“I’m glad we finished with the hatred,” Fellows said.
Hart looked around the clearing, the tension in him easing a bit. “Maybe the hatred made us stronger.”
“I don’t think so,” Fellows said. “It kept us apart, and weak. Love is better.”
Hart grinned. When he did that, he looked as he had as a very young man—handsome, devilishly arrogant, certain he’d rule the world. “Did Louisa teach you that?”
“Yes,” Fellows said without shame. “As Eleanor taught you.” He studied Hart for a time. “I kept it, you know. I still have it.”
Hart stared at his abrupt change of subject. “Kept what?”
“The shilling you gave me when I was ten years old. You must have been about that age too.”
Hart frowned. “I’m not recalling . . .”
“The duke’s coach pulled up in High Holborn—he was on his way to Lincoln’s Inn. A traffic snarl, of my making, stopped the carriage. The duke got down to see what was the matter. I’d planned to tell him I was his son that day. He was supposed to look astonished then welcome me into the coach and take me home with him. Instead, he beat me. You looked happy that I took my fists to him, and you gave me a shilling.”
Hart’s expression cleared. “I remember now. That boy was you?”
“You wouldn’t have noticed a resemblance with my face so filthy. Not to mention bruised and bloody.”
“Good Lord. I wish I’d known.” He gave Fellows a grim smile. “Yes, I was happy you pummeled him. The man beat me every night of my life, so I was glad to see him get a taste of it. He beat me to make a man of me, he said. Well, he succeeded.”
“Yes.”
Both of them looked around the clearing again, where a man who’d made so many miserable had come to his end.
“They’ll be wondering where we are,” Fellows said after a time.
Eleanor and Louisa, their wives and lovers. “They will,” Hart agreed.
“If they have to come after us, they’ll scold when they get here,” Fellows said.
“True. Then want to do something daft, like have a picnic.”
“The ladies do enjoy a picnic. After a five-mile hike.”
“I think we’ve been domesticated,” Hart said. “The Highland warriors have gone soft.”
Fellows shrugged. “I can do with a little softness now and again.”
“Eleanor knew I could too,” Hart said. “That’s why she came back for me.”
“They saved us from ourselves,” Fellows offered.
“Someone had to.”
The clearing had been a place of violence. Fellows imagined it, the gunshot, birds fleeing in a sudden rush of wings, the heat and smell of blood. The old duke, mean and thoughtless, falling dead. Hart breathing hard, the shotgun in his hands.
So much viciousness and cruelty. All gone now. The ground of the clearing was soft green, tiny yellow flowers blooming where the sun reached.
Without another word, the two men turned and started back for Kilmorgan.
They emerged from the trees near the river where Ian had taken the rest of the family fishing. They were all there—Beth and her children on a spread blanket; Mac’s family nearby with Louisa and Fellows’ mother; Ainsley and Cameron together; Daniel playing with his little sister; Eleanor and Alec on another blanket.
And Louisa. She smiled at Lloyd from where she reposed next to Isabella, and she rose to greet him.
Fellows met her halfway across the grass. He took her hands, and they shared a kiss, full of warmth, delight, and the sweet taste of sugared tea.
Louisa eased back down from her tiptoes and brushed her fingers across Lloyd’s mouth. The simple wedding band glistened on her finger next to her engagement ring with its small diamond.
“Welcome home,” she said.
“Thank you,” Fellows answered. He meant the thanks for all, for all she was and all she’d done for him.
He drew her into his arms, and Louisa softly kissed him again. Laughter surrounded them, and the summer sunshine.