Page 128 of The Highlander's Auctioned Virgin
EPILOGUE
THREE YEARS LATER
Elinor leanedback in the high-back chair, her eyes fixed on the sight before her. The gallery smelled of varnish and wood, a combination that made her stomach turn and her throat constrict in utter disgust. She couldn’t leave, though. Not for a little while.
Her hand rested on the swell of her belly. The baby in there shifted in a slow, rolling stretch that made her suck in a sharp breath. She slid her palm further down her belly in a bid to soothe the baby and herself.
“Ma, why is yer stomach moving?” Ewan, one of the twins, called out, a look of utter horror on his face as his eyes darted from her belly to her face.
“‘Tis because yer little sister wants to come out and play with ye soon,” Elinor responded calmly.
“I daenae think I want to play with her if she’s hurting ye like that,” Isla, the other twin, muttered.
Unlike Ewan, Isla was more reserved and felt things more deeply. She must have caught the brief look of distress that crossed Elinor’s face the instant the baby kicked.
“Ye ken, ye can just tell them that the baby willnae play with them if they daenae sit still.” Anna’s voice cut through the figurative tarp she must have wrapped around her and the twins.
Elinor’s eyes snapped up, but Ciaran, who had rested his hands on the back of her chair, spoke before she could open her mouth.
“Ye want us to scare the children with talk like that?”
“Yer children are growing.”
“They arenae even two yet.”
“Never too late to start anything.”
Elinor laughed. On her lap, the twins squirmed like pups trapped for too long. Ewan tugged at the edge of her sleeve, while Isla tried to lean over the arm of the chair to see what Anna was doing.
“How much longer do ye think this is going to take?” Elinor asked, watching Anna dip her brush into a jar of red paint.
They had been sitting there for the better part of two hours, and Elinor could no longer feel her back.
Ewan pulled harder at her sleeve, his impatience just as evident.
“If ye want a treat after this session, ye have to sit still,” Elinor murmured.
Isla turned her bright blue eyes to her, a sly look on her face. She had the same mischievous expression as her father; it was all Elinor could see as she stared into her deep green eyes.
Anna dipped her brush and shook her head. “I swear these two have more spirit than Jackson when he was ten.”
Elinor laughed. “Speaking of which, Jackson sent a letter last week. He says Moira’s well enough now that she’ll be up and about by spring.”
After leaving the castle immediately after the wedding, Jackson had traveled to stay with their oldest sister and keep her company.
Anna smiled without looking up from the jars of paint before her. “That is quite good to hear. She must crave company, after all that time alone.”
“Jackson willnae let her be lonely,” Elinor said. “He always kens how to keep people entertained.”
“And how to make them uncomfortable,” Ciaran chimed in, his hand resting gently on her shoulder.
For a moment, Elinor thought Anna was going to contest his response.
“Aye. ‘Tis what makes him dangerous,” Anna said instead, lifting her brush.
Elinor looked over her shoulder and turned her face up just enough to see her husband. “Have ye noticed how yer old clansmen have taken to this place?”
“Aye.” His thumb brushed her collarbone. “They said that the harvest was the best in years. And the lads who used to brawl over every insult are now mending roofs together.”
