The Gallaghers of Ardmore Trilogy

the herald of trumpets.
    “Look, Darcy.” He touched her hair. “Over the water.”
    She turned her head, stayed in the circle of his arms and watched. As the sun broke through in the east, shimmered its light over the sea, turning the sky to the polished glow of seashells, the white horse flew with a flash of wing.
    On his back rode Carrick, his silver doublet aglint, his dark hair swirling. In his arms, her head on his heart, rode his lady, her eyes of misty green bright with love.
    Up they rose, a triumphant sweep of motion, over green hills shimmering with dew. And in their wake left a rainbow that glimmered like jewels.
    “They’re together at last,” Darcy whispered. “And happily now, ever after. The spell’s broken.”
    “That one is. This one . . .” He turned her face back to his. “It’s just getting started. Can you handle ever after, Darcy?”
    “That I can, Trevor Magee.” She kissed him, sealed the vow. “I can handle it, and you.”
    While the sun strengthened, they walked away from the sea. The music drifted into the hush of dawn, under a rainbow that arched from beginnings to ever afters.