Trapped with the Devil of the Highlands (Falling for Highland Villains #3)

Epilogue

EPILOGUE

ONE WEEK LATER

“Ye look… ye look… Oh, Paisley…” Olivia melted into a puddle of tears for at least the tenth time that morning, soaking through yet another handkerchief.

Frankly, Paisley was surprised that the sweet woman had any tears left, but just when she thought Olivia was holding herself together, out they poured again.

Indeed, it appeared to be worsening the closer Paisley got to the secret garden, where the ceremony was to take place. And there were a lot of stairs still to descend.

“I’ve never seen a more beautiful bride,” Rowena whispered from behind her on the staircase. “Those purple flowers in yer hair—just beautiful. Och, ye cannae ken how happy ye’ve made the clan, M’Lady. There’ll be celebrations for days.”

The lively maid, who had become an even dearer friend to Paisley, whipped out a handkerchief of her own and blew her nose into it.

“Och, nae ye too!” Paisley laughed, beaming from ear to ear.

“I’m sorry, M’Lady,” Rowena sniffled. “I cannae help it. Weddings always make me bawl like a bairn, and this one more than most.”

In front of Paisley, Olivia nodded effusively through her own happy tears. “I’m just so… so… overjoyed. I never thought… this day would…”

She burst into a fresh bout of sobs, clinging to Paisley’s hand as though she feared the bride might run at the last minute. There was nothing to worry about; today was the happiest day of Paisley’s life, and she could not wait to see her beloved again.

One night away from him had been one too many. She would have snuck out, but Olivia had guarded the door, fearful that the old gods might take umbrage if the bride and groom saw one another before the wedding.

“And one cannae be too careful. Aye, I ken it’s nae proper to believe in the old gods, and with ye bein’ a former novice and all, but… I willnae take any chances,” she had urged, and Paisley had accepted the unexpected sentinel if only to soothe her future mother-in-law’s nerves.

At last, they reached the door at the bottom of the staircase. Just outside, standing anxiously in the surprisingly gentle breeze, her father awaited her arrival. Cecilia was beside him, biting her thumbnail.

The moment the unlikely pair set eyes on Paisley, they too looked like they might cry.

“Me darlin’ wee girl,” Laird Morris murmured, taking his daughter’s hand and weaving it through his arm. “Och, just look at ye. Ye’re all grown up now.”

Paisley smiled shyly.

“And takin’ a different manner of vows,” Cecilia chimed in, taking Paisley’s other hand and squeezing it tightly.

“Aye.” Laird Morris laughed, though it did not quite reach his eyes. “I never thought I’d have the privilege of seein’ this day, nor that ye’d ever have a happy weddin’ day.”

“Nor did I,” Paisley replied, and Cecilia echoed the sentiment.

“And ye really do love him?” her father asked in a strained voice.

Paisley nodded. “More than I can describe, Faither.”

After returning to Castle Cairn as an elevated woman, her love pledged to Camden by the fairy pools, she had made it her first mission to speak to her parents and hear the parts of the story that her father had tried to keep to himself for all these years.

It had not been an easy tale to hear, her heart breaking as her father tearfully confessed how much he had missed her, and why he had done what he did to keep her safe. It hurt to think that their separation had been caused by someone else and that they would never get those years back.

But it had also wiped a bitter slate clean, allowing them to begin anew. It would still take time, of course, for them to find their footing in their reunion, but Paisley kept thinking to herself, At least we still have that luxury. At least I found them and heard the truth before either of them was taken from this earth.

“Well then, let’s get ye wed to yer beloved. Truth be told, I cannae wait to meet Lady Cairn—I hear this clan have been waitin’ for her for a very long time,” her father said with a proud smile and humor in his eyes, puffing out his chest as he escorted her toward the rest of her life. Not with fear or dread, but with the joyful expression of a man who knew that his child was about to be very happy, indeed.

And, more than that, loved.

“So, do ye think MacDunn has gone quiet again?” Murdoch Blaine, the Laird of Clan Moore, asked gruffly.

Camden raised an eyebrow and gestured not-so-subtly at the intimate congregation that had gathered in the garden. “I hate to be the one to dampen yer enthusiasm, Murdoch, but a weddin’ isnae really the moment for talkin’ about threats.”

“Why nae?” Murdoch muttered. “It’s the only time in months that the four of us have been in the same place to talk about threats.”

The four Lairds who had joined forces to deter and dispel the menace of MacDunn stood in front of the hut at the farthest end of the sheltered garden, awaiting the bride. Jack and Noah had arrived the day before in fine spirits which had not abated, the two of them almost more excited about the wedding than Camden himself, who had never looked forward to anything more.

Murdoch, however, had arrived in his usual dour temper, behaving as if he had been forced to come on pain of death. He had the expression of a man at a funeral, not a celebration of love.

Camden told him so.

