ÉPILOGUE
ELSPETH AND ARCHIBALD’S LEGACY
KEIRA
How can things change so completely in such a short time?
In just a few hours, we’ll officially inaugurate the McKenzie-McGregor Cultural Center and present theArchibald & Elspethwhisky to the public. Six months have passed since we signed our official partnership—and our personal commitment contract of indefinite duration, as Alistair still insists on calling it, that crooked smile of his making my heart melt every single time.
— Are you ready, sweetheart? Alistair’s voice comes from the doorway.
I turn toward him—and nearly lose my balance at the sight. He’s wearing the traditional McKenzie kilt, but this time, he’s added a detail that steals my breath: a silver brooch where the McKenzie and McGregor symbols are intertwined, exactly like in my original design for the shop.
— You look incredible, I murmur, stepping closer to adjust his tie—a gesture that feels natural now.
— Not as incredible as you, he replies, sliding his arms around my waist. That dress looks stunning on you.
I chose an emerald-green dress that echoes the rolling Highland hills, with delicate embroidered details that subtly reflect traditional Scottish patterns. After all, today marks the public union of our two legacies.
And suddenly, nerves hit me.
— Alistair, I begin, what if people don’t like the whisky? What if the center doesn’t meet their expectations? What if?—
He presses a finger gently to my lips, stopping me.
— What if we stopped torturing ourselves with hypotheticals? We created something beautiful, Keira. Together. Archibald and Elspeth would be proud.
His confidence steadies me, as it always does. It’s one of the things I love most about him—his ability to anchor me in the present when my thoughts start spiraling.
— You’re right. It’s just… this matters, you know? Not just for our families, but for them. For their story that almost got lost.
— I know, he says, pressing a kiss to my forehead. And that’s exactly why it’s going to be perfect.
The thunder of footsteps on the stairs interrupts our quiet moment. Lachlan’s voice rings out from downstairs:
— Keira! Alistair! You might want to come down! Hamish and Rosita are acting suspicious!
We exchange a worried glance. In Hamish terms, that usually means something is about to go very, very wrong.
ALISTAIR
As I hurrydown the stairs, I immediately notice the chaos in the main hall. Martha is darting around with an expression dangerously close to panic—which is alarming for a woman who is usually so composed.
— What’s going on? Keira asks, catching up with Lachlan near the front door.
— Our four-legged friends decided to start the festivities without us, he explains, equal parts amused and exasperated. They escaped their enclosure and… well, you should probably see this for yourselves.
The three of us step outside and are met with a scene that’s both adorable and disastrous. Hamish and Rosita, followed by their lambs—now a few months old—are strolling majestically through the castle gardens. The problem is… they’re carrying flowers in their mouths. Flowers that are very clearly part of the arrangements Maggie ordered.
My gaze drops to the tartan bows tied around their necks.
— Who had the brilliant idea to dress them up? I ask, already suspecting the answer.
— Maggie, Callum says, joining us with a look that’s both proud and slightly embarrassed. She wanted them to officially take part in the ceremony. She called them “our ovine ambassadors.”
— And now they’re heading toward… oh no, Keira breathes, following their trajectory.
They’re heading straight for the marquee, where bottles of champagne are carefully arranged on an honor table.
