Page 32 of Bride of the Wicked Laird (Sparks and Tartans: The MacKinnon Clan’s Romance #11)

EPILOGUE

O ne month later…

It was raining, as Everard’s birlinn glided slowly into the noost near Dùn Ara castle on the Isle of Mull, berthing alongside the heavy stone jetty.

Since the terrible final battle where Murchadh MacKinnon had met his fate, there had been a flurry of letters back and forth between the isles of Barra and Mull. Davina’s letters were brief, mostly filled with the sparest details of her life. Her handfast to Everard, her meeting with her true father, and sometimes a smile in the form of a few words of Feather’s exploits. Her half-brother’s responses from Mull had been similarly brief. The former Laird Murchadh and his untimely death were never mentioned.

There had been formal exchanges between the lairds, Everard and Tòrr, arranging this deputation, at Davina’s half-braither’s invitation. Now, at last, Davina was ready to return to the place of her childhood and meet her brother, the new laird.

How will I feel when I revisit the place of so much sadness and horror? What will it be like tae look upon the face of me half-braither? Will I see the lad I once kent, in the face of the grown man?

By the time Everard and Maxwell had secured the boat, Davina, with her faither, Laird Dùghall MacKinnon, were already ashore. Everard joined them with Maxwell a step behind. Flanked by her father, Davina walked arm-in-arm with Everard to the small group waiting at the end of the landing place.

The leader of the group, a tall lad, with raven-dark hair, wearing the great kilt in the plaid of the MacKinnons of Mull, stepped forward. His face was flushed, his eyes shining with unshed tears. As they stood before him, he bowed low from his waist.

“Me greetings tae ye and welcome tae Dùn Ara, Laird Everard MacNeil of Barra, me kinsman, Laird Dùghall MacKinnon of Pabhay, and me dearly beloved sister, Davina MacNeil of Barra.”

Everard stepped forward and dipped his head in greeting as he shook Tòrr’s outstretched hand. Davina reached out her hand for her brother to claim. “Thank ye fer yer welcome, me laird MacKinnon.”

She offered a shy smile, waiting for him to speak. He took her hand but he appeared lost for words.

Finally, after he’d studied her for several moments, Tòrr shook his head. “I can scarce believe it, me wee sister is here with me, safe after all the long years I have feared fer ye. Ye’ve grown so beautiful, and I see so much of our mother in ye. Her hair was just as yers is, fine, and like the color of autumn. I remember her now, seeing it again in ye.”

Everard introduced his brother War Chief Maxwell MacNeil who stepped beside them and shook Laird Tòrr’s hand.

“Come now,” Tòrr said, “Ye must hasten with me into the castle before the rain drenches ye. We’ve a feast prepared and some of the members of me clan will be attending. All of them are eager tae welcome our kinsman, the Laird Dùghall”. He turned to Davina. “Some of them remember ye as a wean and wish tae see ye again and wish ye well.”

Such a welcome she had hardly dared hope for. Her heart was full. It seemed that the circumstances surrounding her birth were not of concern to her half-brother and a warm welcome was extended also to her true father. It was more than she could have ever dreamed of. All that had gone before, the sadness and the fear she’d endured and Dame Maria’s torment at the convent, faded in the face of all the warmth that now surrounded her.

And, most thrilling of all, was that the man she loved more than life itself was standing beside her.

They wound their way up the rocky path from the shore. It was a short distance to Castle Dùn Ara, seated atop a rise with a perfect view around them of the sea and land. As they walked through the portcullis into the cobbled courtyard Davina held her breath. It was suddenly all too familiar.

There were the stables, where she’d spent so much of her time when keeping out of Murchadh’s sight. But today there was nothing about them that was anything other than benign. The stable lads were lined up, ready to welcome her and her party, bowing as they passed.

Then on, up the steps to the keep where the servants waited. One figure, set slightly apart from the rest, an older lass, grey-haired, who held a kerchief to her face. Yet she couldn’t disguise the tears rolling down her cheeks.

