The Charming Laird’s Burning Claim – Extended Epilogue
Two years later
The hills of Normandy unfurled like velvet beneath a sky the color of old parchment, the kind of gold-streaked hue that made memory feel tangible.
It had taken them a day to cross the Channel, in a blend of sea salt and sun-warmed air, and then it had taken a week of winding carriage rides and careful directions through the French countryside. But now, standing at the gates of the old Beaumont estate, Odette felt something ancient stir within her. Time folded inward like parchment being creased, layers of her childhood pressing into the present.
The air smelled of loam and lavender, a heady perfume that nestled in the bones and coaxed breath into something slower, reverent. The wind danced gently through the tall grass, brushing the hem of her travel gown, tugging playfully at her veil. She stood still, holding Gregory’s hand tightly, as though grounding herself in his warmth might steady her through what was to come.
The wrought iron archway loomed before them, still shaped like climbing vines. A faded ‘B’ crowned the gate, tarnished now, but familiar. Achingly familiar.
The caretaker had given her a key when they had passed by his cottage. The house had been maintained at a bare minimum, for Sheona had withheld most of the money her father had allotted for it for upkeep after his death. But it had never been fully abandoned and still stood proud, if tired.
The garden was overgrown, tangled in silence.
Wild roses had claimed the walkways like conquerors. Ivy strangled the old arbor where she used to sit with her governess on warm afternoons. Stone benches were hidden beneath thick blankets of moss, and the central fountain—a swan with wings curved in marble grace—was cracked and dry, its basin filled with leaves and forgotten petals.
Odette exhaled slowly. Her voice came out hushed. “This used to be beautiful.”
Gregory squeezed her hand and looked around. “It still is. It just needs coaxing. I could hire someone today, if ye’d like. A whole crew. It’ll be humming wi’ life by week’s end.”
She turned to him, heart swelling with affection. “You would do that?”
“Fer ye,” he said, “I’d restore the entire world.”
She leaned against him, resting her head briefly on his shoulder. The ache inside her, the one she had feared would return when she stepped back into France, was gentled by the steady rhythm of his presence. Her fingers curled more tightly into his.
“I want to see the house,” she said.
They climbed the wide steps together. The marble was stained by decades of rain and sun, and the once-white columns were streaked with gray. She paused at the grand doors, white with bronzed filigree handles shaped like lilies. Her hand hovered at the knob, fingers brushing its cool metal.
Her heart pounded. Her mother had once passed through these doors every morning, dressed in silk. She had watched from the window when Odette danced on the terrace. Her father’s voice had thundered in the halls just beyond.
She closed her eyes, then turned the knob.
The door creaked open slowly, the sound reverberating through the hollow stillness. Dust lifted like ghosts from the air, shimmering in the sunlight as they drifted past the chandelier above.
The entry hall greeted her like a breath she hadn’t taken in years. The checkered marble floor bore faint outlines where rugs had once lain. The chandelier, once a crystal bloom, was dulled by cobwebs. Her mother’s mirror still hung above the console table, catching light just enough to reflect Odette’s silhouette back to her.
She stepped inside.
“It’s exactly as I left it,” she whispered, each word trembling.
Gregory didn’t speak. He followed her, quiet, reverent.
They wandered slowly through the estate, her memories guiding each turn. In the drawing room, faded curtains billowed slightly in the breeze. The scent of dried roses lingered beneath the dust. Her mother’s harp stood in the corner, its strings loose but unbroken. Odette reached out, her fingers brushing one softly. A faint note sounded—fragile, but still there.
Her throat closed.
In the dining room, the long table still stood proud, flanked by velvet chairs. She ran her hand along its surface, remembering the echo of porcelain teacups and the soft clicking of her mother’s ring against the rim. The candlesticks were tarnished but upright.
They ascended the grand staircase, her hand sliding along the worn banister. In the hallway above, shadows moved with them like memories come to watch.
