Heart in the Highlands by Heidi Kimball

Epilogue

Lady Charlotte Darrington

Eleven years later

The hull of the ship glides through the water like shears through silk. I breathe in the salty air as the wind whips at my hair, trying to tug it free of its knot. I was born for this. For the ocean. For travel. For adventure.

At least, I think I was. I haven’t yet set foot off our ship.

But so far this adventure has been everything I’d imagined it would be. Though the food has left something to be desired, the breathtaking views, the majestic storms, and a handsome sailor or two make up for it. We’ve seen gulls and a few sharks and even some dolphins, but this is the first time in two months that we’ve seen land. White sand against impossibly blue water. A dizzying mix of palm trees and ships and crowded docks. My stomach bobs with the rise and fall of the ship.

Tavish appears at my side, his eyes as round as mine. “Barbados,” he breathes.

“I saw it first,” Bram yells.

“No, I did!” Graeme pushes Bram aside, trying to get the best view.

Essentially, this captures every moment spent on board with the twins. Well, that and the constant chore of pulling them down from the rigging.

“That’s enough out of the two of ye,” Father says, though I can tell he’s more amused than angry. He stands behind the twins, holding them both by the collars of their jackets. He’s become more a father figure than an uncle since Uncle Ian died. “Don’t make me regret convincing your mother to let you come.” And Aunt Olivia did take some convincing.

Father releases the twins with a stern warning. “The next lad who touches his brother will answer to me.”

“They can’t help being excited,” Mother says in her musical voice, trying to soften him. She holds Iseabel’s hand. “None of us can help it.”

He turns to Mother, his gaze warm.

I turn away, blushing. Will anyone ever look at me the way he looks at her? Or refuse to spend a night apart from me because he’d miss me too much? It’s a romantic notion, I know, but I can’t help it. It’s what my heart yearns for.

I reach for Iseabel, trying to distract myself. “Come, let me hold ye. Do ye see that bird flying overhead? We’re following it.” Her head only reaches the deck railing, so I hold her up.

“Do ye think there will be pirates?” Iseabel asks, eyes wide. The twins have told her one too many stories.

“I highly doubt it,” I say, though the prospect excites even me.

Iseabel can’t decide whether to be relieved or disappointed. The two of us are twins in our own right. Two girls born eleven years apart. We both share the same tangle of curls and our father’s gray eyes. But Iseabel is a miracle, Mother says. A child that should never have been possible.

I was eleven at the time, but I remember the day well. Mother handing Iseabel into father’s arms, a thin line marring her forehead. “Are you sorry she isn’t a boy, Callum? An heir?”

“There’s no room in my heart for sorrow,” he’d said, his eyes transfixed on Iseabel’s small button nose, her blinking gray eyes. “Not when I have so much to love.”

“I see it!” Iseabel shouts, shaking me from my reverie. The echo of her voice reminds me of another time, another place, as I sailed toward my new home in Scotland.

When the twins begin bickering again, Mother pulls a tin from behind her back. “Would anyone like a biscuit?”

She is quickly swarmed, a sea of hands reaching toward the biscuits. “Help!” she yelps. “I’m surrounded by Scots!” It is one of her favorite jokes, one that always makes Father laugh.

Mother hands Iseabel the first biscuit, one each to the twins, and finally one to Tavish and me. She puts the tin back behind her back to keep it out of reach of the boys, and when she’s not looking, I grab another. I break the second biscuit in two and give half to Tavish.

“How much longer?” Tavish asks Father in his most serious voice. He is stoic—nothing like the twins. Sometimes it is hard to believe they are brothers.

“Ten minutes at most, and we’ll be dropping anchor,” Father says.

Tavish nods, never using words where they aren’t necessary. He and I are the least alike, which might explain why we get on so well. We’ve had a special bond from the time we were young, and since then we’ve always shared tutors and teachers. With Bram and Graeme in the mix, things have become a little more interesting.

The schoolroom is always bursting with noise. Having three cousins who may as well be brothers will do that. But even in the noisy nest our household has become, I’ve always felt loved and seen. Father often has two or three of the boys in his arms at once. “They may have my limbs,” he always tells me. “But ye have my heart.”

For a moment, my chest pinches, and I miss home. Miss Grandfather. He, after all, is the reason I am here.

The birds above fly unfettered, so impossibly free, a feeling I’m afraid I might never have again. I still remember the day Grandfather presented me the letter, signed by the king, placing the dukedom of Edinbane in abeyance and in the same document reissuing it to devolve upon “heirs general.”

I am to be a duchess. That turn of events seemed to finally bridge the rift that had lingered between Grandfather and Father, though neither of them ever asked me whether I had any interest in taking on so heavy a role.

The ropes snap, and the mainsail sags as it is taken down. We can hear the crowds now. “We’re here,” Father says. “Where should we begin, do ye think?”

“I want some fish!” Graeme yells, and I laugh. The twins are constantly hungry.

“And ye promised to show us the white sand!” Bram reminds him.

“Tavish?” Father asks.

“All of Bridgetown.” I watch his eyes trace the shoreline, itching to explore.

Iseabel reaches out, imploring Father to hold her. He takes her into his arms. “Charlotte?”

I smooth my skirt. “I want to meet Abisai and Carina, Father.” I’ve heard stories of them for as long as I can remember. I feel as though I know them already.

“They’ll be waiting for us at the dock,” he assures me.

He turns to Mother. “And ye?”

She smiles at him, a smile of more than enjoyment. It’s so wide and bright it conveys the love that sometimes knots up her throat. “I already have all I want, right here.”

“She always says that,” Graeme says.

“She does,” Bram agrees, stepping closer to her.

Father hands Iseabel to me and puts his hand around Mother’s waist. Without an ounce of shame and within full sight of the sailors and the waiting crowd, he pulls her toward him and kisses her fully on the mouth. My cheeks blaze.

“Ugh!” The twins cringe in unison.

“Did I not do a thorough enough job of it?” he asks, pretending confusion. And then he kisses her again.