Page 35 of Married to the Cruel Highlander (Unwanted Highland Wives #5)

EPILOGUE

T he sun was high and golden over the MacAuley hills, spreading soft warmth across the stone courtyard where guests had gathered. Wildflowers were wound into the railings, and a scattering of lavender and thistle was tucked into every crevice.

No banners. No formalities. Just family, friends, and the scent of fresh air and midsummer joy.

And a very nervous wolf of a laird waiting at the altar.

Ersie saw him before he saw her. He stood tall, broad-shouldered, in a dark green tunic, his hair tied back, his jaw clenched like he was bracing for war.

She could’ve laughed. This wasn’t war. This was worse .

It was love . And for once, she wasn’t scared of it.

As she walked down the aisle, flanked by Laura and Ciaran, who was carrying Trouble, she could feel her heart thudding hard in her chest. But it wasn’t nerves. It was anticipation. That restless, wild feeling of stepping into something that mattered.

And judging by the way Keith’s eyes locked onto her like she was the only thing in the world worth seeing… he felt it too.

When she finally reached him, she didn’t wait for a greeting. She leaned in, tilted her head up, and muttered under her breath, “They all tried, ye ken.”

Keith blinked. “Who tried what?”

“Laura and Freya, Emily, Ceana… even Ciaran and Doughall. They all tried to convince me to leave the daggers behind.”

Keith’s mouth twitched, already fighting a grin.

“But I told them,” she continued, “just because I’m marryin’ a laird, doesnae mean I’ll be disarmed at me own bloody wedding.”

His laugh burst free, low and warm.

Ersie arched an eyebrow. “Still time to change yer mind, by the way. I come armed and trouble follows.”

A soft mewl sounded from Ciaran’s hand, and they both smiled at the kitten’s timing.

“I like trouble,” Keith murmured, his eyes gleaming. “Especially when she walks toward me wearin’ thistles in her hair and lookin’ like the fiercest goddess on this side of the sea.”

And before she could speak again, he leaned down and stole a kiss— before the priest had even opened his mouth.

There was a collective gasp. Someone—probably Laura—laughed outright.

“Impatient,” Ersie whispered, flushed but grinning.

Keith shrugged. “Aye. I’ve waited long enough.”

The priest cleared his throat pointedly. “If the bride and groom are quite finished…”

“Nay promises, Faither,” Keith muttered.

The ceremony continued, words she barely heard because her eyes never left his. He held her hand like he meant it—like he’d never stop holding it.

And when the priest finally gave them the floor for their vows, Ersie took a deep breath.

She didn’t believe in grand declarations. Never had. But this was Keith .

“I love ye,” she said simply. “More than I thought I ever could. Ye make me laugh when I’m tryin’ to be surly. Ye see me when I’m tryin’ to disappear. And ye make me feel safe… even when ye make me mad. Ye make me feel truly free.”

Keith smiled like it hurt him to hold it back.

She squeezed his hand. “So I promise I’ll still fight ye. But I’ll always fight with ye first.”

He let out a breath. “Thank God.”

Then, it was his turn.

He looked at her for a long moment, as if he was seeing every version of her—the warrior, the woman, the wild goddess.

“I love ye,” he said. “And I will love ye in the heat of battle and the quiet of morning. I’ll love ye when ye curse at me for takin’ it easy on ye in the sparring ring and when ye steal all the covers.”

There were a few chuckles from the crowd.

“I’ll love ye when ye wear steel,” he continued, his voice lower now, “and when ye wear nothin’ at all.”

Ersie choked on a laugh, her cheeks burning.

Keith grinned. “So I promise I’ll stand by ye. Always. Even if ye come at me with a blade.”

“I might.”

“I’d deserve it.”

The priest sighed again but smiled. “By the power vested in me, I now declare ye husband and wife. And clearly, ye’ve already kissed, so…”

Before he could finish the sentence, Keith kissed her again. And this time, she kissed him back like she meant it. Like she had waited her whole life to stop running and stand right here, with him.

