Page 136 of The Laird's Masked Desire
The field settled, gradually, then entirely. By the time the light had begun to fade, the battle was done. The wounded were seen to. The dead were counted. Those who remained were secured, bound and placed under guard for the journey back.
MacGregor’s body was taken, not as display, but as proof that good prevailed over evil.
And love had conquered all.
EPILOGUE
One month later…
A month, in other circumstances, might have passed with little remark.
Yet to Margaret, the weeks that followed the events at the ruins bore the quiet distinction of trouble not merely endured but resolved. The castle had returned to its customary rhythm, though it seemed to her that even its familiar sounds carried a lighter quality, as though some unseen weight had been lifted from its walls.
It was on such a morning, calm and untroubled, that the letter arrived.
Margaret was seated in the smaller drawing room, where the light fell generously through the tall windows, illuminating the neat arrangement of papers upon the table before her. She had been reading, though not with the strict attention she might once have commanded of herself. Her thoughts had wandered, as they had done more frequently of late, toward the future which was no longer uncertain, but not yet fully defined.
The door opened in a gush of air. Domhnall entered first, carrying a letter in hand. She noticed that its seal was already broken. Cameron followed close behind. As usual, his expression was attentive, though touched with a curiosity he did not attempt to conceal.
Margaret rose at once.
“Ye have news,” she smiled, guessing his intention.
Domhnall inclined his head slightly, allowing a flicker of amusement to curve his lips.
“Aye, it seems that nay one can keep a secret from ye.”
She chuckled, gesturing at the letter in his hand. “It wasnae hard tae guess.”
“It is from the Crown,” he continued, extending the letter toward her, though he did not release it immediately. “The matter has been judged.”
Margaret’s gaze moved briefly to Cameron, who had come to stand near the table. His attention was also fixed entirely upon the letter. She took it. The parchment was formal, the language precise, and though she read it with care, she required only a few lines to understand its meaning.
Her father would not be released nor would Sir Laurence Kerr.
They were to be confined for the remainder of their lives, stripped from influence, from power, from any capacity to act further upon the harm they had attempted.
Margaret did not feel triumph, only a quiet, steady certainty that what had been threatened was now, at last, beyond reach.
“It is done,” she said softly.
Domhnall watched her. “Aye.”
She folded the letter carefully, setting it aside with a composure that did not entirely conceal the relief beneath it.
“And what of MacGregor lands?” she asked.
Domhnall’s expression did not change. He still wore that lit up expression, as if he knew a secret the other two did not. At least not yet.
“Aye, that is the second thing I wished tae discuss with ye,” he revealed. “MacGregor left nay heirs, and nay kin tae claim what was his.”
Margaret inclined her head. That was odd, though not unheard of. And it brought a sort of finality within itself.
Domhnall turned then, his gaze shifting briefly to Cameron.
“The land, however, daesnae remain unclaimed. It has been granted.”
Cameron stilled. Margaret saw the instinctive restraint of a man who did not assume favor, even when it stood plainly before him.
