The Beastly Laird’s Forbidden Claim – Extended Epilogue
Two years later
The light in the east chamber was soft and golden, slanting through the high windows to fall across shelves of herbs and rows of eager faces. Fifteen students crowded the benches before her, each with a bundle of parchment, quills, and a scattering of dried plants that perfumed the air with rosemary and thyme. Their chatter quieted when she moved to the front, skirts brushing the flagstone, her satchel slung heavy on her shoulder.
“Right,” Vivienne said, setting the satchel on the table and opening the flap. “Let’s see what ye’ve remembered from last week.”
A ripple of nervous laughter ran through them. They were young, some barely past childhood, but their eyes shone with something she recognized—hunger for knowledge, for the tools that mended instead of broke. She felt it down to her bones every time she stood before them.
She pulled a small jar from the satchel and held it up, amber liquid catching the light. “Tincture o’ willow. What is it fer?”
A boy in the back half-raised his hand, then dropped it again as though afraid of the sound of his own voice. Vivienne caught his hesitation and tilted her chin, encouraging. “Go on, lad. Out wi’ it.”
“Pain, me lady,” he said, cheeks red. “It eases fever too, if ye brew it long enough.”
Vivienne’s mouth curved despite herself. “Aye. Well done. Remember that. It’s the bark, nae the leaf, that holds the salicin. The leaf will sour the stomach. If ye forget that, ye’ll have a patient doubled over wi’ cramps instead o’ sleeping through the ache.”
They laughed, but they were listening. She could feel their focus, their keen minds, and she loved it. She moved along the table, unrolling a strip of linen, setting out herbs and jars one by one as she spoke. “Honey, fer wounds that willnae close. Thyme, boiled intae steam fer the lungs. Yarrow, crushed fer bleeding. And dinnae forget comfrey. It knits bone, but only if ye use it sparingly. Too much, and it can trap rot inside.”
Hands shot up with questions. She answered them all, her voice low but firm, her hands never still as she demonstrated poultices, stitched a scrap of leather to mimic skin, ground dried leaves into fine powder. Time slipped away unnoticed, her body moving with the muscle memory of years, her heart swelling with the pride of it.
She didn’t see him at first.
She was bent over the table, showing one girl how to bind a bandage tight without cutting the blood from a limb, when the air shifted. A weight pressed at the edge of her awareness, steady and unmistakable. She looked up—
And her breath caught.
He stood in the archway, broad shoulders filling the frame, one hand braced against the stone. Sunlight struck across his face, catching silver in his eyes, gleaming on the scar at his temple. His plaid was draped loose, his sword belted at his hip though the hall behind him was quiet of war. Gavin.
Her husband.
Two years, and still he undid her. Two years, and still her stomach flipped like a girl’s at the sight of him. How could she still ache this way, as though every glance were the first? His hair was still short, brushed back neat, but a lock had fallen loose across his brow, and she wanted nothing more than to push it back with her fingers.
Her chest swelled with a fierce, foolish joy. Laird Keith. Her laird. Her storm. Her peace.
He said nothing, only watched her, his silver eyes never wavering. She felt heat rise in her cheeks, though she tried to hide it.
“Enough fer today,” she told the class, her voice steady though her pulse raced. “Ye’ll brew a simple fever draught afore next time. Bring it tae me, and I’ll tell ye if it will heal or kill ye. Dinnae poison me.”
The students laughed, gathering their things with cheerful noise, their chatter spilling bright as birdsong as they filed out. They bowed as they passed Gavin, some casting quick, nervous glances at the laird who filled the archway like a shadow made flesh. He gave them nothing but a curt nod, but Vivienne saw the way their backs straightened under his gaze, the respect he commanded without a word.
The room emptied. Silence pressed in with the scent of herbs and the soft scrape of the last quill packed away. Vivienne’s fingers lingered on the edge of the table, her breath unsteady as the door closed behind the final student.
Then he moved. Slow and measured, his boots whispering against the stone. Her heart thudded harder with every step. When he reached her, he lifted his hand, rough palm cupping her cheek, his thumb brushing the line of her jaw. The callus caught on her skin, familiar, grounding, and still she trembled like it was the first time.