Her father’s study was unchanged. The curtains were drawn, but she opened them slowly. Light poured in, revealing shelves of ledgers, a leather-bound chair by the hearth, and a coat—his coat—still hanging near the door. The globe stood mid-spin, caught in stasis from a moment long ago.
“I never liked this room,” she murmured.
Gregory took her hand, didn’t ask why.
She guided him onward, and they stepped into the hallway,
The library door creaked open.
Sunlight streamed through tall windows, bathing the room in gold. The shelves towered to the ceiling, their spines faded but present. Dust coated everything, but her fingers found their way without hesitation. She crossed to the back wall, knelt slightly, and pulled a slender book from the lowest shelf.
It was pale green, the leather worn.
“These,” she said, holding it close. “These were mine. The poetry books.”
Gregory knelt beside her. “The poetry ye read in secret?”
“You remembered,” She smiled faintly. “I would sneak down here after everyone had gone to bed and read by candlelight. I memorized whole passages.”
Gregory reached for a volume beside hers and opened it at random. “Ye wanted tae be a poet?”
“Sometimes. Other times I wanted to be a teacher. Or a painter.”
He grinned. “And instead ye ended up married tae a Highland laird.”
She laughed. “Yes. A fate I never would’ve guessed.”
Gregory traced a finger along the edge of the page. “But it suits ye. Because ye never stopped dreamin’. Nae even when the world tried tae silence ye.”
She looked at him, eyes shimmering. “You see all of me, don’t you?”
“Aye,” he said. “Every inch. And I love every version o’ ye. Past, present, and the ones still tae come.”
She closed the book and held it to her chest. “I feel like a ghost, being here.”
Gregory moved behind her, arms wrapping gently around her waist. He rested his chin against her shoulder.
“We get tae decide what lives again,” he whispered.
They stood there in silence, surrounded by pages and breath, in the house that had shaped her and the man who would help her shape what came next.
After a long pause, she exhaled.
“There’s one more room,” she said. “I saved it for last.”
Gregory kissed her temple. “Then take me there, mo chridhe.”
She rose, fingers curled around the green book and turned toward the corridor.
At the end of the hall, the door waited—small, painted in faded lavender, the way it had always been.
Her childhood room.
The lavender door yielded softly under her hand.
Odette crossed the threshold slowly, the familiar scent of lilac and dust wrapping around her like a forgotten lullaby. Golden shafts of late afternoon light filtered through the sheer lace curtains, painting delicate shadows across the floorboards. For a long moment, she stood still, her fingers still on the knob, overwhelmed by a rush of memories too immense to voice.
The room had remained untouched by time.
Pale blue walls, bordered with ivory trim, retained the softness of her girlhood. The carved vanity by the window was scattered with combs and a small porcelain tray, edges chipped but still lovely. Dolls lined the mantle—faded, but their button eyes gleamed with silent witness. On the far wall, her earliest watercolors still hung slightly askew, curling at the edges, the paper warped with age. The past had waited patiently for her return.
“This is where I imagined I ruled the world,” she murmured, stepping deeper inside.
Gregory stood at the doorway, quietly observing her with a reverence that made her throat tighten. As he crossed the threshold, each of his movements seemed imbued with care, as if afraid to disturb the sacred quiet.
She turned toward him with a small smile. “If I wore my mother’s gloves and my favorite tulle skirt, I truly believed I was a queen.”
He gave a soft chuckle. “Ye always had that look about ye. Still dae.”
Odette let the sound of her laughter warm the space before drifting to the wardrobe. The hinges groaned in protest as she pulled it open. Inside, small dresses hung in neat rows, adorned with satin ribbons and lace overlays. She reached out to grab them, her fingers trembling.
“My mother made many of these,” she said quietly. “Each one for a different occasion. She used to say that beauty mattered, even if no one saw it.”
Gregory ran a thumb along one sleeve, marveling at the craftsmanship. “They’re beautiful. But they’re… a wee bit small fer ye now, I think.”
