“On it!” Fiona announces from the kitchen where she’s putting on the kettle.
“On what?”
“Asking Keenan’s permission,” she hollers. “When you were unconscious, I practically pinned him to the wall in the dining room and said, ‘I don’t know what his obligation is to you, but you’re not keeping us apart.’ At which point he assured me that not only would he not, but he never had.” She comes in with a tray of cups and a pot of tea. “And so, he’s given his blessing.”
“As do I,” Tiernan says. “And Nolan and I have already discussed it as well.”
“As have we.”
“You did not,” Fiona says in astonishment. Her jaw drops. “And you didn’t tell me?”
“Not yet,” I tell her. I drink the strong, bracingly hot tea, and smile. “Thank fuck.”
“Let’s do it today,” she says. “We’ve waited this long. I don’t want to wait another bloody day.”
I blink. “What about your… dress and things?”
She waves a hand. “Oh, whatever. I’ll find something real quick. I don’t care about the dress.”
“And the party?’
“You know I hate parties.”
“What about the children with those little baskets of… I don’t know, flower petals or something?”
She rolls her eyes. “I don’t want any to-do, Lachlan. I want your ring on my finger and your name. I want to know that every member of the Clan knows I belong to you. I don’t want pomp and circumstance. I want you.”
“He’s bloody fucking pomp and circumstance,” Tiernan mutters, then he laughs out loud when I piston myself out of the bed and deck his arm.
“Jesus,” he says. “Relax. And yes, I’d be honored to be your witness.”
And so I manage to get out of bed and amble to my living room while Fiona makes the arrangements. I can hardly believe this is happening. She’s home. And soon, she’ll be mine.
Chapter 23
Fiona
I don’t quite get my way. What I want to do is marry Lachlan right here, right now, but he makes me wait until he’s more stable on his feet and he and his brothers have made absolutely sure that the Clan fortress is once more secure.
I knew when I heard he was injured—no, I knew before then, the day the bomb went off and I thought I lost him—that Lachlan and I are meant to be together. No matter the hardship. No matter how difficult things are between us. No matter the risks, the rewards will always, always prevail.
On a chilly day in early October, Lachlan and I take our vows in perhaps the smallest wedding ever known to the McCarthy Clan. I don’t want a big to-do. I wear a simple white dress loaned to me from Cormac’s Aileen, a little satin thing that’s casual enough I could wear it to dinner if I wanted to. Father Finn’s summoned to perform the ceremony, and the dining room in the mansion’s arranged for us to take our vows inside, for the wind’s blowing and rain falls hard out the window.
“It’s good luck,” Maeve says when she comes to congratulate us in the receiving line. Her eyes grow misty as she tucks a stray strand of hair behind my ear. “It rained on the day I got married, and just look at the blessings I’ve got. These sons of mine, all those sweet babes to call me Granny, and the women who’ve all become my daughters.” She leans in and kisses my cheek.
“I’m so pleased you two are together,” she says with pride. “When Keenan brought Lachlan home…” her voice trails off and she swallows hard. “I thought the boy needed a mam. He was so angry, you see. Angry at the world.” She smiles. “’Twasn’t a mam he needed, lass. He needed you.”
I’m not sure that any one human can fully restore another. In many ways, perhaps that restoration lies within. But I do know that sometimes, on a day you least expect it, people walk into your life and change it forever. I hated my home in Stone City, but I’ll never forget it. For it was there, in the dark dankness of that hovel, when I was wounded and broken yet still clinging to shards of innocence, that I met Lachlan McCarthy. And my world was never the same.
I watch Maeve embrace Lachlan, but the very next minute, I’m lifted straight into the air by Keenan, who gives me a brotherly hug that takes my breath away.
“Congratulations, Fiona,” he says, putting me down and kissing my cheek. “You’ll do well by each other.”
“Oh, aye,” Cormac says, shoving past Keenan to give me a hug of his own. “Come here.” The big bear of a man hugs me so tight, my heart melts. They love me, all of them, in their own special way.
Nolan shoves Cormac out of the way. He takes my hand and places it in Lachlan’s. He leans in and kisses my cheek. “I’m so proud of who you’ve become,” Nolan says. “And it’s my honor to see where you’ll go from here.” He winks, then says in a stage whisper for all to hear. “And if he hurts you, I will personally see to his painful, bloody, and very permanent demise.”
I laugh out loud. “Thank you.”
Sheena’s crying like a mad woman when she reaches me, and later she blames the hormones. “What hormones?” I ask her. She says with a sheepish smile that she’s expecting again. We hold each other for long moments, neither of us able to find words to express how far we’ve come. How changed things are. How grateful we are to be loved by a family like this.
But it’s Tiernan who pauses to stand in front of me, who holds both my hands in his, and gives me a look so tender, tears spring to my eyes.
“You look beautiful,” he says. “And I’m so proud of you.” He leans in and kisses my cheek, and I wrap my arms around his neck.
“Thanks for everything, Tiernan. Everything.” And I know he knows I don’t just mean what he’s done in recent months or even years, but the way he protected me when I was a child, defended me when I was defenseless, with his fierce, loyal protection. “I wouldn’t be where I am today without you.” I know I wouldn’t.
“Love you, sister,” he says, in rare sentimental moment. Then he looks to Lachlan. “And even though I love this bastard, I’ll fight Nolan for the chance to end him if he hurts you.”
Lachlan grins at him. “I won’t hurt her, brother. You have my word.”
“Maybe a little hurting?” Aisling suggests. “Like, the good kind. And honest to God, Fiona, are any of these men single?”
Epilogue
Lachlan
“I’ve decided to do distance learning,” Fiona announces, sitting at the dining room table in our flat, thoughtfully chewing the end of a pencil. I’m sitting on the loveseat, watching her apply to school.
“Don’t pout, Lachlan, it doesn’t become you,” she says with a haughty air. I push myself up from the loveseat and stalk over to her. Her eyes widen, then quickly flit to the left, then right.
“I’m not pouting. The men of the Clan don’t pout, we brood.”
“Well, don’t brood, love, I’m only applying to school. You’re acting like I’ve just joined a convent.”