“Ye’re flushed,” he murmured, his voice low, rough. “From teaching—or from me?”
Her lips curved despite herself. “Both, perhaps.”
His mouth twitched, almost a smile, before his gaze darkened again. He tilted her face up, his eyes devouring hers. The way he looked at her—like he’d never tire of her, like the two years had done nothing to dim the hunger that burned between them.
“Come,” he said simply. “Walk wi’ me.”
Her throat tightened. She could only nod.
He let his hand slide from her face to her fingers, twining them tight with his, and together they stepped out of the chamber.
The corridors were quieter than usual, the hum of the castle softened by distance. Gavin’s hand enclosed hers, rough and certain, the warmth of him steadying her as they walked side by side. She glanced up at him, catching the rigid line of his jaw, the way his shoulders seemed to bow beneath some thought still pressing at him. He had not come to the east chamber for nothing.
When they reached the outer doors, he pushed them open, and a rush of cool air swept in. The gardens spread wide before them, the last of summer’s roses clinging stubbornly to bloom, the trees heavy with green that would soon turn to gold. Sunlight slanted through the branches, dappling the stone path, painting his plaid with shifting shadows.
Vivienne drew in a breath of heather and damp earth, her chest easing. She had spent so much of her life in dark rooms with wounded men and endless fear that the peace of this place sometimes startled her still. But more startling than any garden, any quiet, was him—always him.
He led her down the path, his thumb brushing over her knuckles, silent for longer than she could bear. At last she tilted her head, breaking it. “Ye’ve the face o’ a man carrying news. Out wi’ it, Gavin. I ken that look.”
His mouth twitched, though it was not quite a smile. “I came from the Council.”
She arched a brow, bracing herself. “And?”
“They spoke o’ the stores,” he said, his voice low, measured, the voice of a laird. “The granaries are fuller than they’ve been in a decade. The herds have doubled. Trade wi’ Galbraith grows stronger each season. The men are well-fed, the women are nay longer begging fer bread, bairns are born fat and loud instead o’ starved and silent. Even the smith claims he cannae keep up wi’ orders. Keith has prospered more than I ever thought possible.”
Vivienne’s throat tightened as he spoke, the litany of gains rolling out in that unflinching way of his, as though he were reciting battle statistics instead of hope itself. She remembered the Keith she had first seen, with thin-faced children, walls that seemed to sag under the weight of despair, a laird who lived more in shadow than in light. And now, this. Life where there had been only survival.
Pride swelled in her chest, so fierce it nearly stung. But instead of tears, laughter bubbled up, soft at first, then spilling free before she could stop it.
He stopped walking, his head turning sharply toward her. His brows pulled low, puzzled in that blunt, boyish way of his that always made her want to kiss him until the furrow smoothed. “What in God’s name is funny about that?”
She pressed her lips together, trying to stifle it, but the joy was too much. Her shoulders shook, her eyes bright. “Naething, me laird. Naething at all.”
His grip on her hand tightened. “Vivienne.” His voice carried warning now, stern, as though she were one of his men refusing to answer direct. “Tell me.”
She looked up at him, still smiling, her heart hammering wild. She had held the secret for days, waiting, wondering when it would be right. And here, in the garden where he had once told her she was his peace, it seemed the only place.
“It will grow more,” she said softly.
His frown deepened, confusion darkening his eyes. “More?”
“Aye.” She stopped walking, turned to face him fully, her free hand sliding to rest against her belly. Her pulse roared, her knees weak, but her smile widened. “Because I’m carrying yer child.”
The silence that followed was complete. Not even the birds dared break it. Gavin stood utterly still, his breath halted, his eyes fixed on her hand where it pressed to the flat of her gown.
Then his chest rose sharp, his breath tearing back into him as if he had been drowning. “Vivienne,” he rasped, her name raw on his tongue.
She laughed again, tears stinging her eyes now. “Aye, Gavin. It’s true. I’m wi’ child.”
