Page 44 of The Highlander’s Savage Vow

"Ye're glowing, me darling," her mother said softly, appearing at Iona’s side with the quiet grace she remembered from childhood.

Lady Caoimhe MacNeill looked older, silver threading through her auburn hair, but her eyes held the same warmth that had comforted Iona through scraped knees, childhood fears, weeks of uncertainty after their clan was banned by the king, and finally, the risk of sending their daughter to marry her childhood friend.

Iona smoothed the soft blue wool of her gown, a new creation from the finest cloth her parents had brought as a gift, and felt the familiar flutter in her belly that still amazed her. Three months along, and already the babe seemed eager to make its presence known.

"It's the babe," Iona replied, placing a protective hand over her still-small belly. "Ruaridh says I shine brighter than the loch in morning light."

"He always did have a poet's tongue when it came tae ye," her father's voice boomed from across the hall. Laird Eoin MacNeill strode toward them, his weathered face creased with joy. Behind him walked Alistair and Ruaridh, deep in conversation with Gordon, both men laughing at some shared jest.

The sight of her parents here, safe and welcome in her new home, filled Iona with contentment she'd never thought possible.

The months following Murray's death had been a whirlwind of rebuilding, both physical and emotional.

The castle showed no traces of the battle that had raged within its walls.

The stone had been repaired, tapestries rewoven, and the very air seemed lighter without the shadow of threat hanging over them.

"Maither, Da," she said, embracing them both. "I still cannae believe ye're truly here."

"Where else would we be when our daughter becomes lady of one of Scotland's greatest clans?" Eoin's chest puffed with pride. "And when she's carrying our first grandchild?"

"Hush," Caoimhe chided gently. "The babe's still early. We mustn't tempt fate."

But Iona could see the joy sparkling in her mother's eyes, the way her hands fluttered near Iona's belly as if longing to feel for signs of the life growing within.

"God has blessed ye beyond measure, lass," Eoin continued, his voice growing serious. "When we sent ye tae the MacDuffs, we hoped fer safety. We never dared dream ye'd find such happiness."

"Or that ye'd remember yer childhood affection fer young Ruaridh," Caoimhe added with a knowing smile. "Though I always suspected there was something special between ye two, even as bairns."

"Maither," Iona protested, though she couldn't suppress her own smile.

"Dinnae 'Maither' me. I remember how ye used to follow that boy around like a devoted puppy, and how he'd blush whenever ye smiled at him." Caoimhe's eyes sparkled with mischief. "Destiny has a way of bringing hearts together, even across years and hardship."

"What's this about destiny?" Gordon's voice interrupted as he approached with Ruaridh. "Are we discussing fate, or are ye embarrassing poor Iona with childhood tales?"

"Both," Eoin replied with a grin. "I was just telling me daughter how obvious it was, even as children, that she and yer friend here were meant fer each other."

"Obvious to everyone except them, apparently," Gordon said, dodging Ruaridh's halfhearted swipe. "I spent years watching them moon over each other without ever having the courage tae speak up."

"I did not moon," Ruaridh protested, though the small smile he couldn’t hide suggested otherwise.

"Ye absolutely did," Gordon continued mercilessly. "Remember the summer ye learned she was coming fer the harvest festival? Ye spent three days practicing what ye'd say tae her, then forgot every word the moment she smiled."

"That's enough embarrassment fer one morning," Niamh's voice carried across the hall as she approached, resplendent in her finest gown of deep green wool.

"Though I must admit, it daes me heart good tae see such happiness in these walls again.

"Speaking of which," Niamh continued, "the clan is gathering in the courtyard. It's time."

The ceremony of succession was as old as the Highland clans themselves.

Iona took her place among the assembled MacNeill guests as the MacDuff clansmen filled the courtyard, their faces solemn with the weight of tradition.

At the center stood an ancient stone—the clan's ceremonial seat that had witnessed the rise of dozens of lairds over the centuries.

Duncan stepped forward, his weathered hands holding the clan sword that had been Alistair's and his father's before him. "Who comes tae claim leadership of Clan MacDuff?" he called out, his voice carrying clearly in the crisp autumn air.

"I dae." Ruaridh's voice was steady as he moved toward the stone. "Ruaridh MacDuff, son of Alistair, grandson of Hamish, heir by blood and right tae the chieftain's seat."

"And who speaks fer this man's fitness tae lead?"

"I dae." Alistair stepped forward, his voice ringing with paternal pride and absolute certainty. "I speak fer his courage in battle, his wisdom in Council, his justice toward all who seek his aid."

"As dae I." The unexpected voice belonged to Bruce MacNab, who emerged from the crowd with quiet dignity.

His presence there, as the new laird of his own diminished clan, spoke of the forgiveness that had begun to heal old wounds.

"I speak fer his mercy toward enemies, his honor in victory, his protection of the innocent. "

Iona felt tears prick her eyes at the sight of the man who'd saved her life now publicly supporting her husband's claim to leadership.

