh. “So remote and magnificent. It takes my breath.”

“Did ye hear that, laddie?” The old steward fair shouted, his own eyes now glistening. “Your bride loves us, she does!”

“I knew she would,” Lucian said, his beautiful Scottish voice suspiciously thick. “From the moment we met.”

He slid his arm around her, drawing her close. “Neither one of us had any doubts.”

“Love at first sight, eh?” Budge’s eyes twinkled now.

“So it was,” the Laird of Lyongate admitted, and his new wife nodded agreement.

Yet something niggled at her and she had to ask…

“Sir,” she began, looking at the steward. “How did you know we’d married?”

“Och, how could we no’ know?” He set his hands on his kilted hips. “The laddie here” – he smiled at Lucian – “told us he’d be bringing his new bride home with him. He wrote all about ye in the letter he sent along with your horses.”

He paused then, gesturing to the thick line of tall Scots pines at far end of the lawn. “The beasties are doing well, you’ll be wanting to know,” he told her. “They arrived a sennight ago and are out on our best pastureland behind thon woods. They took to Lyongate at once, they did.”

Chuckling, he added, “A body could think they were Highland horses, they’re so happy here.”

“Oh!” The tears Melissa had been trying to hold back, now spilled free to roll down her cheeks. “I am so glad.”

“Aye, well...” Lucian tightened his arm about her, understanding. “Then we did right in bringing them here.”

“So ye did!” Budge almost shouted again, his yells hinting that his hearing must’ve worsened in Lucian’s absence. “They’ve even made friends with our Lyongate sheep.”

“And I’ve brought home some fine contracts for our wool,” Lucian told the steward, something he hadn’t mentioned in his letter, wanting to share the good news in person.

“Did ye?” Budge smiled again. “So the ‘situation’ is addressed?”

Lucian nodded, his relief greater than he cared to admit. “Aye, all debts are paid and we should be good from here onward.”

He would make certain of it.

Smiling down at his bride, he added, “Conley will be pleased and you’ll no’ be troubled by our shadow cat.”

Melissa glanced at the jumble of large rocks beside the gate, indeed seeing the famous lion face.

“I see Conley,” she said, her gaze still on the stones. “He’s quite clearly defined.”

“Indeed, he is,” Lucian agreed. “He’s guarded Lyongate for centuries.”

“Him, too?”

“Who?” Lucian puzzled as he followed her gaze.

His eyes rounded when he saw a large gray cat sitting on Conley’s head.

Not a fleeting shadow at all, but a real flesh-and-fur cat who was staring at him in the same way the big gray cat at Farmer Steckles’ Frogbottom Cottage had done.

In fact, Lucian would swear it was the same cat.

“I’ll be damned,” he said, chills sweeping him.

“What’s wrong?” His bride gripped his arm, looking worried. “You’ve blanched.”

“I am fine,” he assured her, his mind racing. “It is just-”

“You know we will be adopting that cat?” Melissa beamed at him. “My mind is set.”

“That I already know,” he said, his amazement growing as the cat hopped down from Conley’s head and strolled over to them, looking as at home and happy about it as his new lady wife.

“I’ll be damned,” he said again as the cat began winding in and out of their legs, purring.

“Strange things do happen in these hills,” he added, shaking his head.

“That be true!” Budge rocked back on his heels, grinning. “And I almost forgot your wedding gifts.”

Lucian glanced at Melissa, then back to the steward. “You shouldn’t have troubled yourself, Budge. Our pleasure is being home now. That is enough.”

“Nae, nae.” The steward shook his head. “The gifts aren’t from me. A little old woman delivered them the other day,” he announced. “Strange old bird she was, too. Black-garbed and all twinkly-eyed as she just appeared at the door, handing over two animal woodcarvings, saying they were for you and your lady.”

“Woodcarvings?” Lucian and Melissa spoke as one.

“Aye, and right fine ones,” Budge said. “A beautiful but clearly aged horse for your bride, and for you-”

“A badger,” Lucian said, sure of it,

“Aye, just!” Budge yelled, his answer giving Lucian another rash of chills.

But good ones, he couldn’t deny.

“Tell me, Budge…” He glanced again at his bride. “Did the old woman’s boots have red-plaid laces?”

The steward’s brows swooped low. “How should I know, laddie? Think ye I’d raise the skirts of a woman so old?”

Lucian laughed, sure that was so.

He also knew the answer to his question.

And if his beautiful bride’s smile meant anything, so did she.

~*~

And so it came that much later that night as he and his bride stood on Lyongate’s battlements, watching the moon ride high above the dark and mighty North Sea, they both decided that Highland magic was alive and thriving, let no man doubt it.

The only question remaining was how did the crone get the carvings? And what was her connection to Farmer Steckles?

“How well do you know the farmer?” Lucian looked down at his bride.

“Fairly well,” she told him. “My father was fond of him and told stories of Steckles collecting fallen Cranleigh wood to whittle when my father was a lad.”

Lucian frowned. “Steckles was a man then?”

“I suppose. My father spoke him as an adult.” She was looking again to the sea. “And that reminds of the oddest thing…”

Lucian’s nape prickled. “What?”

“My grandfather told the same tales,” she said, her brow pleating. “Steckles must be older than Methuselah.”

“Or he is the crone’s friend.”

Melissa’s eyes widened. “You mean…”

He nodded. “Do you have a better idea?”

She didn’t, but her face held wonder. And as Lucian slid his arms around her and drew her to him, he knew when she nestled against him that the mystery of the crone and the farmer didn’t matter.

All that did was that he and Melissa were together.

And that they loved.