An’ the honeycomb will taste sweeter comin’ from our hands.”
There was a stillness following the final knot and vow, with Rosalie and Declan lost in each other. It was as if the world fell silent in appreciation.
“Let these knots represent the strength of yer vows. As long as they remained bound, may ye two stay bound with the same strength. Ye may kiss yer bride.”
Alexander slipped the chords from their bound hands. Declan’s touch sent electricity surging through Rosalie’s body. His lips pressed against hers, and the spark bridging the two stopped her heart. He clasped her head tight in his hands, and they breathed as one as they parted.
All around them, the world erupted into cheers. Rosalie never felt such joy. All around her, family and friends brought together despite their differences laughed and made merry in celebration. She was on a cloud, floating through it, hardly aware of anything except the love coursing through her.
There was something she noticed—something she was grateful. Not once since her return had she seen Enoch. No one said anything about him. The subject seemed taboo on such an occasion, but she was glad to know he wasn’t around to ruin her happiness on such a special day.
When the night grew light, and the stars started to fade, Declan took Rosalie by the hand. With each step she took towards his childhood home, she felt reverence and appreciation swell. It was unbelievable how so much could change, and now, she was walking to not his home, but their home. A home that one-day might house bairns of her own.
Declan surprised her by sweeping her off her feet. She wrapped her arms around his neck and stared at him, with only eyes for him, as he stepped over the threshold into their new dwelling. It felt natural as if she belonged there. For once, she felt at home.
Declan made a fire in the hearth of his parent’s old room. With his back turned, Rosalie unlaced the gown she wore and laid it gently aside, tending it with care. When he turned, she took pleasure in seeing his eyes light up at the sight of her.
“My wife,” he said. “My beautiful wife.” He reached out to her.
Declan’s rough hands sent waves of anticipation down to her inner thighs. She lifted his shirt over his head and kissed his broad shoulders and chest. He leaned over her, rubbing her back and arms with delicate touches. She could hear his breath shake as her fingers reached down to undo his trousers.
Rosalie took her time, kissing her way down. Declan helped her free himself, letting the last of his clothes fall away. There were things Rosalie had never done before, but she was not ignorant of them. It intimidated her to see him there, stiff in front of her. There was nothing more she wanted than surprise and please the man who’d crossed a country to save her, had shown her love and compassion and acceptance.
Declan moaned as Rosalie took him inside her mouth. As she worked over his member with slow strokes, she was surprised at the wetness slipping down her thigh. Declan’s hand twisted into her curls, giving her a jolt of excitement. Every moan encouraged her to go faster and deeper until he cried out and stopped her.
She smiled when he pulled himself away and giggled when he lifted her and threw her back on the bed. Declan kissed her from head to toe, teasing her stomach and upper thighs. Their breath was one; each inhale met with the other’s exhale, exchanging, and binding them in unison. She didn’t want to look away—the love and ecstasy in his eyes increased every physical pleasure.
It was a dance between them. They rolled, changing who was in control, never breaking apart from their embrace until their bodies shook, their limbs grew weak, and sweat covered their skin with a silky sheen. Declan held her tight to him. She could hear his heartbeat raging against his chest. Every kiss he planted on the top of her head, every graze of his fingers on her arms, reawakened her body to the pleasure he gave her, sending ripples of euphoric joy through her entire being.
“Yer everythin’ I’ve ever dreamed of an’ more,” Declan said.
“Hm, I didn’t think things could e’er be this good.” Rosalie nuzzled into his chest, inhaling and appreciating his smell and the taste of salt on his skin.
“I could do this forever,” he said.
Rosalie laughed. “Good, because I think that’s goin’ tae happen.”
They laid there in silence, enjoying the bliss of each other’s presence for a moment. “Talk to me, Rosie,” Declan said, brushing her hair from her cheek.
“About?” She propped herself on her hands so she could look at him.
He smiled and shrugged. “How ye see yer life with me? Yer dreams? I want to make ye happy.” He touched her cheek, and she melted into the sweet caress.
“I don’t care.” She laughed. “I don’t care at all, as long as yer by my side.” She rolled over and rested her hands on her chest, thinking about the future. It was filled with so many opportunities. It seemed open and welcoming for the first time in her life. “Bairns. I want a couple o’ bairns.”
“Oh yeah?” He rolled over so that he could look at her.
“An’ a dog.” She looked at him, her face serious and void of expression.
His eyes grew wide. “A dog?” A smile curled at the corner of his mouth.
“Aye, I had one.” She nodded. “But I want a big dog. A HUGE dog.” She gestured with both hands.
Both of them laughed until their sides and cheeks ached. They talked about everything. There was nothing Rosalie couldn’t share with him. They exchanged their dreams and secret desires and hopes. Declan told her about how the harvest went without him, and what would come next. They talked and shared and loved until the sun rose high in the sky, and they fell fast asleep in each other’s arms—safe, cherished, and loved.
