Page 90 of Wanted By the Wicked Highlander

The fire had burned low, but the heat between them would last till dawn.

Epilogue

Sebastian woke before Alba most mornings now, though he had learned better than to say so aloud, since she claimed it as proof that marriage had softened him into an early riser he had never been before.

He let her sleep a while longer, propped on one elbow, watching the gray morning light creep across the chamber they had long since furnished properly, the pile of furs by the hearth replaced months ago with an actual bed neither of them had ever quite admitted to preferring.

By the time she woke, he was already half-dressed, and she squinted up at him.

“Ye’re doin’ that thing again,” she said, voice thick with sleep. “Standin’ there lookin’ pleased with yerself before I have had a chance to be properly awake.”

“I am simply admirin’ the view.”

“Ye’re gloatin’.”

“A man’s allowed to gloat over his own wife.”

“Is he?” She sat up, her hair a wild tangle around her shoulders, and reached for the shirt he had discarded the night before, pulling it over her head rather than bothering with her own clothes just yet. “I have a council to sit through this mornin’. Ye could gloat somewhere useful instead, like the trainin’ yard, where Hamish keeps insistin’ the new recruits need someone to shout at.”

“They need someone to shout at. They daenae needmespecifically.”

“Aye. They needyespecifically,” she smiled.

Down in the Great Hall, the morning had already settled into its usual rhythm by the time Sebastian made his way through it. Servants clearing the last of the breakfast trestles, a pair of hounds sprawled by the cold hearth, Brian’s voice carrying from somewhere near the kitchens where he had clearly talked his way into an extra sweet roll before the Cook caught him at it.

“I saw that,” Sebastian said, catching the boy mid-bite as he ducked past.

Brian froze, crumbs still on his chin. “Saw what?”

“The roll ye were nae meant to have before yer lessons.”

“It’s only a small one.”

“It’s yer third small one this week.”

Brian thought about it, then apparently decided the conversation had gone its natural way, and he darted off toward the courtyard without further comment, leaving Sebastian to shake his head and walk toward the yard himself.

Hamish was already there, drilling a line of recruits through basic sword forms.

“Lord kens they need the work,” Hamish remarked gloomily as Sebastian approached, watching one poor lad nearly drop his blade entirely on the backswing. “Half of them couldnae hold a sword steady if their lives depended on it, which, given the state of things lately, it very well might.”

“Give them time.”

“I have been givin’ them time for a month. Some men just arenae born for it.”

“Some men just need someone patient enough to teach them properly, instead of shoutin’ until they freeze up entirely.” Sebastian nodded toward the lad still struggling. “Let me take that one for a while.”

“Be me guest. He’s yers for the mornin’.”

By midday, the training yard had emptied for the noon meal, and Sebastian found Fergus in the courtyard instead, engaged in what appeared to be a losing argument with his own daughter, who had decided at the ripe age of nearly two that walking meant walking directly toward the well every single time she was set down.

“Lily. Lily, nae the well!” Fergus scooped her up for what looked like the fifth time, earning an indignant shriek of protest for his trouble. “I swear this child has a singular purpose in life, and it’s drownin’ herself the moment I look away.”

“She takes after her mother, then. Stubborn as stone.”

“She takes after her mother in every possible way, God help us all.” Fergus settled Lily onto his hip, where she immediately began tugging at his beard instead, apparently satisfied with this alternative entertainment. “How’s married life treating ye, MacGregor? Ye’ve had, what, four months of it now?”

“Better than I deserve, most days.”