“Ye nearly died.”
His eyes lifted to hers, exhaustion carving deep into his bones. Yet whatever restraint had once stood between them had burned away.
“While ye were watching?” A weary flicker of humor crossed his face. “Never.”
Her breath broke. That single sound undid him. He pulled her against him, hard. As though surviving had stripped away every final excuse for restraint. She came into his arms without hesitation, pressing her face to his chest while he held her against blood, wool, sweat and the savage thunder of his own heart.
They were blessedly alive.
They made quick work apprehending the prisoners of war. Few had escaped on the remaining boats and Lachlan watched with narrowed eyes as the cowards returned to the galleons, far fewer in number than they had been before. The rest were rounded up to be put in Dunvegan’s dungeons, which normally only held a few drunks, or the errant murderer. He didn’t like for them to be full but knew the rotten English would be better there than dead on this beach. Even they had families, and it was up to the Bruce if they were to ever see them again.
The courtyard erupted into exhausted cheers while warriors embraced and shouted victory into the wind. A few tossed remarks not suited for children’s ears toward the slumped shoulders of the English as they were led away.
Callum approached through drifting smoke and clasped Lachlan’s forearm. “Ye look terrible.”
Lachlan gave him a tired grin. “Ye should see the other bastard.”
Ewan glanced toward Kerr’s body. “Aye. I’d say he came off worse.”
Laughter rippled nearby. But Lachlan’s attention remained fixed on Isabel. Only hours ago, loving her had seemed like the one battle he had no right to win. Now she stood in his arms while Skye still breathed around them, while Kerr lay dead at his feet, while the sea battered the anchored ships as if trying to remind them both how close ruin had come.
He had promised to marry her if they survived. Well, here they were, and Lachlan would never again pretend he could let her go.
24
No amount of exhaustion or pain could take away from the joy of this moment. Two days had passed since the battle on Dunvegan’s shores. Days of cleaning up the mess of war, tending the wounded, sending out missives, and hardly a chance to rest.
Rest would come in the grave, Lachlan knew, and he hoped it was many years from now.
Isabel’s hand slipped into his under the table, where they sat on the dais. There was a bruise on one of her cheeks, a mark from Kerr’s attempted abduction, but her other cheek was flushed pink with joy.
“Husband,” she said, giving him a smile that Lachlan painted in memory to pull out on nights when he was forced to be away from her side. He was not delusional enough to believe that as a Guardian of Scotland there wouldn’t be times they were separated. But for right now, all he wanted was to get her alone.
“Wife,” he murmured, lifting her hand to his lips, and pressing a kiss to the back of her knuckles.
“I never thought I’d be so happy to hear that word,” she said with a smirk.
From across the room, three of his hound dogs leapt to their feet, pulling their attention to what might be a fight over a coveted bone. But the dogs didn’t move, they seemed more startled than anything else, and then Lachlan spotted the culprits. Freckles and Zeus, chasing each other in the rushes.
“We might soon have a few more ferrets,” Lachlan teased.
“A welcome addition.” Isabel’s grin widened, and he couldn’t agree more.
From the long trestle tables below, Angus started to pound his hands on the wood, followed by Elsa at his side, and then James and the rest of his warriors. Angus stood, cup in hand, and elevated his ale toward the dais where Lachlan and Isabel sat.
“To the bride and groom,” Angus shouted.
A chorus of cheers, and clink of ale mugs echoed in the rafters.
Lachlan raised his cup, as did Isabel, but rather than sip, he leaned in for a kiss, savoring the taste of his wife’s lips on his. Soft, plush, and my God, when could they go upstairs to consummate the marriage in earnest?
The cheers from his people grew louder, the pounding on the table making the walls themselves feel as though they were rumbling. When he finally pulled away, he stared into Isabel’s bemused blue gaze, satisfied with himself.
“If I may also propose a toast.” Callum’s voice echoed through the room. “Before, Ewan here takes over.”
There was a moment of Lachlan’s two best mates elbowing each other for space before Callum continued.
“When we were lads barely out of leading strings, Lachlan was given the heavy duty of presiding over his clan. Dealing with loss and becoming a man at the same time was an incredible burden, but one in which this man has welcomed, and the clan has prospered for.”
