Highlander in Her Bed (36 page)
"Only what should have been done nearly seven hundred years ago." She lifted on her toes and kissed him. "It's quite legal. Why do you think Solicitor Combe is here? He made the arrangements."
Alex crushed her to him, his world more complete than he would have ever dreamed. "I don't know what to say."
"Then don't say anything." She slipped her hand beneath his sporran and squeezed. "Just love me."
His eyes darkened. "That I shall do."
"Forever?"
"O-o-oh, aye," he promised. "For all our days and then some."
She pulled back to peer at him. "On your plaid? In the heather?"
"That, too," he agreed, tightening his arms around her. "So often as you desire."
And then he closed his eyes and smiled.
Life had become indescribably good.
And he couldn't wait to start living it.
Epilogue
One Cairn Avenue
Philadelphia, a Year Later
The launch party for Hugh McDougall's self-published book on his family history,
Tartan Roots
, was in full swing by the time Alex managed to drag himself from bed and join the fine cracking revelry going on belowstairs in his father-in-law's plaid-hung living room.
Plaid-hung and plastered with so many likenesses of the book's cover, the startling vision had made Alex
dizzy
when he and Mara arrived from Scotland late last night.
Still feeling a bit queasy, he pressed firm fingers to his temples, knew now that he was suffering from something called jetlag. A malaise that didn't surprise him at all, considering how harrowing the journey had been.
He couldn't believe he'd allowed his beloved wife to persuade him to undertake such a nightmarish adventure. And although they were staying a full fortnight, he was quite sure he'd not change his mind about air travel by the time the fourteen days passed and they were left no choice but to board another flying machine.
Not that he'd let his dread show.
But he suspected Mara knew.
After all, she'd kindly refrained from commenting on his white-knuckled grip on her hand all through the travails of the Atlantic crossing.
But at least now he'd never again complain about the drive into Oban. Dodging sheep on the road in nowise compared to sailing through the clouds!
Och, aye, now he knew there were much worse things in his Mara's world than automobiles. But wonderful things, too, like the beautiful roundness of her swelling belly.
Alex stopped halfway down the stairs and swallowed hard. Then he pinched the bridge of his nose until all threat of possible misty eyes vanished.
He wouldn't embarrass his father-in-law by striding into the man's
ceilidh
looking teary-eyed. Mara had warned him that her father told everyone his good-son was a fierce Highland laird, and Alex didn't want to disappoint him.
"Here he is! Come straight from the
Auld Hameland
!" Hugh McDougall grabbed Alex's arm the instant he reached the bottom of the stairs, pulling him into the dining room, where a giant likeness of
Tartan Roots
served as a table centerpiece.
Looking like he might burst with pride, Hugh McDougall threw his arm around Alex and raised his voice, "Sir Alexander Douglas, Laird of Ravenscraig Castle, and
my
son-in-law," he boasted, beaming round at the circle of his impressed-looking friends and his somewhat tight-lipped wife. "And"—he cast a glance at Mara—"soon to be father of my first grandbaby,
Hugh Colin McDougall Douglas
!"
A chorus of happy-sounding
oohs
and
aahs
rose at that, and Erchy, rotund, red-cheeked, and be-kilted as always, underscored the moment's glory with a fine rendition of "Highland Laddie." Claiming to be an old friend on tour with a group of traveling Highland musicians, the Jacobite piper had arrived last night, touching Alex deeply.
As did Hardwick's and Bran of Barra's presence, though Alex knew he was the only one able to see those two. They hadn't chosen to materialize as Erchy had and simply stood against the wall, arms crossed and smiling, observing the day.
"Alex?"
He turned, found his lady at his side. "You really don't mind the name?" she asked, one hand resting on her middle. "We can still change it, you know."
Alex touched her hair, slid his fingers through the silky strands. They seemed to gleam even brighter these days, as did her beautiful eyes. Mara MacDougall Douglas wore motherhood well and he simply could not get enough of her.
Truth be told, he'd even fly clear around the world with her in one of her ghastly flying machines if the notion pleased her.
She meant that much to him.
Naming his first son after her da and their ill-winded ancestor was a small thing in the grandness of it all.
The peace and happiness she'd brought him.
"Hellfire and damnation," he muttered, dashing at the tear he hadn't realized was trickling down his cheek. "See what you do to me."
"Hottie Scottie," she said, using the nickname that never failed to make him smile, "methinks you have a soft heart."
Alex pulled her against him, brushed a kiss across her lips. "When we are alone again, I shall show you just how
soft
your Highlander is, lassie."
She flushed prettily, looking pleased. "Then you really do not mind the name?"
Alex hesitated, glanced at the giant likeness of
Tartan Roots
. One Cairn Village and the memorial cairn stared back at him from the book's cover, and he knew his own name and the name of his soon-to-be-born son were scrawled across the book's first page in a flowery dedication so touching it would have made a medieval bard weep.
And, some mischievous corner of his heart knew, would have Colin MacDougall turning in his grave.
But his lady was waiting for a response, doubt beginning to cloud her beautiful eyes.
"Our son's name is perfect," he gave her his answer, sealing it with a kiss. "It pleases me greatly."
"It pleases you?"
"Oh, aye." He kissed her again, deeper this time, and not caring who saw them. "Though I can think of two very good friends whose names I'd like to give our next-born son, if I may do the choosing."
"Of course," his lady agreed.
And across the room, Hardwick and Bran grinned like fools.
If you loved
Highlander in Her Bed,
look for Allie Mackay's
next fresh and sexy paranormal romp,
on sale November 2007.
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