Cat hugged Bertie. “Thank you,” she whispered.
Bertie gathered her in. “My pleasure, sweetie.”
“We’ll adjourn to Scotland,” Sinclair said. “And marry there, in our home in the Highlands.” He let out a long breath, then gave Bertie a look that was so loving, she feared she’d burst into tears. “I can recover well there, with you all running around making noise. We’ll invite the whole McBride clan, and throw in the Mackenzies too.”
“Hooray!” Andrew shouted again.
Sinclair winced at the piercing sound, but he stretched out his arm to encompass Bertie and Andrew too. “Nothing I can’t do without my family.”
“And what a family.” Bertie laughed again. “Cheeky and loud, always arguing or pestering you about something.”
“If they were quiet and meek, I’d know something was wrong.” Sinclair sat up. “Now go on. Start packing. We’re off.”
Andrew cheered again. He scrambled off the chaise and headed for the door. Cat gave Bertie another hug, then Sinclair, and ran after her brother. There was more spring in her step, a flush of happiness on her face.
“What a family,” Sinclair repeated Bertie’s words. He drew her close. “What a wife I’ve chosen. You’re going to give me merry hell, aren’t you?”
“That I am.” Bertie sank into the curve of Sinclair’s arm and raised her face to him for another kiss. “You ain’t getting away with nothing, Mr. Basher McBride.”
“I wouldn’t want it to be otherwise,” Sinclair said softly. Then he kissed her, and Bertie lost herself in his warmth.
Epilogue
The wedding photo showed Bertie in white, a lace veil trickling to her hips, a large smile on her face. Sinclair stood ramrod straight next to her, holding her arm and trying to look dignified. Caitriona sat in a chair in front of the happy couple, with Andrew standing beside it, a large dog sitting next to him.
The dog was a present from Ian and Beth Mackenzie, a puppy from their estate who’d grown gangly and unruly. Andrew had fallen in love with him on the Christmas visit, and so the dog joined Bertie and Sinclair on their journey to Sinclair’s Highland home.
It was March, the Highlands just showing the light green of spring. Bertie loved Sinclair’s house the moment she saw it. A large three-story stone structure, it had been built in the late eighteenth century, as Kilmorgan had been, but it was about one tenth Kilmorgan’s size, which was fine with Bertie. The house was plenty big to her, and she didn’t want to rattle around and not be close to Sinclair or the children. The walls were plain stone with tall windows and red-painted shutters, dormer windows peeking out from the slate roof.
The house sat on the banks of a pale blue loch, with green hills rising around it. Farms filled the valley around the village, as did pastures full of sheep. Fat cows with long hair falling over their faces wandered about, even into the streets of the village and the front door of Sinclair’s house. Ospreys soared across the loch, and bubbles did indeed boil in the middle of the water. Bertie and Andrew would have to watch for their very own monster.
The wedding was held at the chapel near the village, with the McBrides—Steven and his wife Rose, who was expecting; Juliana and Elliot with Elliot’s daughter Priti and their year-old son, Patrick; and the older Patrick McBride, with his wife, Rona. The Mackenzies were in attendance, from Hart to Ian, with their wives and growing brood of children. Inspector Fellows and Lady Louisa also came, Fellows hovering protectively around Louisa and their newborn daughter, who’d come to them in February. Daniel Mackenzie, filling out more every time Bertie saw him, arrived with Ainsley and Cameron. Twenty years old now, he was full of energy and plans for his future.
The revelry began at the wedding breakfast and lasted all day and into the night. Sinclair told Bertie the festivities would go until morning.
Fiddlers and drummers came from the village to play lively Scottish tunes, and the company danced. Bertie didn’t know the dances, but Sinclair pulled her into them, teaching her as they went. Daniel also helped, his exuberance nearly knocking Bertie off her feet.
She danced with almost all the gentlemen—Elliot, Steven, even Patrick, Cameron, Mac, Daniel again. Hart never joined in, they told her, although Bertie caught him with Eleanor in the hall, the two circling around each other in their own private waltz. Ian didn’t dance either, but he watched Beth and his children take part, the look on his face one of pure love.
Bertie sat out with Ian when she was exhausted, Sinclair walking Ainsley into another circle. Ian’s gaze rested on Beth as she danced with Daniel, Beth laughing, her cheeks pink, as Danny swung her around.
“I did what you told me,” Bertie said to Ian over the music. “I stayed.”
Ian glanced at her, taking in her ivory gown, minus the veil now. Bertie thought he’d speak, but he turned back to his wife and the dancers.
“You might not remember,” Bertie went on. “You took me aside when Andrew got hurt and told me I should stay with them. It was good advice. I took it to heart.”
“I remember.” Ian’s words broke through hers.
Bertie waited, but Ian was finished. “I understand now,” Bertie said. “I know you meant that they needed me to look after them, but I need them too. It goes both ways.”
Ian glanced at her, as though he had no idea why she kept speaking to him. The matter was closed.
“I just wanted to say thanks,” Bertie said. “You made me think. I’m grateful, is all.”