With his wife and daughter wrapped protectively in his arms, Rodrick began the long journey home. Just as they’d done the previous spring, they rode fast and hard. Neither Rodrick nor Ian knew if Walter MacDonald would declare war over the taking of his son’s life.

By the time they reached the Mackintosh and McLaren keep, Muriel was beyond exhausted. Road worn and weary, Rodrick carried her and Cora into their little home. With Rose and Deidre’s help, Muriel bathed in a tub of hot water before slipping into a nightdress and into bed. With Muriel in their good hands, Rodrick went with the rest of the men to bathe in the loch.

Rodrick and Muriel had said very little to one another during the ride home. He supposed ’twas exhaustion — both in mind and body — that kept her from speaking much. She’d watched as her husband had taken the life of her tormentor and abuser. He reckoned it might take a few days for her to come to grips with everything that had happened.

At least that was his hope. In truth, he worried his sweet wife would now be terrified of him. She had, after all, watched him slice Fergus’s throat and cut his head from his body. Mayhap she would now think him naught more than a vicious murderer. Even though she had asked him, nay told him to kill Fergus, it could have been something said in the heat of the moment. She might not have truly meant it. And she certainly didn’t need to watch as he did it.

Mayhap he should have ordered her removed before he killed him.

Mayhap he should have simply ridden off with her and dealt with Fergus later.

Some men might have left their wives alone to sort out their feelings. Some men might have kept their own worries and feelings unto themselves. But Rodrick worried that ignoring anything at this point would put a wedge betwixt him and his wife. Nay, he decided, ’twas best to deal with everything now. Like a gangrenous wound if left alone and uncared for far too long, it would grow and fester until ’twas deadly.

Upon returning to their home and finding Muriel and Cora fast asleep, he slipped out of his clothes, into his braes, and slid into the bed. Muriel was facing him, with Cora bundled and sleeping in the crook of her arm. They looked so peaceful as they slept. On the morrow, he decided. On the morrow, after a good night’s sleep, we will talk.

Muriel opened her eyes as he pulled the warm fur up to cover her shoulder.

“Ye smell good,” she said sleepily.

Certainly, a woman terrified of her husband wouldn’t comment on such a thing, would she?

“Thank ye, Rodrick,” she said, her voice naught but a whisper. Reaching out, she placed a warm hand on his cheek. “Thank ye for comin’ for us.”

Relief was slow to build. “Did ye think I would no’?”

She smiled warmly. “I knew in me heart the only thing that would stop ye would be yer own death.”

He took her hand in his and kissed her palm. “And ye would be right.” He was relieved and quite glad that she didn’t pull her hand away.

“Rodrick, I want to tell ye somethin’,” she whispered.

Dread and worry reared their ugly heads. Had Fergus hurt her again? Was she about to tell him of her ordeal, of something ugly and sordid? He willed his nerves to settle and took in a deep, fortifying breath.

“I love ye, Rodrick MacElroy. With all me heart.”

He could not have been more stunned had she hit him over the head with a battle-axe. Uncertain if he’d heard her correctly, he said, “What?”

“I love ye,” she repeated. “And no’ just because ye came fer us. I realized it no’ long after ye left to go after the Randalls.”

All at once, he felt enveloped in a sense of warmth and peace. ’Twas as comforting as a heavy fur in wintertime. Like the heat from a brazier on a cold day. But so much more than that.

“I missed ye,” she went on to say. “So much so that ’twas a physical ache. I knew then that I could no’ miss ye as much if I did no’ love ye.”

For the first time in his adult life, Rodrick the Bold’s eyes grew damp. He felt no shame in it. Nay, he felt naught but elation, pride, and utter joy. “I love ye, Muriel. With all that I am, I love ye.”

Her smile burned bright, her eyes filled with happiness and love. “I ken,” she told him. “I’ve kent for some time now. And I be verra glad that ye do.”

He kissed her palm again before placing it on his chest, just over his heart. “Ye have made me verra happy this day, lass. Verra happy.”

They talked then, for the next hour or so. First, they discussed all that had transpired over the last few days. Nay, Muriel did not hold him in any kind of low regard over killing Fergus. Just the opposite. She was grateful. Although she did admit she didn’t truly enjoy watching it.

Just as the embers in the brazier began to die down, Rodrick the Bold and his wife fell asleep, holding each other’s hands.

It may have taken three decades, but his Christmas Tide wish had finally come true. Rodrick the Bold finally had a wife and child. He had so much more than that.

He had his family.