Epilogue
Lucy blew her nose and checked her reflection for any telltale traces of tears. The ache in her lower back yesterday signaled the arrival of her monthly. She had hoped she was mistaken, but this morning confirmed she was not pregnant.
It had been seven months since their wedding. Shouldn’t she be with child by now? Was there something terribly wrong with her womb? What if she couldn’t get pregnant and Alex stopped loving her, cast her aside in favor of a fertile bride? Fresh tears rolled down her cheeks.
“Lucy?” Alex stood in the doorway of her dressing room. “Is ought amiss?”
She would like to hide her concern from him, but he probably already suspected he had a defective wife. “I’m not pregnant.” She collapsed on the chaise and buried her face in the pillow.
The chaise creaked from Alex’s added weight and his big hand warmed her back. “Wheesht now. I ken you’re eager for bairns, but there’s time.”
She sat up, sniffed, and hiccupped. “I’m afraid you’ll send me away if I can’t give you babies.”
He laughed. She couldn’t believe it. He was laughing at her misery. Temper ignited, she swatted his arm. When that had no effect, she pinched his thigh until he yelped.
“Stop laughing at me, you giant Scottish oaf.”
He captured her wrists to ward off further assaults. “I’m no’ laughing at you. I’m laughing at Declan.”
“What does that beanpole have to do with me? With us? With anything?”
“Tell you in a minute, but first I want you to know something.” He let go her wrists, and put an arm around her. “I would never, ever send you away. Not for any reason. You’re my wife and my life. I can do without a lot of things, but I cannae do without you.”
He kissed her, sweetly at first. Then deeply, passionately. Until all her doubt seemed to float away. She was essential to him. They were essential to each other.
He released her lips on a sigh. “Have I made myself clear?”
She managed a breathy, “Unh-huh.”
“Good. Now.” He adjusted the front of his trousers. “There’s no need to fash aboot us becoming pregnant because I know with certainty we will have a girl child, at least.”
“And you know that how?”
“Declan dreamed it.”
“What?”
“Declan dreamed we will have a lass of our own.”
“And you believe him?”
He made a solemn nod.
She jumped up and whirled on him. “Your idiot cousin Declan told you that?”
“Dinnae be fooled by his awkward behavior, love. Declan is a canny one. Sleekit and lethal. He has eyes like a hawk. Nothing gets past him. And he’s prescient. His dreams never lie.”
“Alexander Sinclair, that is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard you say. Are we consulting fortune tellers about the honey harvest now? Should we ask a sorcerer to cast a spell on our sheep?”
When he laughed again, Lucy huffed and stormed out of the room.
“Where are you going?”
She called back, “To fetch Dr. Farquhar. You need your head examined.”
Later that morning, she and Apollo took their daily ride. She rode Apollo astride because Alex wouldn’t allow her to ride sidesaddle like a lady. He said it was too dangerous. I cannae afford to lose a wife. I’ll never find another one as good as you.
She was still agitated by him and his nonsensical tale about Declan’s uncanny ability to tell the future through his dreams. Merde. She’d never heard such a pile of rubbish in her life. But Alex had been so adamant, so certain. He had absolute faith in Declan’s vision and, truth be told, she was desperate enough to want him to be right.
She and Apollo arrived in the clearing where Declan had begun construction on a whisky distillery. The tall, lanky, dark-haired Scot was engaged in his hammering and didn’t notice their arrival at first. Declan wasn’t handsome the way Alex was handsome but, seeing him shirtless, she had to admit he did have a certain sinewy appeal, lean and defined. Alex said his cousin was sleekit, meaning cunning or sneaky, but sleekit also meant smooth and shiny, an apt description for his mess of dark curls.
She called to him, and when he looked up, he smiled and dropped his hammer.
“Ho there, Lucy. Are you well this morning?” He struggled into his shirt for her benefit.
“Very well, cousin. And you?”
“My day’s much improved with your arrival.” Declan strode to her side and reached up to help her dismount. “Did you come to see my malting shed?”
