Page 47 of The Madam’s Highlander

Marian strode into the room and reached up to gently touch Thomas' face. He closed his eyes against the gesture and folded his one hand over hers.

“I worried after ye,” she whispered.

“And I you.” He opened his eyes. “The baby?”

Marian gave a wide smile. “He's a fine lad, strong and healthy. I...I hope ye dinna mind. I named him Thomas.”

“I could not be more honored.” And indeed it showed in the way Thomas' back straightened and his slender shoulders pulled back. “I'd meant to ask your sister.” He glanced over his shoulder to Freya, who nodded in his direction.

She was sure she knew where his thoughts were going, and she was in full support.

“Marian.” He lowered their hands to hover clasped between their waists. Chaste and sweet. “I'd be the luckiest man if ye'd allow me to be yer husband, and a father to young Thomas. I know I'm not...” He faltered a moment and Freya's heart winced for him. “I know I'm not the man I was when you met me, but I have many estates and will see you and your son well cared for.”

“Aye,” Marian whispered. “Ye dinna need to convince me, but ye could offer me a kiss. I've waited for it for so verra long.”

Thomas released her hand and smoothed his palm over her glossy golden hair before gently lifting her face to his.

Freya shifted from where she leaned against the desk and carefully edged past the couple right as their lips finally touched. She shut the door to her office and smiled to herself, her heart fuller than perhaps it had ever been. She glanced up and her smile widened further still.

For there, waiting for her by the bar, was Captain Nay with his dimpled smile and two stiff cups of tea.

EPILOGUE

August 1747

Scotland was a different place than even the mothers had seen it in their long lives. Gone were the colorful tartans of a proud nation, gone was the melodic language from the ancestors of old, and gone was any hope at a liberated Scotland.

Yet even in such hard times, happiness could still be found.

The first bud of a hay seed breaking through the soil in a tender green shoot. A woman's loving touch, accepting of a horrible past and anticipating a long and happy future. The knowledge of one's family being safe and well fed.

Aye, there was much light to be had, even in dark times.

Ewan put his hand around Freya's slender waist, and together they stared out into the pride of their hard work.

“We've had such good fortune, Ewan.” She looked up at him, and a ribbon of bright red hair swept over her freckled nose. Her eyes shone like the sunlit sky, and Ewan could not help but think what a lucky man he was to have so beautiful a wife.

Indeed they’d had good fortune.

“We did it.” He grinned at her. “Yer hay field.”

She tilted her head in the stubborn way he couldn't help but love. “Our hay field.”

The trill of a young child's laughter rang out over the billowing golden sea of hay, the stalks bending with the wind in sweeping waves.

Ewan and Freya both turned to the sound to find Crosby hovered over young Thomas like the protective father he was. Marian watched the two with her hand shading the sun from her eyes and a tender smile on her face.

The mothers observed all from beneath the shade of a tree several feet away.

“Ye know,” Ewan's mother said. “The uneven ground is the best thing to strengthen a babe's ability to walk.”

“Indeed it is,” Freya's mother added.

Freya turned toward Ewan with her brows lifted. “They've agreed on something.”

“Aye,” continued Ewan's mother. “But he ought to be barefoot.”

“Ach, no.” Freya's mother shook her head, and the little curls at her temple fluttered with the action. “It's best to find some wee shoes for him.”