It had been a long journey. There was so much that had taken place to get here, and so many changes that Isabel had had to make in her life. But all the hardship, all the mistakes, and all the trauma were worth it for this day.
“Ah, there it is! Finished! You look lovely, my lady,” Charlotte complimented.
“Thank you, dear Charlotte! You are magnificent! I adore it!” Isabel exclaimed, turning her head from side to side to see the white-blonde braids forming a crown around her head.
“And where be me new sister?” called Caitriona, coming into the room. Her hands held a small bundle of baby’s breath flowers.
“You got them. Perfect!” Charlotte said.
“What are those for?” Isabel asked.
“Well,” Charlotte began. “Perhaps your hair wasn’t quite finished after all.”
She began weaving the tiny white buds through the braids, giving Isabel the look of an angel.
“Me goodness, lass, what a beauty ye are!” Caitriona exclaimed.
“Why thank you,” Isabel said with a slight bow of her head. The three women could not hold back their smiles for all the joy they felt.
Caitriona handed Isabel a bouquet of assorted flowers she had gathered outside. It was enormous, and it smelled amazing. Isabel plucked the petal of one of the white roses and squished it against her skin to give her the scent on her wrists.
“Are ye ready?” Caitriona asked.
“It could not have come soon enough,” Isabel said.
She stood, and her white gown fell against her curves, accentuating her figure beautifully. She had chosen to honor the Scottish style as opposed to the large, lacy, high-necked gowns in England. At that moment, her identity was not defined by nation, but by the commitment she was soon to make. Edan’s wife.
“Ye look like a right arse,” Robert teased.
Edan was finishing the adjustment of his sporran and readying himself to take his place before his clan where he would vow to be Isabel’s husband. He had never felt such eagerness.
It was strange to him, how he had never known quite how much he desired love until it was his. But now, prepared to take his bride, it was the only thing he wanted.
“I think he looks like a Laird,” Callum said.
Edan smirked at both men. He was quiet, more quiet than usual. Words could not do him justice with all that he wished to say.
There was a knock on the door of Edan’s room, and Callum opened it. There stood the Duke of Gordon in his black coattails with a crisp white shirt and a black bowtie.
He looked at his son-in-law standing before him in his kilt and traditional flowing shirt.
“Good heavens, how proud James would be,” the Duke said, with tears in his eye. He was thrilled to see that his daughter would soon be wed and overjoyed that it would be to the man he had so grown to respect. Even more, the Duke hoped the union would bring a light of peace between two warring kingdoms.
“Yes, yer Grace,” Edan said, bowing his head.
“There is no need for you to bow to me. I am honored to have you join my family. I am glad to be able to call you my son as you care for my daughter. Laird Edan of Clan Mccallion, may you always be regarded among men,” the Duke said by way of a blessing.
“Thank ye, Yer Grace. I am honored that ye have given me the hand of yer daughter. She is everything to me now,” Edan said.
“Well then, we had best not keep her waiting, I suppose,” the Duke replied.
The men departed Edan’s room and made their way to the meadow. It was a sunny day, with a gentle breeze. The morning had seen light dew on the grass, but it was now dried and ready to host an entire clan excited to see their Laird be married.
Wally stood off to the side of Edan with his bagpipe in hand and placed his lips on the reed. Robust notes resounded in the meadow, and soon, the white vision of Isabel was walking toward her groom.
Edan watched her taking gentle steps toward him, and knew without a doubt, that it was as much a struggle for her as it was for him to not take off in a run toward one another. But she was patient and so was he until the moment she was before him.
Vows were made, lips were clasped, cheers sounded from the clan, and the two became one.
“Shall we?” Edan asked as he and Isabel departed the meadow and made their way to the feast in the great hall.
“As you wish, my Laird…my husband,” Isabel replied.
Arm in arm, they went, and again, were greeted by the sound of pipes within the hall.
“I never did ask you what would be eaten…” Isabel said. “I mean when you have weddings.”
“What do ye think, lass?” Edan teased.
Just then, the haggis was brought in, and more cheers were raised by the clan. Along with neeps and tatties, the supper was had.
“Well…shall we?” This time it was Isabel who asked. Edan looked in her eyes with a returned longing.
“Aye, lass. We shall at that,” he replied.
As the others began to dance and sing, Edan and Isabel departed for the room they would occupy now as man and wife. Edan closed the door behind her and simply stared at her for a moment.
Feeling just slightly insecure by his gaze, Isabel met his wide eyes for only a moment before blushing and looking at the floor with a bashful smile.
“Ye are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen in me life. And I get to watch ye for the rest of me days,” Edan said with passion.
“And you are the man I get to spend my life loving and respecting. A man I can follow. A man who will not force me to follow, but a man I choose to follow for his humility and wisdom. I am grateful to be in your hands,” she said, tracing her fingers along the features of his face.
