Page 74 of Bound to Her Highland Lord
“Ye are alive,” she cried, gripping him just as tightly. “Ye are here.”
Isobel and Graham stepped forward, as did James and Taryn. They hesitated to put an end to the reuniting, however, as this was the most emotion Laura had shown in the last two weeks.
“You made it,” he said at the same time. “You survived. You were fast enough to escape.”
“The stable master,” Sorcha whispered, finally placing where she had seen Brandon before.
Stepping forward, Oliver close at her heels, Sorcha put a hand on Laura’s shoulder.
“I take it this is the man we are all indebted to?”
“Indebted?” Lachlan exclaimed.
“Sorcha, what are ye saying?”
“Who is this?”
“How do ye ken who he is?”
The questions streamed in all at once. Slowly, ever so slowly, Brandon eased Laura to the ground, though she stayed tucked in at his side. She peered up at Sorcha sheepishly, while Brandon studied the bride warily.
“You are Dudley’s stable master,” Oliver blurted out, having put the pieces together himself.
As soon as the Baron’s name was mentioned, the room shifted into something tense. Every man reached for his weapon, every guard stood at the ready. Children hid behind their mother’s skirts as the women backed away from the traveler.
“He is the one who gave me those letters,” Laura said, loud enough for the room to hear. “He put me on Dudley’s fastest horse, gave me all I would need to make it here. It is because of him that the battle was won.”
She looked up adoringly at the man, who returned her smile with one of his own, albeit a bit more strained. Sorcha smiled to herself.
“This is the man ye told me about, then?” she asked Laura, earning a blush from her friend.
“Och!” Taryn jolted. “The gloves. This is the glove man!”
All three girls had heard Laura’s tales of love. She had unwillingly, at first, shared them over a bottle of whiskey, late one night when they had finally sat Laura down and asked her to tell her story. Tears and giggles and swoons at Brandon’s heroics had been the order of the night. But none of them were naive enough to think the stablemaster had survived Dudley’s wrath or that he would ever show up at Kincaid Castle looking for her.
Laura fished into her pockets and pulled out the leather gloves. She pressed them into Brandon’s hands with a flush.
“They kept me safe and warm,” she told him. “But now that ye are here, I dinnae need them any longer.”
Seemingly unable to stop himself, Brandon swung Laura low, dipping her over his leg. With his cap covering their faces, he kissed her. Cheers erupted from the room, laughter, and joy replacing the tension. When the couple stood, Laura pink from her ears to her fingertips, Lachlan clapped Brandon on the shoulder and welcomed him in.
“Come, have a mug of ale. I say ye deserve that verra much. My men will see to yer horse. Ye will have a room here as long as ye need it. I only ask that ye tell me how ye managed to out the devil!”
Laura beamed. For the rest of the night, her smile didn’t shift an inch. Nor did her place at Brandon’s side.
“And now Auntie Sorchahas married an English lord. But dinnae fash, Mum. He is the good kind. I think it will be helpful for us to have an ally in Lord Blackwood. He insists that we call him ‘Uncle’ instead of ‘Lord’. I try to remember, but sometimes it still feels weird.”
Arran looked up at the painting that hung proudly over the mantle. Lachlan had placed the gilded frame there, in his study, alongside Sean’s favorite whiskey and Anna’s favorite books. A small wooden rabbit that Lachlan had whittled for Arran’s lost baby sister sat on top of the mantle beside them. It was a tribute to Arran’s family, his first family anyways. Given so that he could come talk to his parents anytime he wanted.
The boy had found himself longing to assure his parents that all was well halfway through the wedding feast. Guilt for celebrating had eaten at him until he snuck into Lachlan’s study to gaze up at the portrait of his parents.
“I hope ye dinnae mind that we are happy,” he told them softly. “I think it is what ye would want for me. For all of us. Uncle Loch is a good Laird. And Auntie Aila loves me well. I think ye would have liked her, Mum. She sneaks me sweets when Uncle Loch is nae looking. And he has let me continue training. He says I need it if I am going to be Laird one day. Can ye imagine? Me? Laird. But Uncle Loch says that I am his eldest son, so it is my right.”
He paused for a long moment. For the first time in years, he felt his age—young and frightened, but still hopeful for what the world would hold for him.
“Maybe, if it would be all right with ye, and if it is all right with them, I could call Uncle Loch and Auntie Aila ‘Mum andDa.’ I think they would like that. And it would be less confusing for everyone. Especially since Elsie and Christopher have started calling them that.”
“I think they would understand if ye wanted to call us that. And we would be honored.”
