Page 29 of The Scot Who Loved Me (A Scots Through Time #3)

“It’ll be fine,” she said, though whether she was reassuring him or herself, he couldn’t tell.

The ancient gate loomed before them, its wooden doors standing open in surrender.

A small delegation of city officials waited nervously, prepared to hand over the keys to the city.

As they drew near, the prince gave a signal, and the silence shattered as dozens of pipes burst into “The King Comes O’er the Water,” the ancient tune swelling to fill the narrow streets.

They passed through the gate into the city proper, and William felt a strange sense of unreality wash over him.

Edinburgh lay open before them, its tall tenements rising five, six, seven stories on either side of the Royal Mile.

Faces appeared at windows, some cheering, others watching in silent apprehension.

Flowers rained down from supportive hands, while in other quarters, shutters slammed closed in rejection.

The cobblestones rang beneath their boots as they marched up the steep incline toward the heart of the old town.

The smell of the city engulfed them. Fish and smoke, garbage and perfume, humanity pressed together within the confines of the ancient walls.

Voices called out in Scots and English, some welcoming, some cursing, creating noise that echoed off the stone buildings.

“It’s so crowded,” she murmured, pressing closer to his side. Her eyes darted everywhere, taking in the architecture. “The volcanic rock these buildings are made from... It’s the same that forms Arthur’s Seat. Basalt and dolerite mostly. They’ll stand for centuries.”

William glanced at her, struck again by her strange mix of knowledge and how it came out whenever she was nervous.

“Edinburgh is built upward, not outward,” he explained, grateful for the distraction of conversation.

“The poor live highest, climbing hundreds of steps each day, while the wealthy occupy the lower floors.”

They passed the Tron Kirk, where a crowd had gathered to witness the spectacle.

Women in fine dresses waved handkerchiefs, while merchants stood with arms crossed, calculating what this change in power might mean for business.

Children darted between legs, snatching at clan badges or plucking at plaids with curious fingers.

“Look at them,” Angus muttered from William’s other side. “Soft town folk who’ve never known a hard winter or empty bellies. Yet they’ll decide our fate with their support or lack of it.”

“They’re just people,” Harper countered, surprising William with her defense of the Lowlanders. “Scared, hopeful, uncertain, just like everyone in our camp.”

Angus grunted but said no more, scanning the crowd with suspicion.

As they approached the Mercat Cross, the prince halted the procession.

A hush fell over the gathered crowd as Charles dismounted and climbed the ancient stone steps.

In a clear voice that carried across the square, he proclaimed his father, James VIII and III, the rightful king of Scotland, England, and Ireland.

The declaration was met with a mixture of cheers and silent stares, the city still uncertain which way to lean.

William watched the prince’s face as he spoke.

Young, handsome, passionate in his belief in his cause.

For the first time, William allowed himself to believe they might succeed.

That the Stuarts might indeed reclaim their throne, that the Highlands might be restored to their ancient rights and privileges.

The day wore on as the army secured key points throughout the city.

William’s men were assigned to guard the Netherbow Port, ensuring no loyalist forces could enter from the direction of the port at Leith.

As darkness fell, torches were lit along the Royal Mile, casting long shadows across the ancient stones.

They established temporary quarters in commandeered townhouses.

William found his men billeted in a merchant’s home near the Canongate, the family having fled at news of the Highland army’s approach.

The house was grander than any William had ever stayed in, with plastered walls and glass windows, carpets on the floors and paintings hanging in gilt frames.

“Will ye look at this?” Angus marveled, running his hand over a polished mahogany table. “The man must be richer than the laird himself.”

“Don’t touch anything we don’t need,” William warned. “We’re soldiers, not thieves.”

The men settled in, claiming spaces on floors and window seats, too exhausted from the day’s excitement to complain about the hard surfaces. Food was brought, bread and cheese, dried fruit, and small beer, and consumed with weary gratitude.

Harper was given a small room adjacent to the main chamber, a concession to her status as the only woman among William’s immediate group.

She had disappeared inside hours ago, and William had not seen her since.

As the night deepened and his men drifted into sleep, he found himself drawn to her door, concern overriding propriety.

He knocked softly. “Harper? Are ye awake?”

A moment passed before the door opened slightly. She stood there, her hair loose around her shoulders, her face pale in the dim light from the single candle she held, her shawl wrapped around her shift.

“I couldn’t sleep,” she admitted. “Too much has happened today.”

“May I come in? Just to talk,” he added hastily, aware of how improper the request was.

She hesitated only briefly before stepping back to allow him entry. The room was small but comfortable, with a narrow bed and a chair beside a window that looked out over the back garden. A fire burned low in the grate, casting a warm glow across the room.

“I wanted to be sure ye were well,” he said, suddenly uncertain what to do with his hands, his body, in this intimate space.

“I’m fine. Just... taking everything in.” She set the candle down and moved to the window, where she’d clearly been standing before his knock. “It’s strange seeing Edinburgh like this. So familiar yet so different.”

He joined her at the window, careful to keep a respectful distance. “Ye’ve been here before? To Edinburgh?”

A sad smile touched her lips. “In a manner of speaking. Long ago.”

The moonlight silvered her profile, highlighting the delicate curve of her cheek, the straight line of her nose, and the fullness of her lips.

William felt his heartbeat quicken, his resolve weakening.

He had promised himself he would keep his distance, that he would not burden her with feelings she could not return.

Yet here, in this quiet room with the city spread below them, those promises seemed impossible to keep.

“I never thanked ye properly,” he said softly. “For all ye’ve done since joining us. The maps, the healing, your counsel.”

