Epilogue
It took him a few months, but once he’d fully recovered from his injuries and the summer sunshine had warmed the air, Logan finally managed to whisk his wife away for a proper honeymoon.
He took her to the seaside. Nine years after they’d first “met” on the beach in Brighton.
Better late than never.
He found them a well-furnished cottage near Durness, situated near a wide, sandy crescent of beach with a perfect view of the pink-orange sunsets. It wasn’t Brighton or Bermuda, but it was lovely and secluded and theirs.
Considering it was the first holiday he’d ever planned or taken in his life, Logan felt rather proud of his success.
Every afternoon, they walked along the shore together. Maddie collected shells and sketched them in her notebook. Logan gave her a gold wedding band he’d had engraved with both their initials. More than once, they made love on his green-and-blue tartan spread over white sands.
And they bid farewell to two dear friends.
“Fare-thee-well, Fluffy,” Maddie whispered. “Take good care of her, Rex.”
They released the lobsters into the ocean and bid them a good journey and best wishes for thousands of healthy offspring.
As they looked out over the blue water, Maddie reached for Logan’s hand and laced her fingers in his. “Remember when you held our firstborn child in your arms?”
He pulled her close and kissed those sweet, soft lips. “I believe I do remember that. As I recall, it was about nine months from now.”
She laughed. “More like six, I think.”
“What?” Stunned, Logan lifted his head and looked down at her. “No. Already?”
She nodded.
“But . . .” He racked his memory for any evidence. “You havena been sick.”
“I was at first, just a little bit. Aunt Thea gave me a tonic.”
He dropped her hand, stepped back, and stared at her, rubbing a hand over his face.
God help him. He thought he might faint.
She bit her lip. “I confess, I thought you’d react with more enthusiasm.”
“I’m not lacking for enthusiasm. I want to squeeze you tight and spin you around and lay you down and make love to you. But I’m suddenly terrified to do any of it.” He swallowed hard. “You’re with child. It’s a delicate condition.”
“Delicate?” She smiled. “Logan, the child I’m carrying is yours. I feel certain he or she can survive just about anything. Including love.”
He reached to trace a gentle caress along her collarbone. “Mo chridhe. My own heart.”
She took his hand and placed it on her belly. “There’s another little heart inside here now. It’s a bit of you and a bit of me, and a lot of someone we’ll have to wait to know. But Logan”—her dark eyes tipped up to meet his—“this means we’re a family.”
His knees truly did buckle then.
He pulled her roughly to him, clutching her tight to hide his own overwhelming emotions. Later, he’d blame the redness in his eyes on wind-driven sand.
For now, he buried his face in her hair and murmured promises.
Thou art bone of my bone, flesh of my flesh.
The same words with which he’d vowed his life to Madeline, he whispered now to his unborn babe. This child would never know hunger, never feel cold. Never know the pain of fear and darkness. Not while Logan had breath in his lungs and life in his veins.
And as for love . . .
Even when his heart stopped beating, there would be no end to his love.
He held her there until the incoming tide lapped at their toes.
And then he swept his wife into his arms and took her home.