Her lips curved, a blush coloring her cheeks.
She turned, hesitating for a breath. “Oh. No. They’re not for me.”
Gregory tilted his head. “Nay? Then who are they fer?”
Odette’s hands curled around the edge of a dress as she looked at him, eyes glimmering.
“Our child,” she said, voice barely above a whisper.
The words fell into the stillness like a blessing. Gregory stood frozen, eyes fixed on hers. Then his lips parted, and his breath caught.
“Ye’re…”
She nodded, her eyes brimming. “I wanted to tell you when the moment was right. I wanted us to be here. Where it all began.”
He crossed to her in two steps, gathering her into his arms. She laughed, tears mingling with joy, as he lifted her and spun her lightly. When he set her down, he held her as if anchoring himself in something holy.
“Are ye certain? Truly?”
“Yes,” she breathed.
He dropped to his knees before her, his hands sliding gently to her waist, his cheek pressing against her abdomen.
“Hello, little one,” he whispered, eyes closed. “It’s Da. Ye’ve already changed everything.”
Odette tangled her fingers in his hair, tears trailing down her cheeks.
They settled on the edge of the bed. The mattress creaked beneath them, same as it always had. Her hand guided his to her stomach, pressing it there with quiet reverence.
“It’s early,” she said, “but I feel it. I already know.”
Gregory’s thumb stroked the soft fabric. “Will it have yer eyes?”
“And your impossibly stubborn jaw,” she replied with a smile.
He groaned playfully. “A Highland-French whirlwind. We’re in trouble.”
They both laughed.
Then he sobered, his gaze steady. “Odette, I swear tae ye, I will be the faither this child deserves. I’ll teach our bairns tae be brave and kind, tae fight when they must and love without fear. Just as I learned from ye.”
She pressed her forehead to his.
“And I’ll teach them to dream,” she said. “To love stories, to cherish silence, to find beauty in small things. I’ll show them this place and tell them who their mother was before she became their mother.”
He nodded, eyes gleaming. “We’ll raise them between two countries. Let them walk the green hills and speak with fire in their voice. Let them belong tae both lands.”
“We’ll give them names that mean strength. That carry memory.”
“Aye,” he whispered. “And hope.”
She kissed him then, full of light and longing and quiet joy. Her hands framed his face, and his arms circled her waist, grounding her. They stayed like that, suspended in the moment, in a room where every ghost had been turned into something soft.
When they parted, golden light filtered in long beams across the floor. Dust motes swirled like confetti in celebration.
Odette looked around the room. The toys, the books, the colors of her past all whispered promises.
“I want to restore it all,” she said. “The house, the garden. I want our children to visit here, as often as they’d want.”
Gregory squeezed her hand. “Then that’s what we’ll dae. Every wall, every window. Whatever it takes.”
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I could not put this book down, read it in one sitting. The characters were believable, the plot was riveting. I can’t wait to read more by this author. I will probably read it again and again!
Thank you so much Betty! I’m thrilled the story resonated with you. It means the world to hear you’ll be reading it again 💜
This was a marvelous re-telling of cinderella with Highlander flare.
So happy that you liked it my dear Gari! Thank you so much! 💜
Brilliant book well worth reading,well written felt part of it all loved it 🥰
Thank you so much for your kind words Hazel! Your support really means the world to me! ❤️
The story of Gregory and Odette is one you definitely will not want to miss! From the very first page to the last, their story will keep you reading because you can’t wait to know what happens next. Wight’s expertise at putting words together so beautifully to tell what people are thinking and feeling and saying is truly masterful. This is a love story for the ages!!
My dear Anela, thank you so much for your thoughtful feedback! Your support is truly inspiring, thank you so much! 💜
The poignancy in the way you tell a story is beautiful to read.
Thank you so much for such a kind and thoughtful comment my dear Sally! ❤️