Page 99 of The Laird who Craved her

"Leo would scarcely believe that now," Violet replied with a smirk. "He still thinks ye're terrifying."

"As he should," Beatrice noted proudly.

Another ripple of lighthearted laughter followed her declaration. Claire looked from one familiar, friendly face to another.

"So, what exactly happens?" Claire asked.

Margaret bent gracefully to gather several small white blossoms growing near the muddy riverbank. She handed one delicate flower to Claire, then another to Molly. Soon each woman held a single white blossom in her hand.

"There are nay strict rules," Margaret explained quietly. "Only tradition."

Claire turned the delicate flower slowly between her fingers. "And the blessing?"

Violet smiled. "The blessing is simply hope." She stepped carefully to the water's edge. Holding her flower lightly, she closed her eyes for a brief moment before letting it drift onto the current. "May laughter always find this home."

The white blossom floated away, carried gently downstream by the water. Beatrice followed immediately, ensuring her flower settled right beside Violet's.

"May love never ask either heart to stand alone," Beatrice said softly.

Molly looked incredibly thoughtful for a long moment. "I've never been very good at speeches."

"You've never let that stop ye," Beatrice observed dryly.

"It hasnae," Molly agreed. The maid grinned widely before dropping her own flower into the rushing river. "May yer husband always remember ye're right."

Margaret laughed aloud. "Even when ye're wrong?"

"Especially then," Molly insisted.

The women dissolved into laughter once again, the joyous sound echoing softly across the water. Claire laughed until happy tears gathered in the corners of her eyes. When the laughter finally faded, Margaret stepped forward to the bank. She placed her own flower gently upon the river.

"May peace always find its way back to yer hearth," Margaret whispered.

The current carried it gently after the others, leaving only Claire on the bank. Five blossoms drifted on the river. She looked at the flower in her hand—small, ordinary, but strangely heavy. The breeze stirred her hair as she walked to the water's edge. She thought of England, the frightened woman crossing the sea, Rosewood, Douglas teasing Finn, Molly's chatter, Violet's kindness, Beatrice's wisdom, Leo's jokes, smiling servants, and a castle echoing with unfamiliar voices. Finally, she thought of Finn, who had become her home without realizing. She knelt by the river, the water reflecting the golden sky.

"I came to these Highlands believing I was leaving me entire life behind." Her voice barely rose above the gentle murmur of the river. "Instead, I found one." She smiled, a single tear slippingdown her cheek. "May I never forget how fortunate I am to have found a home where I least expected one."

She released the flower. For a moment it rested right beside her fingertips, bobbing slightly. Then the current gathered it gently, carrying it quickly after the others until all five blossoms floated together beneath the warm, fading light of the setting sun.

No one spoke. The silence wasn't empty; it was full and rich. The river flowed steadily onward, carrying the blessings with it, while the women stood shoulder to shoulder beneath the fading evening sky, watching hope drift toward whatever tomorrow might bring.

EPILOGUE

The morning sun washed Rosewood Castle in warm gold, spilling over ancient stone walls that had weathered more winters than anyone still living could remember. The courtyard below hummed with vibrant life. Children darted between tables before anxious mothers could catch them, their laughter echoing beneath the fluttering MacRae banners.

Women hurried across the bailey carrying baskets overflowing with heather, white wildflowers, and long ribbons woven in the clan's colors. Near the kitchens, servants wrestled with spits laden with venison while the rich scent of fresh bread drifted through the crisp Highland air. Somewhere beyond the gatehouse, a fiddler tested a lively reel before a piper answered with a few proud notes, earning cheerful applause from the gathering clansmen.

MacRaes moved easily among MacSweens, Sinclairs, and the handful of neighboring allies who had come to witness the handfasting. Old rivalries had been forgotten for a day in favor of laughter, full mugs, and stories that seemed to grow tallerwith every telling. Four months ago, Rosewood had been warm because its people refused to let hardship steal their spirit. Today, it was joyful.

Finn rested both hands against the weathered stone of the battlements and looked over the castle he had spent nearly a decade rebuilding. Once, every morning had begun with counting grain stores, repairing walls, planning patrols, and wondering whether another raid would come before winter ended.

He had measured success in surviving one more season. Now, he watched children racing through the courtyard without fear. It struck him then that this was what he had been fighting for all along. Not stronger walls. Not a larger army. Moments like these.

A gust of wind carried the sound of laughter toward him, and he smiled before he could stop himself.

"Careful," Douglas Fraser's voice drifted across the battlements. "If ye smile any wider, the clan will think someone's replaced ye."

Finn didn't bother turning around. "I was wondering how long it'd take ye."