“Well, I dinnae think ye be quite in me hands yet,” Edan said, suggestively raising an eyebrow. He very softly pulled her waist toward him.
“Then perhaps it is time we do something about that, hmm?” Isabel replied with a mischievous smile.
“Aye, lass,” Edan whispered into her ear as he traced small kisses around it.
Despite all that had come before, it was that night that set the tone for the lifetime to follow.
The End?
Extended Epilogue
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More sweet historical romance
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Falling for the Highlander
Chapter 1
Welcome, Wee Lass
“Where are we going?” Ewan asked his mama, as they rode out of the clan boundaries in their royal carriage.
The sun was rising on the McDonald clan boundaries, basking the vast green lands and its residents with its soothing glow. It was the year of 1432, a year filled with joy.
“Ye and I are going to welcome a very special friend into this world,” Agatha, the Lady McDonald, told her son, Ewan.
“A friend?” Ewan asked, innocently, for he was confused.
“Ye’ll see,” she winked at him, making three-year-old Ewan giggle and hide in her side.
The truth of the matter was, Agatha was on her way to the neighboring Duggal clan with Ewan to meet the Helen, the Lady of the castle and her newborn child. The Duggal clan and the McDonald clan had a long-standing friendship, built upon years of union, comradery and trust. Unlike tradition in the Highlands, the two clans didn’t have a rivalry, nor did they quarrel over territory or land. The distance between them was a mere mile, and the only reason Agatha had called upon the royal carriage was that a Lady could not go out on foot.
Agatha and Helen had bee
n friends since the first time they met, almost five years ago. Their respective husbands, the current Lairds, had been friends for even longer than that, having grown up together. Nothing and no one could ever come between or destroy the strong relationship the two clans had, not even the strongest of enemies.
Love and friendship were the defining characteristics of their friendship. Each year in the summer, a festival was held in the outskirts by the two clans, where the young and old would mingle and dance. It was there that many of the youth would meet and fall in love, not being held back by their different origins.
The two lairds were the fiercest and most hard-working leaders in all of the moors. They put their people above all else, their duty above their personal gain. And the two Ladies? They were adored by the public and admired for their class and elegance. Agatha had given birth to her son three years ago, and now it was Helen’s turn to bring a kin into the world. Lady McDonald was absolutely delighted when she woke in the morning to find a letter had arrived from the Duggal Castle, announcing the birth of their heir.
“How much longer?” Lady McDonald called out to the coachmen, impatiently.
The normal twenty minutes carriage ride seemed liked hours long to the excited Lady McDonald.
It was meant to be for the heirs of the Duggal and the McDonald clans to play together. They were, after all, born best friends.
“We’re here, Lady McDonald,” the coachmen answered back, pulling the carriage towards the Duggal Castle grounds.
“Lady Duggal,” Sophie whispered, nudging the Helen lightly out of the blissful sleep she had fallen into.
Fluttering her eyes awake, she replied, “Aye?”
“They have arrived, Me Lady,” Sophie informed her, opening the curtains and allowing fresh light into the chambers.
“Help me up!” Lady Duggal ordered, feeling excited that her friend had finally arrived.
“Where’s the babe?” Lady Duggal asked, running her hand through her ruffled hair.
“Nay, Lady, ye mustn’t strain yerself.” Sophie insisted as Lady Duggal began to get up. “The baby is in the nursery.”
“Go on and bring her to me,” Lady Duggal told Sophie, lying back down into the comfortable bedding.
“Aye, I’ll fetch her while ye stay put,” Sophie conceded, smiling tenderly.
The whole castle was excited about the birth of the new princess, Isla Duggal, who was now the apple of everyone’s eye. Even though the Laird and Lady had been married for nearly five years, now, the Good Lord had finally bestowed them with the blessing of a child. Lady Duggal was the most ecstatic, for she had finally given her husband a child. A child they vowed to love unconditionally till the time came for them to leave this world.
Laird Duggal was gone on a hunting trip and hence had not met his daughter yet. Regardless, Lady Duggal had sent him a message the second she felt the baby was ready to come. It wouldn’t be too long before her husband would return.
Lady Duggal waited for Sophie to return with Isla, already missing having her little bundle of joy in her hands.
Long ago when the two ladies had become friends, they had discussed a silly dream. At that time, both had not had children. Their dream was to raise their children in hopes to have them marry each other one day. Lady Duggal could only hope this dream was going to come true.
Sophie returned to the bedroom with Isla wrapped in a woolen blanket and held tenderly in her arms. Lady Duggal held her own arms open to take her baby and cradle her.
“Bring them in. We’re ready,” she ordered Sophie, who rushed outside to bring in Lady McDonald and Prince Ewan.
“We have some really special guests here to meet ye, me wee lamb,” Lady Duggal cooed at baby Isla who was stretching her arms.
