Epilogue
Many years later
A lisdair and Fiona stood in the middle of the Highland chapel, smiling happily. Alisdair McClain’s broad frame, adorned in ceremonial tartan, stood like a silent sentinel beside his wife Fiona.
Their gazes were fixed upon their daughter, her hand clasped in that of a man deemed worthy by both love and lineage. The soft murmur of Gaelic blessings filled the air as vows were exchanged with a solemnity befitting the sanctity of the moment.
In the quiet recesses of their hearts, Alisdair and Fiona reminisced about the days when their three sons, now stalwart leaders with families of their own, had been but mischievous lads chasing through the heather. The eldest, prepared to inherit the lairdship of Clan McAfee, bore the same gaze as his father, while his brothers provided strength and unity to their clan.
As the couple reflected on the journeys that had led them here, their reverie was broken by the exuberant cry of their youngest grandchild. A wee lad scampered toward them, his arms flung wide and his face lit with the joy only a child can possess. His voice rang out clear and true, piercing the dignified silence of the aftermath of sacred oaths.
“Granny! Granda!”
Alisdair bent down, his joints protesting only slightly and swept the boy into his arms. Fiona chuckled softly, the sound mingling with the whispering breeze, as she smoothed a stray lock of hair from the lad’s forehead.
“Granda,” the boy repeated, his small hands patting Alisdair’s cheek with innocent affection.
“Ye are a braw lad,” Alisdair remarked, his eyes twinkling with unspoken pride. Fiona reached over, her fingers intertwining with those of her husband, a silent acknowledgment of their shared journey.
For a timeless moment, as they watched their kin exchange jubilant congratulations and begin the festivities, Alisdair and Fiona stood anchored in the realization that in the middle of the intricate dance of duty and sacrifice, their lives were woven into a tapestry more perfect than they could have ever envisioned. It was a moment of profound clarity—a reflection of the enduring legacy they had built together, rooted in the rich soil of the Highlands.
Later, at the feast, Fiona and Alisdair stood side by side. The sun dipped low over the horizon, casting a warm glow on the gathering of clansmen who had come for the ceilidh they threw to celebrate the marriage of their youngest child.
“Alisdair,” Fiona whispered, “do ye ken they will be happy?”
He nodded solemnly. “Aye, or I never would have agreed to the alliance,” he responded.
As they presided over the feast at the huge oak table, they watched their daughter, seeing her sneak kisses with the man she’d just married. It made Fiona remember her own wedding day, which had taken so long to arrive, but she now realized had been merely the blink of an eye.
“Do ye remember when we felt like Da would never agree to our marriage?” she asked softly.
Alisdair smiled, taking her hand and kissing her fingers. “I remember. It felt like forever. But it feels like Cait’s engagement, though longer than ours, flew by in moments.”
She nodded, grinning at him. “I was thinking the same.”
After the meal, people took turns wishing the newlyweds well.
“Tonight, we celebrate not only the union of our clans but the prosperity we’ve experienced as a clan under the leadership of yer parents, Cait,” someone called—a respected elder whose opinion held sway among the McAfees. “Ye will do well in life if you but follow their example.”
“Slàinte mhath,” came the chorus of voices.
As the music of pipes and drums filled the air, Alisdair extended his hand to Fiona, leading her into the throng of dancers. Held in his arms, she still felt the same as she had when they were first married. They would never have enough time alone to suit her.