The End?
But there’s more…
Eager to learn what the future holds for Rosalie and Declan?
Then you may enjoy this extended epilogue.
Simply tap here and you can read it for FREE, or use this link:
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Afterword
Thank you for reading my novel, Highlander’s Gypsy Lass. I really hope you enjoyed it! If you did, could you please be so kind to write your review HERE?
It is very important for me to read your thoughts about my book, in order to get better at writing.
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Do you want more Romance?
If you’re a true fan of the Scottish romance genre, here are the first chapters of the prequel to this story, which was among my very first best-selling novels:
A Highlander Born from Chaos
This is the tale of a Highlander entrapped by the sins of his father and a rebellious lass who must defy her family's great legacy to find herself. Surrendering to a forbidden love that it was never meant to be, can these two escape their destinies without unleashing chaos to the Highlands?
* * *
A Highlander Born from Chaos
Prologue
As the coffin was lowered into the ground, a tear ran down Evie Elliott’s face. It had begun to rain, and there was a cold, icy wind blowing across the graveyard, causing the gathered clansmen to huddle close together, as the priest intoned the solemn words of burial.
“Eternal rest grant unto him O Lord and may light perpetual shine upon him. May he rest in peace. Amen,” and they all replied, “Amen.”
Evie made the sign of the cross over herself and turned to her two brothers, who both did the same. Her face was stained with tears, and her hands were shaking.
“Come here, lass, huddle under my cloak,” her brother, Owen, said, and she gladly took shelter with him.
“And that is it, our grandfather is gone,” she said, sniffing and resting her head upon Owen’s shoulder.
“Gone, but nae forgotten,” replied her brother Rory, who was stood at their side.
“He suffered badly at the end,” Owen said, “he is at peace now, and with Lena too,” and he glanced back at the grave.
The old
Laird, their grandfather, had been buried in the churchyard of the Kirk in Lochrutton. It was a simple monument, for Alistair Elliott had requested such. He was buried next to Lena, the woman he had come to love and whom Evie and her brothers had always referred to as grandmother. Once more, Evie sighed, and fresh tears ran down her face as she began to sob.
“Come now, Evie. Be strong, our grandfather wouldnae wish to see ye cry,” Owen said, his strong arms holding her close, as Rory nodded.
“Aye, he would tell ye to save yer tears for those that mattered,” he said.
“But he did matter, I miss him terribly,” she replied, for she and her grandfather had always been close.
“And we shall all remember him and give thanks for having done so,” Owen said.
Evie nodded, she knew her grandfather would not wish to see her in such a state, but his death had been so sudden, brought on by a terrible illness and one which she had been powerless to help nurse. Even her father, who was known for his gentle touch and healing arts, had been able to do nothing, and now she looked across to where he stood with her mother at the graveside.
“Tis Mother that I fear for; she has nae been the same since he died,” she said, wiping her eyes as the rain grew heavier around them.
“She is a strong woman and always has been,” Rory said, as the three of them walked together towards their parents, who looked up and nodded to them.
“Mother, Father,” Owen said, and Evie went to put her arms about her mother, who herself was crying.
“We shall all catch our deaths if we stay out here in the rain,” their mother said, holding Evie close.
“Aye, come now, Isla, come now, children. Let us go back to the castle, I for one could dae with a warm hearth and some vitals,” said their father.
Evie nodded, she knew that now her grandfather was gone, her father had a grave responsibility upon him. He had seemed quieter and more reserved in the past few days following the Laird’s death, reluctant to shoulder the burdens of responsibility which were now his and she glanced at him, as arm in arm with her mother, they made their way slowly from the graveyard.
His face seemed worn and weather-beaten, as though the title he now possessed had aged him. Her father had always seemed so young and carefree, the perpetual youth, but now he had a look about him as though he realized the grave destiny which fate had now forged. One which would burden him for the rest of his life, which of course it would, and would see much heartache and difficulty. She loved her father as much, if not more, as her grandfather, but with the Liard’s passing, she knew that things had changed. No longer would they simply be a family, the five of them together, but instead, her father would be head of the clan and take on the great task of governance and oversight, which now was his. It was a daunting task and one which Evie knew would cause him much struggle, for her father was not a natural leader of men.
She looked too at her brother Owen. He, too, had taken on a different air in these past days. No longer the grandson of the Laird, but the heir apparent. He had begun to walk differently, as odd as that may sound. He held himself up a little higher, and his shoulders no longer slouched, as they had done during his younger years. He had gone from youth to man in just a few days, and the change was quite remarkable. As for Rory, he seemed the same as ever, and she wondered if he had really mourned at all for their grandfather; he had seemed distracted recently, as though something was bearing upon his mind, though Evie knew not what. He always kept his feelings close, and despite his being her brother, she really knew very little of him.
