Epilogue

Rory heard the cry of a newborn babe.

He did not wait a second longer. He burst into his wife’s room.

The midwife he’d had in residence these last two weeks was cleaning the babe with a linen cloth. Alina stood beside her, beaming as if she herself was a mother. And she would be, if young John had anything to do with it.

The midwife stood, cooing over the wriggling babe. “A lass,” she said. “A foine, healthy lassie.”

Rory’s breath came back. Slowly.

Felicia smiled wearily. She looked wan.

Rory tenderly took his daughter in his arms, then sat on Fecilia’s bed and displayed the bairn to her mother. Felicia investigated every inch, down to the smallest toe. Her smile would light the darkest night.

“What shall we name her?” he asked. It was too bad Felicia was already taken. Felicia meant happiness and that was what she had given him in full measure. He wanted the same for his daughter.

“I like Margaret,” she said. “You told me your Maggie loved to laugh. And smile.”

His heart moved inside his chest. He had told her about Margaret—Maggie—and she had listened without the jealousy he had felt when he thought she cared about Jamie in ways more deep than friendship. Her heart was huge, and she harbored an empathy and compassion that never ceased to humble him.

He nodded, unable to speak.

She smiled wanly. “You have a daughter as well as a son. Two healthy bairns.”

“And my wife?”

“Content. And ever so happy.” Her eyes glistened with tears, but he knew they were happy ones.

He felt the tension within him fade. Despite the fact that first birth had gone easily and young Jamie was thriving, he felt fear when she’d told him she was with child again.

Their first years together had been beyond his dreams. Lachlan had earned the respect of the Macleans and had stayed at Inverleith while Rory had returned to the sea, his wife beside him. His crew had been dismayed at first, afraid she would bring bad luck, but the voyage had been successful beyond their expectations. Each member had come to respect Felicia, who never complained and tended even the lowest member with great care and gentleness.

They had traveled to France, then Venice, and he would always remember the pure joy in her face as the wind caressed her face on board and the wonder in her eyes as she saw new lands.

Now she glowed with love, and the wonder was for her children. Their children. She reveled in motherhood, and every time he saw her with his son, he melted inside.

For her sake, he had tried to smother his fear when she announced she was with child again. He had declined to go to sea and, instead, sent Lachlan in his place. The castle he’d once hated had become a haven. He and Jamie had found a deep friendship, and Jamie’s father had gradually, though sullenly, accepted the marriage and the end of the feud. It had bought a new peace to Maclean lands, and both crops and livestock were flourishing. For the first time in his memory, fear among the Macleans had seeped away, and marriages, once rare, were becoming commonplace.

Although his arm would always be stiff, Lachlan had readily taken to the sea. It suited his personality far better than Rory had ever hoped, and his half brother continued the seagoing tradition that had brought Macleans wealth.

None of that mattered now, though.

Alina leaned down and picked up the baby. Felicia knew it was only a matter of time before Alina and young John wed. John had a crippled arm and Alina a crippled leg but their love, youthful as it was, made everyone else seem crippled instead.

“Now you know the end of the tale,” Felicia said to her. “The prince came from the woods. He did not want to be a prince but he could not avoid what he was.”

Rory now knew the tale she had started long ago. The whimsy that had a delayed ending.

Felicia reached out a hand to him, and he took it, clasping it tightly. “It is gone,” she whispered. “The curse is gone forever.”

Lachlan entered after a small knock. Just returned from a voyage to be by his brother’s side during this event, he had been hovering outside. He held young Jamie, who, at eighteen months, was scrambling to be put down.

“See your sister,” Lachlan said, leaning over so the lad could get a better look.

Jamie grabbed his sister’s tiny hand, and wee Margaret’s fist went around one of his fingers. Jamie grinned happily.

His heart brimming over, Rory watched as his wife put her hand around both her children’s hands. She would protect them as fiercely as she protected all that was dear in her life.

He knew then the curse was gone, destroyed by her great spirit.

And a love that he knew now could conquer anything.