by Devon, Eva
She grinned at that. “One does hope that won’t be necessary. But, if it were necessary?” she ventured.
“If it were necessary,” he said, his heart welling with so much emotion he barely knew how to contain it. “We would go. Annabelle, ye have stolen my heart and my love, and I could no’ bear to share ye with another, nor could I allow ye to use yerself. Ye have done that so many times in the past with no choice. Others have used ye as a tool, but ye are no’ a tool. Ye are a glorious treasure. I doona wish to worship ye. I wish to be with ye. I wish to see ye live yer life in glorious splendor and happiness. I wish to see ye live life to the fullest, and without the fear of others.”
“That is what I wish, too,” she whispered, her eyes shining in the firelight “I never would have dared hoped for it if it was not for you. You have given me that,” she said. “You have shown me that I am worthy of happiness, and that I can be happy. And that perhaps. . .”
Her voice trailed off.
“Yes?” he asked, barely daring to hope for what she might say next.
She licked her lips and said, “That perhaps love is something that I might have in my life.”
“Ye already do,” he professed.
Doubt danced across her face for a moment. “Do I?”
“Och, Annabelle,” he began. “It is no’ easy for me to declare my love in a way that will make ye believe me. Ye have been misused all of yer life, and no’ treated as ye should. But I have come to love ye in such a short time. My heart recognized yer heart that night under the stars. And now, here, I love ye. My admiration for ye has grown every day. And I have seen the way that ye are, the truth of yer own heart, of yer soul. And I couldna love ye more.”
Tears filled her eyes. He winced, horrified that he had made her cry.
“Forgive me,” he said. “I doona ken what to say.”
“No! There is no forgiveness needed,” she protested. “You have said exactly what my heart hoped to hear. For I feel something I have not felt my whole life. I, too, feel love.”
Her chest rose and fell in rapid breaths as she all but announced, “I love you. I dare to love you, even though everything that I have ever experienced teaches me that I should not believe that we can have love.”
“But now?” he asked carefully.
“Now?” she echoed. “Now, I could believe almost anything is possible, for I do believe that you love me, and I love you. We have each other and whatever comes, we will face it together.”
He smiled then, unable to stop himself. She was all but repeating the words he had thought just moments before.
“Whatever comes, Annabelle,” he said, determined that she should know that all would be well no matter what came, “we will surmount it. We will survive it. We will thrive in it. That is who we are. Ye and I are no’ the kind to be easily defeated. If anything, together, we will grow in strength.”
She beamed at him.
“How is this possible?” she asked. “How is it possible that, at long last, I should find my home?”
“It has always been waiting for ye,” Tristan assured her. “Yer home was always here, and it will always be here, for yer home is in my heart.”
She stood and crossed slowly towards him, the firelight illuminating her body in the thin night-rail. She pressed herself to him and circled her hands about his shoulders. “I do not know how I have survived so long without you.”
He lifted his hand and caressed her cheek.
“I do,” he said. “Because ye are strong, and ye are capable, and ye are a brilliant creature. Ye can survive anything, Annabelle. But now,” he continued, “ye doona need to. Now, we can be happy and damn the prince. Perhaps, he will love yer tale of romance.”
She smiled up at him. “That is what Jane thinks.”
“Jane?” Tristan repeated.
“Yes,” she said as she nodded. “It was her idea that I should be very clear with him and tell him absolutely no.”
Tristan was astonished. It had never occurred to him that his sister might do such a thing.
“She surprises you, does she not?” Annabelle questioned.
“Jane?” Tristan asked. “Yes. Every day now, she surprises me. And I am glad for it. I was truly worried for her. But now, I see she has a soul as strong as yers, a soul as strong as iron. And she, too, will survive. And I think she will be happy again.”
“So do I,” said Annabelle. “So do I. And we?”
“We shall be happy,” he said. “For ye and I are no’ like a delicate plant that must grow in a hothouse. Ye and I are like the heather that grows wild upon the hills. We will thrive in wind and rocky soil. We will bloom in the heat of the summer sun, and we will continue on even in the coldest of winters.”
She tilted her head back, her eyes full of love. “But the winter is not cold now. Winter is gone.”
He laughed.
It was true.
Spring had come and, soon, it would be summer. And for them, he felt certain, somehow. . . summer would last forever.
Epilogue
September in Scotland was, perhaps, the most glorious time that Annabelle had ever seen or known. She could barely give words to how beautiful it was, but none of that compared to the love that had blossomed between her and Tristan.
None of it compared to the friendship that she felt for him, the closeness, or the affinity. And none of the beauty of the earth or the land could compare to the way that she now felt as if she belonged somewhere. Here with Tristan, Jane, and all the people on the clan lands, she knew that she had found her true home.
There was no question to it anymore. This is where she had always been meant to be. And she would never leave. She had no desire to go out into the world, for this was where she felt the most healed and the most at home.
And this night, this was where she could see the stars.
As she lay next to Tristan on the woven tartan blanket of red, green, and gold, they gazed up at the firmament. The stars danced wildly overhead, and the northern lights tripped and danced like beautiful spirits across the sky.
As if life had finally decided to give them a bit of peace rather than turmoil, the prince had written a long missive to her.
He had been so taken with her letter, with her decries of love and passion for her husband, that he had related to her that he, too, had once been in such great love with a woman.
That once, he, too, had fallen so madly and passionately in love. In the end, it had been the greatest sorrow of his life to have to leave her. He still mourned for the woman he could not have.
The prince had declared that no matter what transpired in his life, he would never rise above such passion or such love for this woman.
In the letter, he’d confessed that while he had hoped to enjoy her, he could never tear her away from such true love as she had discovered.
There had been tear stains upon the page as if he had lamented greatly over the writing of it, as if he had recalled the woman that he loved so deeply and the recollection had broken his heart.
It seemed that, for once, truth and love had finally won.
Who would have thought that the prince could be so moved by something so simple, and yet, so true? While Annabelle might not have ever personally liked the prince, she could not find herself disliking him any longer.
Truth be told, she felt rather sorry for him, that he had not been able to be with the woman he loved. The knowledge did make her wonder how such events had influenced his life over the years in the choices he had made.
She would never have to make such a choice, thank goodness.
No, she would be with the man that she loved until she was old and gray, and their children ran about the Highlands. But for now, she tucked herself against Tristan’s strong side.
Her husband pulled her closer and his arms wrapped about her shoulders as the summer wind danced slightly over them.
There was nothing better than this, this freedom from prison, from her jailers, from the peopl
e who had controlled her her whole life, to the fear that Tristan could not love her.
No, there was nothing better than this and all the promises of the days to come as she and Tristan lay under the eternal, Highland stars.
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