* * *

The Great Hall thundered with life.

Keith stood near the stone archway, his arms crossed, watching as his clansfolk— their clansfolk now—danced, drank, and shouted their joy into the rafters.

Ersie’s laughter carried over the noise like a balm. She stood in the middle of it all, wild and flushed, her hair slipping loose from the braid she’d insisted was “too formal.” And God, she was beautiful. Fierce. Free.

She’s mine… Crazy.

He never thought he’d have this.

The music shifted, a fast reel now. Fraser was chasing the drummer in circles while Laura called after him half-heartedly, her belly resting in her lap like a sleeping kitten. Ciaran offered her his tankard and then wisely drew it back when she raised an eyebrow.

Then, Ceana and Freya were spinning so fast that they nearly crashed into a platter of honeycakes, while Emily laughed. Neil was telling someone a story with gestures far too dramatic to be entirely true. Doughall was simply following Freya with his eyes, Adam teasing him for it. And Ciaran… he lingered on the edges, watching Laura intently. Watching. Quiet but smiling. He gave Keith a small nod across the crowd. And Keith returned it.

Then, his gaze found Ersie again.

She hadn’t looked at him yet, but he could feel her eyes drifting. As if she always knew where he was, even before she saw him.

And when Mrs. Morrigan stepped up beside her, Keith let his eyes linger a moment longer.

The old woman said something. He couldn’t hear it, but he didn’t need to.

When Ersie’s expression shifted, and he saw that knowing little smile, that softness at the edge of her mouth, he remembered.

“Wolves do best with wolves,” Mrs. Morrigan had once told him.

He hadn’t understood it then, but he definitely did now.

When Ersie’s eyes finally met his, he didn’t move. He just lifted his chalice ever so slightly in a silent toast. She tilted her head, gave him that slow grin, then slipped through the crowd.

A few minutes later, her hand found his.

“Walk with me?” she asked.

Always.

He let her lead him through the crowd.

The gardens were quiet. The stone paths glistened under moonlight, damp with summer dew. The roses were in bloom. For once, the wind wasn’t biting. It was just cool enough to feel the edge of the season’s turn.

They walked in silence for a while.

Keith didn’t press because he never needed words from her. Not when the weight of her hand in his said enough.

“I needed a moment of quiet,” she said after a while, brushing her fingertips over a hedge. “Figured ye could use one too.”

Keith smiled. “I’ve had me share of noise.”

“I forgot ye were married before. I’m sorry.”

“Nay, lass. I’ve never experienced anythin’ like this.”

They reached the low wall at the back of the garden, the one overlooking the valley, and paused.

Ersie leaned her hip against the stone. Her hair glowed silver in the moonlight.

“When did ye ken?” she asked softly.

He looked at her. “Ken what?”

“That ye loved me.”

Keith blinked, startled by her question. Not because he hadn’t asked himself the same, but because she was asking now, here, when they were already bound.

He exhaled slowly. “When ye told me we could be friends.”

Her eyes widened. “That? Keith, that wasnae a sweet moment. That was… foreplay.”

He grinned. “Best kind.”

She laughed, and the sound hit something tender in his chest.

He stepped close and brushed a lock of hair from her cheek.

“I loved ye then,” he said quietly. “And probably before then. But I love ye even more today. Right now.”

She rose onto her tiptoes and kissed his cheek, her fingers curling gently into his collar.

“I’ve loved ye more and more each day,” she whispered, “since the day ye snatched me sword out of me hand.”

Keith chuckled, his chest vibrating. “Ye were ready to murder me.”

“I still might.”

He leaned in and kissed her back.

When they broke apart, she leaned her forehead against his.

“Tell me we’ll always feel like this,” she murmured.

Keith wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her close. “I willnae let it feel like anything less, Lady MacAuley.”

And beneath the stars, in the hush of the garden, with the faint echo of their clan’s joy behind them, Keith Dunn kissed his wife again.

And meant it with every breath in his soul.

The End?