Page 26 of The Laird’s Guardian Angel (Highland Lairds #3)

EPILOGUE

" M y lord, there's a messenger here, says he's from the king."

Sir Edgar of Bromley sat up straighter in his chair before the hearth, his near-empty cup of wine quickly refilled by the servant who'd interrupted his drunken mid-day nap. She was a saucy wench, always pretending she didn't like it when he pinched her bottom, just like now. He chuckled and promised to give it to her harder later, to which she played hard to get with a frown.

Edgar had yet to be paid by King Edward for his service of dispatching his sham of a wife, Lady Mary, and delivering his pretend stepdaughter back to Scotland. By now, she must be married to the English lord who'd been sent there to fetch her. The English king had after all insisted that Ramsey, her true father, be the one to agree to the marriage so there could be no skirmish over it. All a waste of time really.

But, at last, he was to be paid! He could practically feel the cold coins in his palms as he imagined sifting through the bottomless, heavy coffer.

Edgar jumped from his chair, spilling his now full cup of wine, but ignoring the mess. He was a landed knight, and landed men didn't clean up their own messes.

The servant who'd awakened him knelt to mop up the wine. He reached forward just for one touch of her rear but remembered the reason she'd woken him in the first place. Instead of a good bottom squeeze, Edgar rushed toward the front entrance of his castle to greet the messenger and, no doubt, take a fat load of coins off his hands.

But when he arrived, the messenger standing before him was nearly twice as tall and four times as wide as any envoy he'd ever come across. There was a fearsome look about him, as though he'd spent hours training for battle, or else he'd spent many a day robbing people on the road. Soldier or outlaw, there was no doubt in Edgar's mind that this was not a messenger. Edgar tried to suppress his shudder, glad he wasn't holding his wine cup, which would no doubt be sloshing all over the sides.

"Who are you?" Edgar demanded. He'd discovered early on in life that if he pretended not to be afraid and instead put out, he would often feel the same way. A necessary tactic at this moment when he was indeed quite frightened by this alarming stranger.

Cold eyes stared down at him, and Edgar puffed his chest to show he wasn't scared, even though he was terrified and close to emptying his bladder right into his hose.

"Ye dinna recognize me?"

Edgar blustered at the offensive Scottish brogue. "A savage in my house? How did you cross the border without being seen?" This was preposterous. How in the hell had a Scot gotten through all the way to his holding, and how did he even know where he was?

Now, his anger was well and truly overshadowing his fear. This was indeed so outrageous that he might?—

The massive Scot laughed, interrupting the internal monologue rushing through Edgar's head.

"Och, but ye think name-calling will have me turning on my heel, Sir Edgar? I'll ask again if ye recognize me."

The more he spoke, the more recognizable he became, and Edgar vividly remembered coming across him on the road in Scotland. "Nay, I do not know who you are," Edgar lied. And I don't care," he lied again. You'll need to leave. I've no business with the Scots."

How could his maid have gotten this so clearly wrong? This was no emissary, and he wasn't even English. He'd have to punish her for this mistake. Idiots had no place in his household. Though he would greatly miss her bottom.

"Och, but ye do, man," the Scot said. "We've much business. Let's start with the abduction of Lady Mary and her daughter."

"I did no such thing; she came willingly." He crossed his arms protectively over his chest.

"Let's continue with Lady Mary's murder."

Edgar went pale then; he couldn't help it. Part of the reason he was already drunk and not even past noon was because he was certain Mary was haunting him for what he'd done to her. She came to him at all hours of the day, whether he was awake or dead. Accusing him of her murder. Accusing him of treachery. All true, but still.

"Ah, I see we're getting somewhere."

"None of your business," was all Edgar could think to say.

"No' exactly," the Scot replied. "Shall we finish with how ye sent Lady Calliope to witness her father's death? How she was to be next?"

Now Edgar shook his head hard, so hard his cheeks flapped embarrassingly. "Nay, nay, that is not true at all."

The Scot cocked his head. "Ye seem to believe that lie."

"Because 'tis true. Lord Ellington was to go there for payment and marry her."

"Lord Ellington, ye say?"

"Aye. He was to go there for payment and to collect her. The king's orders."

The Scot grunted. "If what ye say is true, then he disobeyed his king's orders and paid the ultimate price for it."

If it were possible to lose more blood from the head than he already had, Edgar drained right then and there. He backed up a step if only to gain his balance against the wall. The cold stone did little to comfort him. However, he did not fall.

"And why have you come?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

The Scot grinned. "There is a price to pay for what ye've done, too."

"You cannot kill me!" Edgar shouted.

The Scot looked at him oddly. "I could."

"You cannot! My servants will hear."

"Likely they will, but I've already given them quite a bit of coin to start off on their own. Ye see I consider this a wedding gift to my wife."