His hand shot out, covering hers where it lay against her belly, the sheer force of his grip trembling. His eyes lifted to hers, silver burning bright, wider and softer than she had ever seen them. For the first time since she had known him, the laird, the beast, the storm, was struck speechless.
Her throat closed. “Are ye pleased?” she whispered, though she could see the answer plain on his face.
“Pleased?” His voice broke, rough and shaking, the word torn from him. He caught her face between his scarred hands, his mouth claiming hers before she could say more. The kiss was fierce, desperate, his lips trembling against hers. When he broke away, his forehead pressed to hers, his breath ragged. “Vivienne, ye’ve given me more than I ever thought I could hold. A wife, a clan whole again… and now this.” His thumb brushed her cheek, his voice dropping to a hoarse vow. “Our child.”
Tears spilled freely down her cheeks now, but her smile trembled bright through them. “Our child,” she echoed, her hand clutching his where it still pressed against her stomach.
He groaned low in his chest, dragging her against him, his arms crushing her close as though he could shield both her and the tiny life inside from the whole world. She melted into him, her face buried in his shoulder, breathing the scent of leather and steel and Gavin until she thought she might drown in it.
When he eased back, it was only far enough to look at her again, his eyes devouring her face as though he could not believe she was real. “How long?”
“Two months, perhaps three,” she admitted, her lips curving. “The signs were faint, but I ken me own body. And I ken the way me heart beats differently now.”
His laugh was rough, almost disbelieving, his thumb brushing her lip as if to steady himself. “Saints preserve me, Vivienne. I thought battle near broke me, but this—ye’ve undone me more than any blade could.”
She caught his hand, kissed his palm, her voice soft. “Good. Then we’re even.”
He kissed her again, slower this time, lingering, reverent. His mouth moved over hers as though each brush of lips was a prayer. When he pulled back, his gaze swept over her, fierce and tender both. “Ye’ll rest more. Ye’ll eat better. I’ll nae have ye exhausting yerself in the healer’s chambers all day.”
Her laugh broke wet and fond. “Already commanding me, me laird? Ye’ll smother me before I even swell.”
His jaw flexed, stubborn as stone. “I’ll smother ye wi’ protection, aye. I’ll nae risk ye.”
Her heart swelled so full it hurt. She tipped her head, her smile soft but steady. “Then we’ll make a pact. I’ll mind me health if ye mind that stubborn pride o’ yers. I’ll nae raise this bairn alone because ye bled yerself tae death playing the beast on some border skirmish.”
His eyes darkened, but not with anger. With love. With the weight of everything they had survived, everything still ahead. “A pact, then,” he said hoarsely. “Though ken this, Vivienne—there’s naething in this world, nay clan, nay war, nay ghost o’ the past, that could take me from ye now.”
She kissed him for that, slow and sure, her hand pressed between them where their child would grow.
The garden swayed gently in the breeze, blossoms nodding, banners snapping faintly from the walls beyond. Somewhere, laughter rose from the training yard, the sound of men drilling, life continuing. But here, in the circle of his arms, Vivienne felt only the future. A future born not of war, not of ruin, but of love fierce enough to break curses and heal scars.
She drew back just enough to whisper against his lips, her voice trembling with joy. “We’ll have a family, Gavin. Our own. And they’ll never ken hunger, nor fear, nor shame. Only love.”
His answer was another kiss, deep and claiming, sealing the vow.
For the first time since she had stepped onto Keith land, she felt not only peace but the promise of joy that would last beyond them both.
And as Gavin Keith lifted her into his arms, carrying her back toward the castle with a smile breaking through the storm of his face, Vivienne Keith knew she had found her forever.
If you haven’t already, please leave your review on Amazon
This book was wonderful. I loved Vivienne and Gavin story.
My dear Gari, I can’t thank you enough for your support and kind comment 💜
Very well written.A great story, fast paced and exciting.
Thank you so much for your feedback my dear Sara 💜
The best book! I enjoyed every second of it. Fast-moving and action packed and hard to put down. Vivienne and Gavin will steal your heart just as they finally stole each other’s hearts!! Well written and deserving of your time.
Anela, your comment really made my day! Thank you so much for your feedback and support 💜