Lucy smiled to herself. Scots were forthright about most things. About others, they were very adept at talking around a subject. Declan wanted to know why she was here, alone, in the middle of the day, but was too polite to ask, so named the most innocuous reason.
Her feet touched ground, and she smoothed the folds of her riding skirt into place.
“Actually, Declan, I came to talk to you.”
He looked puzzled and plucked nervously at his shirt where it stuck to his sweaty chest. “Oh, aye?”
They left Apollo to graze and walked toward the malting shed. He indicated an upended crate for her to sit and offered her a dipper of water, which she refused.
“Whisky then?” He reached for his flask.
“No thank you. Please sit with me, and I’ll get right to the point.”
He carefully lowered himself to a tree stump, never breaking eye contact, as if she might spring an attack on him at any moment.
“It’s about your dream.”
“Aye,” he said, and squinted his left eye, still suspicious.
“I would like to hear about your dream.”
“The dream I had about building a distillery?
“No…”
“The one about building a house for my wife?”
“You have a wife?”
“Nae. But I dreamed I would have a wife one day.”
More’s the pity for the woman.
Lucy closed her eyes. Dealing with Declan always required more patience than she possessed. “No, cousin. You told Alex you dreamed we would have a girl child,” she clarified.
Declan leaned back with sudden understanding, “Oh, that dream.”
Lucy waited. Declan smiled back at her stupidly.
Struggling to conceal her temper, she said, “Would you mind telling me about your dream?”
Declan’s eyebrows arched.
Merde. This was like pulling teeth.
“Because, you see, Alex believes in your dreams. He says they always come true exactly the way you dream them, and I would just like to know…” The quaver in her voice alarmed her. Lord, would she start to blubber in front of blasted Declan? “I would like to know what you dreamed, exactly what you dreamed because…” She was going to lose control if she didn’t stop soon. She blurted, “Because I want to believe your dreams, too.”
Declan nodded, made himself more comfortable on the stump, and leaned forward, elbows on his thighs, hands clasped, settling in to tell a long story. He glanced up at the clouds as if remembering. “I had the dream the night before we rescued you from Dunrobin. Seems I always have these kinds of dreams before something big like a battle.”
She nodded, encouraging him to continue.
“I dreamed me and Gullfaxi—that’s my horse, ye ken—I dreamed we were waiting in front of Balforss House early one morning. I was there to collect Alex. We were going hunting for grouse. And I called out, ‘Alex! Are ye coming, man?’ And he came out of the house, smiling like I never saw him smile before.” He looked up, his gleaming black eyebrows pinched together. “Which was odd because he’s normally that crabbit in the morning, ye ken.”
Lucy chuckled. “Yes, I ken. Go on.”
“And he said to me, ‘Morning, cousin. It’s a grand day, is it not?’ And I agreed because it was indeed a fine day. And then you stepped out of the house, looking your usual bonnie self,” he smiled at his sly compliment. “And I was that pleased to see you because you were standing there in a yellow gown holding a bairnie on your hip.”
Lucy gasped and covered her mouth.
“A wee lassie no more than two years. She was still half asleep, sucking on her finger, her head on your shoulder. And you said, ‘Wave good-bye to Papa, sweetheart.’ And the peedie girl lifted her head and waved to her da.”
There was no way to hold the tears back. She let them roll down unchecked because Declan wasn’t looking at her anymore. He had his eyes closed, reliving the dream.
“And her hair, Jeeeesus, that head of blazing red hair glowed like a torch in the morning sun.”
Lucy bent over and sobbed with joy, relief, gratitude. The feelings melded into one and threatened to overwhelm her.
From behind her, Alex’s voice boomed. “Declan! What the bloody hell did you say to my wife?”
Declan snapped to attention and held his hands up in a gesture of innocence. “She wanted me to tell her the dream, so I told her the dream.”
Lucy gathered herself and embraced her big Scottish husband. “I’m all right, Alex. Everything is all right now. We’re going to have a daughter.”
He held her close and patted her back. “I know, lass. I know. And she’ll be a bonnie wee thing.”
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