She turned to face him, surprise evident in her expression. “You don’t need to thank me. I’ve just been trying to help where I can.” She smiled. “It’s me who should be thanking you. For taking me in, offering me shelter and protection.”

“Ye’ve done more than help.” He took a step closer, drawn by something he couldn’t name. “Ye’ve brought... hope. To me at least.”

Her eyes widened slightly. “William?—“

“Let me speak,” he interrupted gently. “I may never find the courage again.” He drew a deep breath, steadying himself.

“I’ve lost much in my life. Family, home, the future I once imagined.

I learned to live with those losses, to find purpose in fighting for what remains.

But then ye appeared, like something from a folktale or a bard’s song, and suddenly I found myself wanting more than just revenge or duty. ”

Her lips parted, but no words came as her eyes glistened in the candlelight.

“I love ye, Harper Ross,” he continued, his voice low and intense.

“Against all reason, against all sense of duty or prudence. I love your strange words and your fierce heart, your hands that heal and your eyes that see too much. I love the way ye look at the world, as if everything in it is a wonder to be understood.” He paused, his heart pounding.

“I know ye keep secrets. I know there are things ye cannot or will not tell me. But none of that matters. Not tonight.”

He waited, the silence stretching between them, filled with all the unspoken truths and impossibilities that separated them.

“I’m afraid,” she whispered finally, her voice breaking on the words. “Afraid of what’s coming. Afraid of losing you.”

“I’m standing right here,” he said, reaching to take her hand. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Her fingers trembled in his. “You don’t understand. There’s so much you don’t know.”

“Then tell me,” he urged. “Whatever burdens ye carry, let me help bear them.”

Harper shook her head, tears spilling onto her cheeks.

“I can’t. I want to, but I can’t. Some things.

.. some things have to happen, no matter how much we wish they wouldn’t.

” She pulled her hand away, wrapping her arms around herself.

“And even if I could change things, what then? What kind of future could we have? You’re an outlaw with a price on your head.

I’m... I’m not from here. I don’t belong in this world. ”

William felt as though she’d struck him. “Is that what troubles ye? That I have naught to offer but danger and hardship?”

“No! That’s not—“ She broke off, frustrated. “It’s not about what you can offer. It’s about what I am. Who I am. And whether I even have the right to stay here, to... to love you.”

The word hung in the air between them, fragile and precious. William felt as though his heart might burst from his chest.

“Ye love me?” he asked, scarcely daring to believe it.

Harper looked at him, vulnerability and determination warring in her expression. “Yes. God help me, I do. I’ve tried not to, but I can’t stop it.”

William closed the distance between them in two strides. His hands came up to frame her face, his thumbs brushing away the tears on her cheeks. “Then that’s all that matters. The rest. The war, the future, whatever secrets ye keep, we’ll face them together.”

Slowly, giving her every chance to pull away, he bent his head and pressed his lips to hers.

Unlike their kiss beneath the stars, this one was gentle, almost reverent. Her lips were soft beneath his, tasting of salt from her tears. Her hands came up to rest against his chest, not pushing him away but feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath her palms.

When they finally broke apart, she looked up at him with eyes that held both joy and sorrow in equal measure. “What happens now?” she asked.

“Now we live,” he answered simply. “One day at a time. Together.” His thumb traced the line of her jaw.

“I can offer ye no castle, no lands or title. I’m a wanted man in my own country, fighting for a cause that may yet fail.

But I can offer ye my heart, my protection, my name, and my very body, if ye’ll have them. ”

Her eyes widened. “Are you... proposing?”

Heat engulfed him as if he’d stepped into the fire. “Aye, I suppose I am. Though I’ve made a poor job of it. A woman like ye deserves poetry and flowers, not hasty words in a borrowed room.”

A small laugh escaped her, though tears still shimmered in her eyes. “I don’t need poetry or flowers. But marriage... William, that’s... I don’t know if I can answer that yet. Not until...”

“Until what?”

She shook her head. “Until after Prestonpans. I... I need to see what happens there before I can decide anything.”

William frowned, puzzled by her condition but unwilling to press. “Then I’ll ask ye again, after Prestonpans.”

“If you still want to,” she said softly.

“I will.” He drew her close again, breathing in the scent of her hair, committing this moment to memory. “My heart is yours. No battle will change that.”

She leaned into him, her arms tightening around his waist. “Stay with me tonight,” she whispered against his chest. “Just to sleep. I don’t want to be alone.”

“Always,” he promised, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “For as long as ye’ll have me.”

As they lay together on the narrow bed, clothed but wrapped in each other’s arms, William listened to her breathing gradually slow and deepen.

Sleep eluded him as his mind raced with possibilities and fears.

Edinburgh was theirs, but the English would not surrender without a fight.

More battles lay ahead, battles that might claim his life or the lives of those he loved.

Above them, through the small window, stars wheeled in their ancient patterns, indifferent to the struggles of humans below. The same stars had watched over Scotland for many years, had seen kingdoms rise and fall, had witnessed countless loves both fulfilled and thwarted.

William tightened his arm around her sleeping form, drawing comfort from her warmth and steady breathing.

Whatever mysteries surrounded her, whatever storms lay ahead, he knew with bone-deep certainty that he had found his heart’s home.

And he would fight heaven and earth to keep her safe, to build a future worthy of the trust she had placed in him.

Outside, the bells of St. Giles Cathedral tolled midnight, marking the end of this momentous day and the beginning of whatever lay ahead.

In the distance, a lone piper played a lament, the haunting notes rising above the sleeping city like a prayer or a warning.

William closed his eyes, surrendering at last to exhaustion, Harper’s heartbeat against his chest the sweetest lullaby he had ever known.