“Why, it’s dear Claray,” Davina cried, stepping over to greet her. During Davina’s time at Dùn Ara, Claray had been a lowly member of housekeeping. Now, judging by the jangle of keys on her elaborate belt, it seemed she had risen to the position of seneschal of the castle.

Claray had always been kind, and when the young Davina had been banished from the keep, she would make sure some of the evening meal was smuggled out to her. If she was locked in her tiny bedchamber, it was always Claray who would quietly unlock the door and bring water and bannocks.

Claray looked up, her face tear-stained. She bobbed a quick curtsy. “Och, me Lady Davina, these long years since ye left Dùn Ara, I’ve thought of ye often and wondered how ye fared.”

Davina took Claray’s work-worn hands in hers. “And many times I’ve thought of ye and yer kindness. This is a happy day fer me, tae be here wi’ me faither and me beloved husband.”

Claray followed as they walked inside, Tòrr turning to her with instructions to show the guests to their chambers.

“Once ye’ve had time enough tae rest from yer journey, I invite ye tae join me wi’ the Clan Council of the MacKinnons of Mull, fer a feast in yer honor.”

Davina recognized the bedchamber as the one her mother had occupied many years ago. She breathed in the fragrance of the flowers arranged on a table at the center of the room and for a brief moment she felt a tiny breeze, carrying her mother Sorcha’s distinctive scent of roses. With tears shining in her eyes she turned to Everard, “I believe me maither is here with me.”

He reached for her hand and kissed it. “She would be proud of her beautiful daughter.”

Davina roamed the room that held so many memories. So much was familiar. This was the one place of warmth in the castle. She’d always felt safe here by her mother’s side. Today, with Everard close, that same sense of being safe and protected thrummed through her.

After they’d washed and changed into fresh clothing, they left the bedchamber and made their way down the stairs and along a series of passageways to the great hall. Davina was surprised that every step seemed so familiar. Only now she was walking with a light step, not with the heavy dread she’d felt so long ago.

Dùghall and Maxwell were waiting with Tòrr at the entrance and they proceeded down the long walk to the high table with the two lairds of the MacKinnons – Tòrr and Dùghall – in the lead, followed by Everard and Davina with Maxwell in the rear.

The entire company rose to their feet as the party reached the high table. Tankards were raised and the call Slàinte mhath echoed through the hall.

They were entertained by two fiddlers playing many well-loved tunes while they feasted on slabs of roast venison and poached salmon. This was followed by several different cheeses made with both sheep and cow’s milk, all of them delicious. At last came Davina’s favorite, dessert, consisting of custards and sweet pies, compotes of raspberries and blackberries and honey-almond cakes.

Once the feasting was wearing low, Tòrr took to his feet to make an official speech to welcome his guests. “I am proud tae stand here beside me kinsman, Dùghall MacKinnon of the Isle of Pabhay, his daughter, me half-sister the Lady Davina MacNeil, and her husband the Laird Everard of the MacNeils of Barr, along with his braither, War Chief, Maxwell MacNeil.”

His words were greeted with a series of rowdy cheers. Davina was greatly relieved. Clearly, there were no grudges being held resulting from the death of the old laird. The acknowledgment of Dùghall MacKinnon as Davina’s father was treated with great discretion, even though some of the older members of the Council had greeted Dùghall as they’d known him from the brief time, he’d spent at Dùn Ara before leaving for France.

The Laird Tòrr made it clear to his assembled Clan Council members and to Everard and Maxwell that, from now on, there was a strong alliance between the MacKinnons of Mull and the MacNeils of Barra.

“The MacNeils are now kinsmen of the MacKinnons of both Mull and Pabhay and we will proudly stand beside them as our allies.”

Everard smiled at Davina, clasping her hand. “This new alliance will be sure tae please our Clan Council.”

Returning his smile, she curled her fingers around his and beneath the table she found his thigh, her soft touch bringing a sigh to his lips.

“Now,” she whispered, “at last the Council can have nay objections tae our marriage taking place before many more weeks have passed.”

But there’s more…

Eager to learn what the future holds for Everard & Davina ?

Then you may enjoy this extended epilogue .