“Uncle Duncan is there,” Owen said as they emerged from the graveyard onto the track, which led to the village.
“Aye, he kept vigil in the church while we went to the place of burial,” their father said, as their uncle nodded, a grave look upon his face.
He was stood under an oak tree, sheltering from the rain, his hands folded into his monk’s habit, and he hurried across to them, his feet squelching in the mud.
“Fraser, I will join ye at Kirklinton for the night. ‘Tis too late to return to Lanercost now, but in the morning, I shall offer Mass for yer father’s soul,” he said, placing a comforting hand upon Isla’s shoulder.
“Ye are very kind, Duncan,” Isla said, smiling at him.
“Kirklinton? We were goin’ to go home,” her father said, looking around him at the others, but Isla took his hand.
“The clan will expect us to go to Kirklinton now, Fraser,” Isla said, and Evie watched as her father sighed heavily.
“Aye, very well. There is nay escapin’ it; I suppose,” he replied, and together they made their mournful way through the village.
Her uncle followed behind, his head bowed, as though in silent prayer, and indeed, no one said much until they arrived outside the blacksmith’s workshop.
“Life was far simpler here,” her father said, turning to her uncle, who shook his head.
“It might have seemed so, but neither of us was truly happy here,” he replied, as, from behind, there came a shout.
“ Sweeney,” her mother said, and Evie turned to see her Godfather hurrying up the track behind them.
“Laird, the clansmen have gone on ahead. They are expecting ye at Kirklinton,” he said, as her father sighed.
“Aye, duty calls us. What is the mood amongst them?” her father said.
“Sorrow, but they are loyal to ye, Laird,” Sweeney replied.
“I cannae get used to ye callin’ me that, Sweeney. Fraser will dae when we are nae in company, and that goes for the rest of ye. I shall nae have my family bowin’ and scrapin’ to me, simply because I am now titled and Owen, I daenae expect ye to begin laudin’ it over others either. We are humble people, and I shall nae have us known as anythin’ else. Is that understood?” her father said.
“Aye, father,” Owen replied, “I have nay more wish to be Laird than ye dae.”
“But that time will come, Owen. Just as it has done for me,” Fraser replied, “come now, we will nae stand around in the rain any longer. Hurry along now.”
Together, the family, along with Sweeney, made their way up the hill and out of the village. The rain was falling heavily now, and dark clouds hung low across the moorlands. Evie had never liked the castle at Kirklinton. It had always seemed so dark and foreboding, compared to their own home across the heathers. She had lived there ever since she could remember, the same castle in which her mother had been born and which had been so cruelly burned by the English all those years ago. Now, restored by her father, it stood as a symbol of strength against the English. The borderlands were still fraught with danger, and the rumor of an English threat hung heavily in the air.
“Will we really live here?” she asked her mother, as they came to the castle gates.
“We shall, it was good enough for me when I was a bairn and yer grandfather took me in,” her mother replied, as they stood looking up at the keep towering high above them.
“I never liked it when ye and father would go away, and we bairns were sent here to stay with our grandfather, twas always so draughty and cold,” Evie said, remembering the long dark nights she had spent in the castle keep when she was younger.
“I hope ye never said that to yer grandmother. I can tell ye that this draughty old castle was far better than her life at the hands of the Musgraves,” Isla replied, as Fraser and her brothers led them inside.
“Aye, mother, I know,” Evie said.
She had been raised on the stories of the past and knew them all by heart. How her father had not known that his father was the Laird for many years and that her grandmother had been forced to flee after the birth of the child, ending up at the hands of the English Musgraves. It was a story she liked to hear, though her mother would always remind her that it involved much suffering. Not least for her, too, made a prisoner of the Musgraves and only saved by the actions of her father, whose daring rescue was the stuff of legend.
“Come now, Evie. We must dae our duty, we have respon
sibilities, ye know that,” Isla said, and Evie glanced back at her uncle and Godfather, who both nodded.
“Life will be a little different now, lass,” her uncle said, his black monks' habit pulled over his head.
“But I was happy how I was,” she replied, wondering just how different life could be, now that her grandfather was gone.
“All of us have to change, lass. ‘Tis the way of things, but ye have yer brothers, and ye have yer mother and father too. Ye will be all right,” he replied.
“I have ye both too, daenae I?” she said, and her uncle nodded.
“Aye, but I must return to Lanercost soon, I shall leave yer spiritual wellbeing in the hands of Sweeney here,” her uncle replied, smiling at her as they made their way along the track towards the castle.
Highlander’s Gypsy Lass (Highlander's 0f Clan Macgregor Book 1) Page 27
