Highland Surrender (43 page)

Yes, this time the truce would hold.

EPILOGUE

N
ATURE HAD A
twisted humor, indeed. Outside, the winds howled like a banshee in the night, wicked and cold, with an evil bite. But within the sturdy walls of Dempsey Castle, a joyous mood rang forth. The great hall blazed with warmth and happy tidings.

Fiona Campbell stood upon the steps and searched the waiting crowd. Somewhere in the midst of all her kith and kin, she’d find her husband.

She spotted Tavish at once, stout and red as ever, laughing next to Cedric and Marietta. There was Vivi, dangling a prospective husband on her arm. ’Twas just what she’d been shopping for during her visit to Linlithgow while the others played at squashing rebellion. Or so she’d said. And there were Marg and Alyssa, heads bent together, whispering over some special secret. They’d become as close as pearls on a string in the months since Marg had come to live here. A burst of gladness swelled inside Fiona’s breast. This was her family.

The Highland traitors had been vanquished, and the king sat solidly upon his throne. John, though most thoroughly a Campbell, now led the Clan Sinclair, and the people rejoiced, for they were tired of the feud and embraced the peace he’d brought
their way. Fiona felt a stab at his absence, but knew she’d see him when the weather grew warm once more and he and Genevieve and their child came to visit.

Fiona turned her gaze to the other side of the hall. Ah, and there at last! Her husband. Her foot faltered on the step as he turned his dazzling smile her way and hurried to the stairs. Her breath caught in a giddy lurch, and the tiny bundle in her arms stretched and yawned.

’Twas Aislinn Elizabeth Campbell about to make an entrance to the banquet. She was four months old today and every bit as much a Campbell babe as any in this room, with thick dark hair and dimples in each cheek. Robert liked to point those out and mention how they looked like his.

But when Fiona looked into this baby’s face, she saw only Myles, and hoped to have a dozen more. What strange twists and turns her life had taken, but for all the brambles in that path, she had come to a most happy destination. Her mother would be most pleased.

Fiona reached the bottom step, and Myles greeted her with an indecent kiss. He had yet to reach one thousand, but they were very nearly there. And ever so happy with the trying.

He leaned lower and pressed his lips against their daughter’s soft, chubby cheek. She cooed and smiled, and Fiona wondered if ever a babe had so besotted any man. She’d break hearts, this daughter of theirs.

Myles lifted his gaze and smiled at Fiona, his eyes bright green in the glow of the hall.

“Still you keep me waiting. What took so long?” he asked.

She shook her head in mock severity. “’Twas not my fault. This girl is greedy with her meals and woefully stubborn.”

Her husband chuckled and reached out to ruffle the dark tuft of his daughter’s fluffy hair. “I’d expect no less from a Sinclair lass. Perhaps she needs a brother or two?”

Fiona felt a rolling flutter low in her belly and wondered if one was ensconced there now. It was too soon to tell, but she had her suspicions.

Still, she laughed and answered, “My brothers failed to tame me. Perhaps it is a fine, strong husband she needs.”

Myles reached out and twisted a curl of her hair around his finger, the habit so constant now she wasn’t certain he realized when he did it. “There shall never be a husband worthy of our daughter,” he said, smiling.

“Ah, the bloated arrogance of the Campbells,” Fiona teased in return.

He shook his head. “No, you misunderstand me, wife. It is the combination of you and I which cannot be surpassed.”

She laughed outright at this, whispering back, “Such honeyed words, my lord. Is it your aim to trick me into bed?”

He smiled, open and sincere, and her heart tripped as it did each time he gazed at her in such a manner. If she was not carrying his child now, she would be soon enough.

“’Twas never my aim to trick you, my darling,” he said. “Or force your surrender. I meant only to coax you into love with me.”

“And so you have. Most successfully.”

“Have I?” Her husband looked pleased.

Fiona chuckled. “Do I not tell you so nearly every day?”

He moved closer, bringing his lips tantalizingly close to her own. “Tell me again.”

THE END

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

W
RITING MAY SEEM
a solitary endeavor, but getting a book published requires a legion of dedicated miracle workers. I am grateful to each and every person who helped me along this path. Thanks to Nalini Akolekar, Kelli Martin, and the entire Montlake team for believing in me and making this adventure so much fun.

Thanks to my dedicated “Three Cheekas,” Jennifer McQuiston, Alyssa Alexander, and Kimberly Kincaid, for always, always, always encouraging me, and making me laugh every single day at the most inappropriate jokes.

Thanks to the Ruby Slippered Sisterhood for hosting a “Best First Paragraph” contest, and to Kath Van of Dragonphli Sanctuary for nudging me in the direction I was always meant to go.

Thanks to Ashlyn Macnamara for adding her historical expertise, and for always asking, “But how do the characters
feel
?”

Thanks to all the lovely Dashing Duchesses. I’m so proud to be among you, I fear I shall swoon.

Thanks to Kieran Kramer, Katharine Ashe, Julie London, Karen Hawkins, Vicky Dreiling, Delilah Marvelle, Romily Bernard, Margie Lawson, Michael Hauge, Patty Hoffman, Darcy Woods,
and all the wonderful authors who have been so friendly and gracious with their support.

Thanks to Karen Robards for writing a swashbuckling pirate-seduces-a-maiden story that captured my teenaged imagination and made me want to be a romance writer.

Thanks to Cecelia Grant, Joanna Bourne, and Sherry Thomas for always demonstrating what extraordinary writing is. I’d like to live inside one of your books.

And finally, thanks to my dear friends and wonderful family. Without you, none of the rest matters.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Photo by Allie Gadziemski, 2012

B
ORN ON
C
HRISTMAS
day to an Irish mother and a Scottish father, Tracy Brogan considers herself a decidedly Celtic-American. She writes fun and sassy contemporary novels where ordinary people find extraordinary love, as well as stirring historical romances full of political intrigue, damsels causing distress, and the occasional man in a kilt.

A self-proclaimed history buff, Tracy is a contributing member of the Dashing Duchesses website, where they make history sound much hotter than it really was. She is a two-time finalist for the Romance Writers of America’s prestigious Golden Heart Award. She lives in Michigan with her husband, two brilliant and beautiful daughters, and two significantly less brilliant, but equally endearing, dogs.

Tracy loves to hear from readers so please visit her at
TracyBrogan.com
or at the
DashingDuchesses.com
.