The king's pardon had restored Bruce's lands and title, as a second cousin of Murray’s, but his choice to attend this ceremony, and to publicly align himself with the MacDuffs, was a gesture of respect that went far deeper than politics.

"Then let all hear," Duncan proclaimed, raising the ancient sword above his head. "By blood, by deed, by the acclaim of his people, Ruaridh MacDuff is declared Laird of Clan MacDuff, Chief of his Name, and Guardian of these lands and all who dwell upon them."

The courtyard erupted in cheers as Ruaridh placed his hand upon the ceremonial stone. The weight of leadership, of responsibility for hundreds of lives, settled visibly on his shoulders. But when his eyes found Iona's across the crowd, she saw not burden but purpose in his gaze.

"Long live the MacDuff!" The cry rose from a hundred throats, echoing off the ancient stones until it seemed the very walls themselves celebrated their new laird.

The feast that followed was a joyous affair that stretched late into the evening. The great hall had been transformed with autumn flowers and rich tapestries, the long tables groaning under the weight of roasted meats, fresh bread, and delicacies that had been saved for this special occasion.

Iona found herself seated at the high table between her parents and Ruaridh, watching the celebration unfold with deep contentment. Her hand rested unconsciously on her belly.

"A toast," Gordon called out, rising from his place with characteristic flair. "Tae the new Laird MacDuff and his bonnie bride. May their reign be long, their enemies few, and their children many!"

"Hear, hear!" The hall erupted in approval, goblets raised high.

"And," Gordon continued with a wicked grin, "tae the fact that our dear Ruaridh finally found the courage tae court the lass he's been pining fer since he was ten years old!"

"Gordon," Ruaridh warned, though he was fighting a smile.

"What? It's true! Though I suppose I should thank ye fer yer years of hesitation, it gave me plenty of opportunities tae charm the Highland lasses who couldn't catch yer attention."

"Some things never change," Iona observed with amusement. "Ye're still the same shameless flirt ye were as a lad."

"Shameless? Me?" Gordon pressed a hand to his chest in mock offense. "I prefer tae think of meself as... appreciative of feminine beauty."

"Is that what we're calling it now?" Caoimhe interjected with a laugh. "In me day, we simply called it being a rake."

"A reformed rake," Gordon protested. "Marriage has been good tae me friends—perhaps it's time I considered following their example."

"The Highland lasses may never recover from the shock," Ruaridh observed dryly, earning another round of laughter.

As the evening progressed, Iona felt herself surrounded by love in all its forms. The passionate devotion of her husband, the protective care of her parents, the loyal friendship of people like Gordon and Duncan, and the growing bonds with her new clan.

Even Bruce's presence at the celebration spoke of healing and hope for the future.

"Ye look thoughtful, lass," her father observed, settling into the chair beside her as the musicians struck up a gentle air.

"Just grateful," she replied softly. "A year ago, I thought me life was over. I was fleeing one danger after another, certain I'd never find peace or happiness."

"And now?"

She placed her hand over Ruaridh's where it rested on the table, their fingers intertwining naturally. "Now I have everything I never dared dream of. A husband who loves me, a family that accepts me, a home where I belong." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "And a babe on the way."

Eoin's weathered face crinkled with joy. "Aye, and what a babe it will be, born of such love and raised in such safety. The child of two clans united, with all the strength of both bloodlines."

"Speaking of which," Caoimhe leaned closer with conspiratorial glee, "have ye given thought tae names?"

"It's still early days."

"Early or nae, that babe will be blessed beyond measure," Niamh said, joining their conversation. "Born tae parents who fought fer their love, protected by a clan that values loyalty above all else, and surrounded by family who'll guard its future with their lives."

As if summoned by their talk, Ruaridh appeared behind Iona's chair, his hands coming to rest gently on her shoulders. "What are ye plotting, the lot of ye?"

"Just discussing the future," Iona replied, leaning back against his warmth. "And how grateful we are fer the present."

"As am I," he said quietly, pressing a soft kiss to the top of her head. "More grateful than words can express."

The celebration continued around them, but in that moment, Iona felt the perfect completeness of her world.

The restored gardens visible through the open doors spoke of renewal and growth.

The laughter echoing through halls that had known too much sorrow promised joy for years to come.

And the life growing beneath her heart represented hope made manifest.

She thought of the frightened girl who'd fled Murray MacNab's assault with nothing but a stolen letter and desperate courage. That girl could never have imagined that moment. Being surrounded by love, carrying new life, and finally, truly home.

Outside the great hall windows, stars began to appear in the darkening sky, their light reflecting off the peaceful loch beyond the castle walls.

The day after would bring new challenges, new responsibilities, new joys and sorrows alike.

But that night, in that moment of perfect contentment, Iona MacDuff knew that some stories truly did end with a happily ever after.

The future stretched before them bright with promise, and for the first time in longer than she could remember, she looked toward it without fear.

But there’s more…

The threats are behind them, but the cost of love is never simple. Reclaiming their place—and each other—may be the hardest battle yet.