"Your wife?" Edgar shook his head. None of this was making any sense whatsoever.

"Aye. Lady Calliope is my wife, and she has asked me to bring ye to her to face your Fate."

Edgar dropped to his knees. He hadn't even noticed the moment his legs buckled, but he felt the sharp pain of the stones as they cut into his knees upon falling. "She wants to kill me?"

The Scot shrugged. "I suggested the plow. But she said ye've never worked a day in your life."

Edgar was not going to work a plow; he'd rather die. Knowing he was about to be taken for a serf, he stood quickly, managed to find renewed strength, and turned and ran. Up the stairs to the castle. He barricaded himself in his room, pacing back and forth. He could wait out the Scot. Wait for reinforcements. Certainly, not all of his servants could be paid off with coin.

A soft knock sounded on the door, softer than any Scot.

"Go away!" he shouted.

"But, sir, your wine."

"Oh, my wine." He was quite thirsty. All this running and pacing and worrying. The Scot had given him a real fright.

Edgar marched to the door, yanked it open, and found his cup of wine on the floor beside a flagon for a refill. Thank goodness, no Scot was in sight.

Relieved not to have to face the giant just yet, he picked up the cup, drained it, and then refilled it.

He was dead before he took another sip.

By the time Alistair returned from his impromptu trip to England, his brothers and their wives, his sisters Iliana and Matilda, and her husband were all at Dunbais. They rushed from the keep to greet him in the courtyard, all smiles and teasing, the way he loved it.

He'd only been gone a few weeks, but it was long enough for him to greatly miss being at home—and most of all, he missed his wife fiercely. Calliope barreled into him, and he lifted her in the air for a twirl as he pressed his lips to hers. They took a great bit of teasing for such a public display, but Alistair didn't care. He loved his wife and wasn't scared to show it.

"Where is Edgar?" Calliope asked, looking to the men behind him and not seeing her wicked stepsire.

"Well, I did try to apprehend him," Alistair frowned, recalling the coward who'd dropped to his knees. He'd never understand what Lady Mary had seen in the man. "But it appears he made his own enemies. He was poisoned by a servant."

"Poisoned?" Calliope looked stunned.

"Aye."

Calliope narrowed her eyes. "And you had nothing to do with it?"

Alistair chuckled. "Unfortunately, nay. I wanted to tear him limb from limb, the coward. But he hid from me and then succumbed to a single poisoned cup of wine." Alistair shrugged.

Calliope shook her head; her look of surprise changed to one of understanding. "Well, he wasn't always nice to the servants. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. And I suppose that's better than him trying to work a plow. We'd likely lose an entire harvest."

"They were very easily swayed to tell him I was an envoy from the English king. To be honest, I was quite surprised it all worked so easily and swiftly. And he is now in Hell being punished for his sins. Your mother's death, what he did to ye, 'tis avenged."

"Where he belongs. My poor mother. She was not always the easiest to get along with, but I loved her, and she did not deserve to be killed by him." Calliope nodded grimly, and then her demeanor changed. "Your family! They are such a delight."

"I've missed them greatly."

Not a moment too soon, Alistair was surrounded by all those in his life he loved. He was getting ribbed by his brothers for marrying, getting coddled by his brother's wives, who adored him, getting a jab to the ribs from Iliana, who said she wanted to be at the wedding, and getting a big hug from Matilda, who wished him every happiness.

Alistair stared down at his beautiful wife, a gift he'd never thought he'd have. A woman to love and be loved by in return. His guardian angel saved him from a lonely Fate. Never once had Alistair thought this was what he would want until he almost didn't have it.

With his arm outstretched, he pulled Calliope to him, and she fell against him with a radiant smile. "I love ye, wife. Ye've made my life complete."

Calliope pressed her hand over his heart. "I love you, too." She leaned up, brushing her lips over his. "Now, let us feast and dance. Douglass and Rhiannon have challenged me."

"Challenged?"

"Aye, they think they can dance swords better than me. I aim to show them they are wrong."

Alistair's head fell back as he laughed.

"And another thing," Calliope said, giving him a poke in the chest. "You didn't tell me about Douglass and Rhiannon."

"I most certainly did."

She shook her head. "Not that your brothers had English wives, aye, you did mention that. But you never gave me their names. I recognized them the moment we met."

"Ye know each other?"

"Aye!" Calliope squealed. "We met every year at the border festival. We became great friends. Is that not the most glorious thing you've heard?"

Alistair grinned and kissed her on top of her head. "Aye, love, the most glorious."

Calliope's happiness was always paramount to him; he hoped she would get along with his brothers' wives. Knowing they were friends before now was a boon Alistair had never counted on.

Could life get any better than this?