And then, quite suddenly, he thrust one last time, and the unforgiving tension snapped, and a starburst of sensation exploded in her mind, and all she was unraveled as glory streaked down her nerves, pleasure flooded her veins, and bliss swamped her mind.
He stiffened in her arms, and with a hoarse, guttural cry half smothered in the curve of her throat, he spilled into her, then slumped in her arms, apparently as boneless as she.
A wave of sated pleasure rolled over her, of a sort she’d never felt before.
The ultimate in intimate comfort, that pleasure reassured and soothed.
As, unresisting, she let the tide take her, she felt him do the same, and she smiled and, safe with him, let go and sank beneath the waves.
Sometime later—she couldn’t have said how long—he stirred, raised his head, and looked down at her.
She felt his loving gaze lingeringly trace her features, but she couldn’t summon the strength to lift her lids and meet it.
Then she heard him chuckle softly—an elemental sound of male pride—and he dropped a kiss on her swollen lips, disengaged, and lifted from her.
As he immediately dropped to the bed beside her, flicked the covers over them, then gathered her into his arms, turning her so her head was pillowed on his chest, she didn’t feel any need to protest.
Instead, she snuggled to get comfortable, glorying in the warmth of his hard, hot limbs over and around which hers were now draped. She felt him press a soft kiss to her temple, and she relaxed again, expecting oblivion to reclaim her.
Instead, she found her mind cataloging the subtle signs as he—his body—relaxed as well, and he surrendered to sleep. She listened to his heartbeat, strong and steady now beneath her ear, noted how his breathing slowed.
Her eyes remained closed, but she felt her lips curve.
They’d started almost as foes, wary, watchful, with each suspicious of the other, but working together for the good of the people of Bellamy Hall, through what they’d shared in that common cause, they’d grown to be friends.
Now, they’d become lovers and soon would be husband and wife.
An evolution nearly completed for him. For her, a journey embarked on with the end finally in sight.
Contentment lay heavy upon her. Still smiling, with her head pillowed on his chest, she settled beneath the reassuring weight of his arm and waited for slumber to claim her.
She was drifting in that hazy world between wakefulness and sleep, with visions of their wedding circling, when an errant thought floated across her mind.
She hadn’t yet asked him how he felt about bagpipes.
Epilogue
May 1, 1852. Bellamy Hall, Northamptonshire.
The entire household, wedding guests and all, had been woken at dawn by the haunting strains of bagpipes floating out from the ruins.
Needless to say, Tristan, Melrose, and Hugo had been beyond ecstatic and had been there to record the sight of Rory, Hamish, Daniel, and Morgan, in full Fergusson clan regalia, pacing back and forth under the abbey’s ancient arch as they played.
The wedding itself, held at All Saints Church in Earls Barton and proudly officiated over by Reverend Millicombe, had been an exceptionally well-attended affair. Every resident of the Hall estate, plus all the members of the wider congregation as well as assorted other local figures, had packed the small church and crowded around the open doorway. Inside, the church had been crammed with Caitlin’s Scottish kin and the even larger contingent of Gregory’s relatives and numerous Cynster connections.
Caitlin had been thrilled to have all her family around her. Her uncle had given her away and had been brimming with pride as he did.
He and Morgan had arrived at Bellamy Hall several days prior, and she’d been both surprised and relieved to note how much Morgan—who was the same age as she—had matured as well as grown. He’d been ready and willing to take on the responsibility of Benbeoch Manor and had wholeheartedly welcomed the settlements Gregory had arranged.
Consequently, Rory, Hamish, and Daniel were now free to pursue their passions, and as Caitlin had walked down the aisle to take the final step in securing her own passionately desired future, she’d sent up a prayer of thanks that in following her path all the way to the end, she’d created the setting for her cousins—all four—to find their own true places.
That had set a special seal to what was proving to be a magical day.
The ceremony had passed off without a hitch. As Gregory had whispered, while under the watchful eyes of Julia, Alice, and Gregory’s sister, Therese, nothing would dare go wrong.
Accompanied by her handsome husband and their children, Therese had arrived days early to help oversee the preparations. She’d visited several times since Caitlin and Gregory had announced their betrothal, and she and Caitlin had quickly settled into an easy friendship. Indeed, Therese had been instrumental in smoothing Caitlin’s path into the large and boisterous Cynster family.
Included in that number, and also among those who had arrived early, were Gregory’s relatives from north of the border. The Carricks—Lucilla, Thomas, and their children—and Marcus and Niniver Cynster had bolstered the Scottish influence, and all had been patently delighted at the news that, in marrying Caitlin, Gregory would be strengthening Cynster ties to the area in which both couples lived.
