Page 62 of Much Ado About a Scot

Cheers rose from those gathered and the skirling of the pipes floated through the air. The men she’d come to know over the past few days as his brothers-in-arms came forward to congratulate them both.

“Looks like drawing the short straw worked out for you in the end.” Rhys laughed as he clapped Xander on the shoulder.

“What short straw?” Isobel asked, looking at the six other men gathered around.

Xander smiled. “Pay them no heed. They are jealous of my good fortune. Who knew the short straw would be the luckiest straw of all?”

Isobel still had no idea what they were talking about, but it didn’t matter. She was grateful for whatever divine intervention had brought Xander into her life.

Xander’s smile shifted to one of mischief. He reached for his sporran and drew forth six lengths of straw. “I knew one of you was sure to bring up the drawing of straws on this auspicious day so I came prepared.” He held the straws in his fist, hiding the lengths from his brothers-in-arms. “Which of you would like to be the godfather to our unborn child?”

His brothers all laughed as they reached for a straw, then paused. “Wait,” Rhys said. “Which is the lucky straw, the longest or the shortest?”

“The shortest!” Isobel and Xander said in unison, bringing forth another round of laughter.

Isobel watched her new friends and her husband as they each drew a length of straw. It didn’t matter which of them won the honor, for she knew not only her new baby but also Jamie would be welcomed and loved by them all.

Life had not always been kind to her, but from this day forward she would always see herself as the luckiest person in Scotland.

Epilogue

One week later

Edinburgh Castle

Xander and the rest of the king’s Magnificent Seven gathered in the great hall of Edinburgh Castle waiting for King James to attend them. The Seven had called this meeting with their sovereign. It was time, once and for all, to put an end to Francis Bothwell’s machinations for the crown. It had been revealed in the past week that Bothwell had stacked the jury during his trial with his own men in order secure his freedom.

Bothwell’s trial might have gone in his favor, but James had power that Bothwell could not manipulate—if he only had the courage to assert it over his cousin.

Xander, Reid, Quinn, Lachlan, Cameron, Rhys, and Malcolm had spent the last three years of their lives fighting Bothwell and the threat he posed to the king. Five of the seven were married now with families of their own. They were still dedicated warriors, but Xander would be lying if he said they fought battles with the same relentlessness that they had three years ago. The idea of retiring from their service to the king grew more tempting each day. However, there were still too many enemies of the crown to leave just yet.

Their worst enemy was James’s superstitions and fears.

“Do you think James will listen to reason?” Rhys asked as the men sat at the round table they’d had moved into the luxurious hall for this meeting. There were eight chairs, one for each of them, and all with equal status.

“We won’t give him any other option.” James might be their king, but it was time to stand up to him as only they could. James might be angry with them when they spoke their minds, but he would never punish them as he might others. He needed their protection too badly. Because even when Bothwell was gone, there would be other threats upon his life.

Xander dropped into his own chair as his thoughts continued to stir. He would have preferred not to indulge in memories of the past three years, yet the hour was, it seemed, one for taking stock.

Whether they wanted to admit it or not, the seven of them had made a huge impact on James’s witch trials. They’d saved many who were innocent, provided sanctuary to those who were accused of witchery or who feared they might be taken into custody soon. They’d saved their country from disasters, healed the sick, and had rid the kingdom of one of the most brutal witch prickers of their time.

But their most notable accomplishment was that they’d managed to plant seeds of doubt in James’s mind about the existence of witches at all. They would have to continue their efforts in order to see the “burning times” finally come to an end, but the reality of that happening was now within their grasp.

Xander looked about the table at the men gathered there. He was more than satisfied with what they’d achieved, their contributions to the betterment of the Scottish people.

They were good men, all, and he considered them not only the best of friends, but also true brothers if not by blood, then in spirit.

Footsteps sounded in the great hall, hauling Xander out of his reverie. He focused on the king as he moved through the chamber toward them. The open hammer-beam timber ceiling amplified the sound of his boot heels on the flagstone floor. James appeared at home in the elegance of the great hall with its blood-red walls and gothic carved timber paneling. He approached the table and frowned when he noticed there was no head chair for him to occupy. “Let’s get on with this,” he said, his features grave as he slid into the only available seat.

“Thank you for meeting with us, Your Grace,” Xander began then looked to Reid to start this conversation off as the unofficial head of the group.

Reid nodded, accepting the task. “We’ve come here today to discuss Bothwell.”

James’s face reddened and his fingers curled around his chair’s arms. “What has my cousin done now?”

“He hasn’t done anything,” Xander interjected. “It’s what you are going to do to him.”

James’s grip on his chair lessened. “And what might that be?”