Epilogue
 

Mary kissed her son on his downy-soft head and handed him to his nurse. He protested with a tiny whinge, but then settled into the woman’s arms contentedly. “Good night, sweeting,” she said, as the old woman took him away for his nap.

Her sister-in-law turned from her place by the window overlooking the yard. “I doubt he shall get any sleep with that racket going on down there.”

Mary sighed. “Who’s winning this time?”

Helen squinted into the bright sunshine. “I think your husband.”

“What does that make it?”

Helen shrugged. “I lost count. Maybe five to five?”

“When do you think they’ll stop?” Helen looked at her, and Mary laughed. “All right, you’re right. They won’t stop.” She shook her head. “You would think they would have had enough fighting the past couple of months.”

“Ah, but that is easy,” Helen said with a grin. “That’s against the English. This is fighting to prove who’s the best Highlander.”

Mary came to join her by the window. “I think you better fetch your bag, Angel. It looks like you have a few bruises and cuts to tend.”

Helen’s mouth pursed. “I don’t know why I bother; they’ll just do it all over again tomorrow.”

If they were here tomorrow. Mary knew that her husband’s brief, three-day respite from war could be over at any time. Edward had marched on Scotland nearly two months ago, and Bruce and the Highland Guard had been ready. Kenneth’s instincts had proved correct. Edinburgh Castle had been an attempted diversion by the English. The troops had followed the same path Clifford and his men had taken that fateful scouting trip. Thanks to her husband, Bruce’s men were waiting for them. The English had been hit hard and often on his progress north. Edward was currently taking shelter at Renfrew Castle southwest of Glasgow, but Bruce hoped to have the demoralized English king back in Berwick soon, licking his wounds.

Mary followed Helen out of the Hall, down the stairs, and into the courtyard. The two men were sitting on overturned wooden crates, arguing. From the looks of them, it was hard to tell who won. They were both bruised, scraped, and looked like they’d been rolling in mud—which they had.

Helen didn’t say anything. She just stomped up to her husband, put her hands on her hips, and glared at him until he dropped his head. “Aw, Helen, don’t look at me like that. He had it coming.”

“He always does. And did you prove anything?”

“Aye, that his neck looks good under my sword,” Kenneth interjected gamely.

His sister shot him a look. “I’ll deal with you later. Come,” she said to Magnus, with a long-suffering sigh. “Let me see what I can do with that eye.”

Mary shook her head and folded her arms, looking down at her gloating husband. “Well, Ice, what do you have to say for yourself?” She used the war name given to him by the Highland Guard when he and Helen had been given a ceremony a few months ago. “I thought the sword would be enough. But it seems this contest will never be over.”

Since Kenneth had lost his sword saving her, Bruce had gifted him with a new one. On it was inscribed Par omnibus operibus, secundum ad neminem. Equal to every task, second to none.

“It was his fault.”

“It always is. When are you two going to admit that you don’t hate each other?”

He gave her that provoking smile that tended to make her knees weak. “Now why would we do that? He’s the best sparring partner I have.”

He’d also become his real partner in the Highland Guard. Hell indeed had frozen over.

Mary gave up. Her stubborn brother-in-law and hot-tempered husband would just have to figure it out on their own. She hoped without killing each other in the process.

Kenneth picked her up and spun her around. “Put me down.” She wrinkled her nose, trying to swat his hands away. “You’re filthy.”

He kissed her anyway. Deeply and passionately in the bright sunshine until her heart was pounding, her breath was quickening, and her knees were turned to jelly.

His eyes were hot as they met hers. “Where’s William?”

“With his nurse, taking a nap.”

His grin deepened. “Sounds like an excellent idea.”

She blushed. Helen had finally given her approval to resume her marital “duty,” and Kenneth seemed intent on making up for lost time—not that she minded. “It seems you have been propositioning me for improper naps since the first time I met you.”

Their eyes locked, remembering their first conversation at the Highland Games. “It was the best proposition I ever made,” he said softly. “But I should have tossed you over my shoulder that day and carried you up the stairs. It would have been a lot easier.”

She met his gaze, all the love in her heart shining in her eyes. “But not half as rewarding. What’s victory without the battle?”

He laughed and shook his head. “Spoken like a true fighter.”

“I learned from the best.” And she had.