Page 74 of Highlanders for the Holidays
Epilogue
Asingle hornblast trumpeted across the landscape.
From this distance they could spy men rushing to the ramparts, tiny black forms scurrying between machicolations.
Built solely for defense, Aldergh was a sprawling fortress that Page had once viewed a scabrous creation, sullying the beauty of the English meadow upon which it was seated.
The cavalcade stood well outside of missile range, yet close enough to make out standards. Flying against a vivid red sea, her father’s two-headed falcon whipped along the breeze. News would have preceded them by now, but until they faced the men who held the garrison they could not know how this would go.
Page reined in her mount, sidling up to her laird husband, and sat for a moment, simply taking in the sight—the familiar donjon keep, the soaring corner towers, the massive twenty-foot thick walls, built with old Roman ingenuity and stone.
Aldergh Castle appeared much the same as it had the day she’d left, save for a small footbridge her father must have installed after widening the moat.
And yet, despite its nearly impenetrable defenses, those walls had not been able to hold her. The last time she’d set eyes upon her childhood home, she’d been naught more than a lass and far too willful to remain locked up behind those castle walls—much to her own good fortune. The stars must have been aligned with her that day, for that was how she’d met Iain—after sneaking out to take an evening swim.
If she but closed her eyes, she could spy him now standing before her as he had that day, the silver at his temples, rivaling the glint of the setting sun.
“Catching glowworms perchance?”she’d asked him, because he’d stared a bit too long, mouth agape. She had been captured in her chemise. Wet and looking more like a stray he’d nevertheless seemed entranced.
“Bones o’ the saints,” he’d said. “‘Tis no wonder your da lets you aboot in the middle o’ the night. He’s like to be hopin’ ye’ll lose your way in the dark.”
There was truth to his words, and his barb had wounded her.No one had ever cared where Page went, or what she did—until the day she left this place.
“Who are you?”she’d demanded hotly, and when Iain did not immediately reply, she’d asked,“Have you no tongue, Scot?”
For the space of an instant he’d seemed taken aback by the question, stunned perhaps, and then he’d surprised Page with the rich timbre of his laughter.
Twelve years had gone by since that day—twelve years of that very same laughter, wherein she’d thought never to return to this place…
She cast a glance at her husband, reaching out to beg his hand.
“Ready?” he asked, and Page nodded resolutely.
All that her father had kept from her as a child was now hers to bestow.
Malcom trotted up beside them, maneuvering his mount next to Page. He peered at her with a question in his eyes, in much the same manner his father had. “Art certain?” he asked, as though she might change her mind.
Quite a lot had happened since the night her father died. Malcom was stronger now, bolder, filled with the strength of his own convictions and very little fear. That day in the woods, when he took her father’s life, all trace of his youth had fled from those stark green eyes. Pensive, and full of purpose, there was little left of the boy in him now.
Page’s gaze softened at the sight of her eldest child. “I am ready,” she assured, and then she proceeded to tug the signet ring off her finger, handing it to her son—herone and only son,since God seemed to have blessed her only with girls.
She laid a hand upon her belly, only slightly bumped, and smiled a secret smile. As yet, not even Iain realized, and she hadn’t yet told him because she knew he’d never allow her to come. But they could not delay this any longer, lest Aldergh become forfeit to the king.
She gave Malcom the ring that had once belonged to her lord father, offering it up in her palm. It was a small gold signet ring with two feathers striking through a fleur-de-lis bearing the motto,Altium, citius, fortius.
Swifter, higher, stronger.
That day in the forest, her father’s spirit took wing long before Iain arrived—right there, whilst she’d knelt beside him on the forest floor, weeping with her head upon his chest. The fates were cruel, she’d thought, for just when it seemed he had changed his heart and come to embrace her, the gods intervened and took his soul away. She only prayed he was now with her mother—the two of them waiting for her wherever they might be.
Malcom took the ring from her palm, and Page gave him a warm, reassuring smile. “Put it on your small finger, Malcom. Remember … what happens from the moment you ride through those gates will determine how they receive you. You are Aldergh’s new lord.”
Still, he seemed to hesitate, and Page could only guess at his thoughts. He was far more brooding than his father, although some would belie that claim. And, in fact, she recalled a time when they’d hailed him as a murderer and a fiend. Now, his son must overcome a similar epithet.
“You have the writ from David, and my father’s ring. That will be enough.”
The countries were at odds now. Henry of England was dead after eating a number of bad eels, or so they’d said. But, there were some who suspected he’d been poisoned. Stephen of Blois—Henry’s nephew—moved at once to seize the throne, and his daughter Matilda now prepared for war.
Once Malcom wrested control of Aldergh, Stephen would no doubt cede to him the baronetcy, if for no other reason to lessen the number of barons prepared to do battle against him.
