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The McKendrick siblings and their spouses eyed Lachlan with pure admiration. They never thought their carefree brother would prove to be such an honourable man.
The feast that ensued would not be forgotten.
“Can I have you all to myself now?” Moira asked as they entered their home that evening. The lasses had swarmed around him like bees on honey. But the lascivious looks he aimed at her left no doubt as to his favourite lass, his wife.
Her husband smiled at her. “Can I?” Catching her by her slim waist, he sat her on the study’s desk. “Those lecherous lairds fought for your attention like rabid dogs.” His hands skimmed her sides.
“Are you jealous, Laird Darroch?” she challenged, caressing him over the tartan.
“As a matter of fact, I am, Laird Darroch,” he replied before nibbling at her lower lip.
She sighed.
“I’ll never forget what you did for me.” In every single way, she thought.
“I don’t think you’ll be able to remember anything in the next hours,” he taunted against her mouth.
“I’m looking forward to it.” She had time to answer before they lost themselves in their happiness.
EPILOGUE
Two years later
Moira reached the nursery and stopped short. Little Malcom, with his chestnut curls, chubby face, and coffee eyes, sat on the carpet playing with a wooden horse. His father sat next to him, telling a story about the horse and its rider. Malcom probably did not understand much, but he looked at the laird, enthralled. Not surprising given the laird’s beautiful voice. Soon he crawled to his father who placed the boy on his knees. The sight of her giant with the tiny child brought tears to her eyes. She thanked them for her blissful life every single day.
In these last years, the clan had blossomed in one of the wealthiest in the Highlands. Logically, it could not compete with the McKendricks. But being one of their allies put them in a wide network of trade and mutual cooperation. The benefits were undeniable. Prosperity graced them and every Darroch partook in it, enjoying its fruits.
Lachlan insisted on renovating the manor. It had taken a long time, but it had paid off with its boasting new plaster, painting, isolated windows, and roof. The decoration was brand new, following the latest trends dictated by London. Her home had become beautiful and comfortable. However, it would be nothing without the warmth of her family.
“Come in, it’s free,” her husband jested, taking her out of her reveries.
They both dressed the Darroch tartan, and she loved seeing Laird Darroch in his. She loved even more unwrapping it from him when they retired for bed.
“Finished with work?” he asked, helping Malcom waddle to his mother.
“Almost,” she answered. “Caitlin is still finishing a letter I dictated to her.” Her dear friend had accepted the position to become her secretary, and it was a delight to work together. Lachlan’s inclination for outdoor duties meant they shared the clan’s tasks evenly. Paperwork with her, manor work with him. The result was their hours were not so long and their family time satisfying.
“Did you remember to invite her, Duncan, and the children for Christmas dinner?” he inquired.
“Yes, but they already had other arrangements.” She caressed Malcom’s curls and kissed his round cheeks. “They are spending it at her mother’s.”
A knock on the front door downstairs made the boy go frantic at the prospect of seeing his cousins.
Drostan’s and Freya’s Ewan and Sorcha, Fingal’s and Catriona’s Ava, and Taran’s and Aileen’s Roy and their new addition, one-year-old Errol, would raid the house to shambles before they unwrapped the presents. Taran’s son from his first marriage, Sam, was home from Oxford and would also attend. The boys adored Sam for his patience and for the exciting things he taught them about plants as he studied Botanic at college.
Lachlan called the nanny to help Malcom down to meet his cousins.
Alone, they stood, and Lachlan laced her close. “Do you think we have time before supper?” he asked suggestively.
Her eyes raised to him in adoration. “Of course not, you terrible man!” she chided.
“One can always hope,” he looked at her with all the love in the world. “The wait will make it spicier,” he predicted.
“And now that you gave me ideas, I’ll be looking forward to it,” she admitted.
“You’re the one to have most of the wicked ideas here, remember?” he taunted with that side-smile of his.
She smiled back. “And your…help with the inventory in the larder is always so…useful.” The sturdy table in the cubicle had many stories to tell, none of them innocent.