Isla was already the spitting image of her mother, with the same red hair and pale complexion. Her eyes, however, paid homage to her father, blue and piercing in their gaze.
There was a brief knock on the door before it opened and in stepped Lady McDonald, Ewan followed closely timid and hesitant.
“Oh my!” Lady McDonald gasped, clutching her chest in awe as she continued to approach Lady Duggal. “As precious as her mama.”
“Won’t ye come hold her?” Helen offered, smiling radiantly.
Agatha giggled, winking as she sat next to Lady Duggal on the bed and took the baby in her arms. “Don’t mind if I do.”
“Is it a-” Lady McDonald began to ask, but Lady Duggal already knew what her query was and interrupted her.
“It’s a li’l girl.” Helen told Agatha. “Me wee Princess Isla.”
“I hope ye remember our deal,” Lady McDonald joked, though she hoped Lady Duggal shared her sentiment.
“I wouldn’t dare to forget,” Helen replied, resting her head on the bedpost and looking at Ewan.
“Come here to your auntie, won’t ye?” Lady Duggal asked, opening her arms.
Ewan ran to her, nestling himself into her side.
Lady McDonald was concerned.
“How are ye though?” She asked.
“I’m fair puckled! She took her time coming out, this one,” Lady Duggal laughed, looking like an angel.
Helen patted her dear friend’s frail hand. “I can see that. Ye look very tired, Helen, ye should be getting rest.”
Lady McDonald knew how much pain a woman had to feel to receive such a blessing from their God. No man could have the strength to endure it, as it was a burden meant only for the feminine body.
“Nay, I feel perfectly relaxed with ye and Ewan, Agatha,” Lady Duggal told her, sincerely.
“Have ye sent word to Fergus?” Lady McDonald asked, knowing he would be over the moon with joy.
Lady Duggal nodded. “Aye, I sent a messenger when I felt the first of the pain in me belly.”
“Aye, I sent word to me Jon as well, in case,” Helen told her, referring to her husband out hunting with Laird Duggal.
“I can already imagine his smile.” Lady Duggal blushed. “I can’t thank God enough for allowing me this opportunity.”
“Ye deserve it, me friend.” Lady McDonald announced. “Don’t ever doubt it.”
Ewan walked closer to the baby who now flaying her arms. He gasped, “It’s waking up.”
Looking at her astonished son, she corrected, “It’s a girl, Ewan. Her name is Isla, and she is your friend.”
“Isla,” Ewan whispered into the baby’s ear.
“Will ye be her friend?” Lady Duggal asked as he smiled wide.
“I’ll protect her, Mama,” Ewan declared, softly kissing the baby’s cheek.
The messenger raced through the dense forest, onward, searching for his master and the hunting party. The whole castle had been in frenzy when the messenger had been sent off to locate the Laird and bring to him the message the Lady had given.
He galloped his horse to the camping site, where the Duggal and McDonald tartan flag flew in the wind, marking their territory. The messenger halted the horse outside the entrance of the site, handing it over to one of the stable boys before rushing inside. He found the two lairds sitting next to the fire as the men sang and ate in peace. The messenger met the Laird’s eye, silently seeking permission to approach him.
“Come hither,” Laird Duggal told him, gesturing forward with his hand.
The messenger walked to the Laird, happy to be the one to deliver such good news.
“Sire, this is from the Castle.” The messenger started by handing the message to Fergus, the Laird Duggal, “The Lady has given birth to a princess.”
A look of shock followed by panic fell on the Laird’s face as he turned to his friend, Laird McDonald.
“Laddie, welcome to the club!” Jon declared, slapping Fergus’ back, who finally snapped out of his daze.
“Am a Da! Men, hear ye! Me child has arrived!” Laird Duggal announced, standing up, tall and proud.
“We must return to the castle immediately!” Jon advised him, as Laird Duggal ceremoniously danced with glee.
“AYE! A feast shall be held!” Laird Duggal shouted to the boisterous men.
“AYE!” The men resonated.
Laird Duggal ordered his hunting party to start packing and prepare to leave. He couldn’t wait to hold his baby daughter in his hands; his little angel, for whom he had waited for so long to arrive.
“Where is she?!” Laird Duggal exclaimed, bursting into his private chambers and making the women present laugh.
Fergus strode to his beautiful wife, who tenderly smiled back at him. He glimpsed at the newborn. His little girl had him in a trance. He wasn’t aware of anyone else in the room. Holding Isla in his arms, he knelt next to the bed, simply gazing and cooing at his daughter. She has the same eyes, just like the eyes on his face that he saw in the mirror so many times in the past.
He the felt tears running down his face. He whispered, “She’s beautiful.”
“We’ll be downstairs,” Lady McDonald excused herself, wanting to give the family their privacy and exited with Ewan.
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