“I dinnae see the need for pageantry and all this… cooin’ and sighin’,” Murdoch replied bluntly. “A weddin’ is a weddin’. They’re all the same. See one, ye’ve seen all of ‘em. Discussin’ MacDunn is more important.”

From the front bench that had been set out in the garden, Amelia let out a pointed grunt, glaring at Murdoch the way mothers did while in company, scolding their children without saying a word.

Murdoch grumbled something under his breath, turning his gaze toward the top of the makeshift aisle.

“He’s nae near our lands anymore,” Noah said, undoubtedly to keep the peace. “He went west, and news from there is that he hasnae been seen, nay villages have been touched, and there hasnae been a single sightin’ of his men, so I’d wager we willnae hear of him for a while.”

Jack smiled. “Either he’s gone to bother lowland lairds or he has given up, so let’s just enjoy the festivities, eh?”

Murdoch did not reply, his ordinarily steely eyes fixed on something that made them widen and soften just a little. And his mouth, so accustomed to being set in a grim line, had fallen open slightly.

Camden turned to see what had captured the grumpy Laird’s attention as the rustle and whisper of the congregation rising to their feet filled the air.

Me love. Me lady. Me bride.

He could not have looked away if the heavens themselves had bidden him to, taking in the rich purple velvet of her dress, her delectable hourglass figure, her mane of glorious red hair, her pink cheeks, her bright eyes, and that smile. A smile so beautiful, so giddy that his lips had no choice but to curl into a grin.

“Well, well, well, miracles do happen,” Jack teased. “Here we have a rare sight—Camden Lyall speechless.”

“Perfection is best enjoyed in silence,” Camden retorted out of the corner of his mouth, awestruck as his bride walked down the aisle toward him, escorted by her father, with a flock of three ladies trailing behind.

The women slid into their places, shuffling in beside Lady Morris, who stood with her handkerchief in hand.

All too soon, for Camden had been enjoying the view, and not soon enough, Paisley reached him. Her father leaned in to kiss her cheek before placing her hand in Camden’s, and with a quiet “Take care of her,” he took his seat on the front bench to watch the proceedings.

“I was worried ye might nae come,” Camden said, tugging her closer.

She frowned in amusement. “Why would I nae?”

“I thought the stairs might’ve changed yer mind.” He smirked and bent his head to kiss her cheek, whispering softly, “It’s a pity ye’ve worn a gown so beautiful. I had plans to rip it off ye later, but they’ll have to wait.”

She squeezed his hands. “Dinnae even think about it. If there’s undressin’ to be done, ye can do it slowly.”

“Och, I love ye, me tortuous minx,” he purred, pulling back and flashing a wry smile at the waiting priest.

The white-haired man in his holy vestments could not quite hide his astonished frown, though it was gone by the time he addressed the congregation, welcoming them to the divinely ordained union of Camden and Paisley.

Camden barely heard a word the man said, too transfixed by the wild beauty of his beloved—the warm softness of her hands against the roughness of his, the excited gleam in her eyes, the dusting of freckles that he had already begun to map most diligently.

“Ye’re supposed to respond,” Murdoch, of all people, hissed.

Camden blinked and recited his vows back to the priest while the guests chuckled at the mishap. No embarrassment swelled in Camden’s chest, quite content to be part of the amusement, for who could blame him for being distracted when he was marrying the most exceptional woman in the world?

At last, the priest spoke the only words that Camden had been waiting for. “I now pronounce you man and wife, bound together in holy matrimony.”

Camden swept in, his arms wrapping around his beloved wife. She yelped a little, the sound turning into sweet laughter as she peered up into his eyes.

Right there, in front of all of their family and friends, and a few choice representatives of the clan that had waited so long to see their Laird happy, Camden dipped Paisley, holding her with ease. A playful warning glinted in her eyes, but they closed in contentment all the same as he kissed her, holding nothing back.

If the priest did not want to see a husband and wife in love, then he was in the wrong vocation.

Paisley kissed her husband back without hesitation, her arms looped around his neck. At that moment, the rest of the congregation faded away, leaving just the two of them in the garden, where he knew his feelings for her had begun. The garden where he had almost made the biggest mistake of his life by letting her go.

He would never make such a mistake again.

Breaking the kiss in a breathless lull, Camden pulled his wife back up, brushing back a lock of her wonderfully wild and wayward hair.

“I love ye,” he murmured.

“I love ye more,” she whispered back, flushed with happiness.

He tutted playfully. “Impossible, and if I have to prove it to ye, I will.”

“I look forward to it,” she replied in the sort of sultry tone that would make them miss the wedding feast if she was not careful.

He smiled. “I ken I told ye I dinnae believe in a higher power,” he said thickly, “but I’ll say a prayer for the rest of me days, thankin’ the heavens for sendin’ ye to me.”

“And I’ll thank them too,” she replied, putting her arms around him, “for answerin’ mine.”

The End?