Epilogue
"Are ye sure this is properly tied? It feels a bit loose."
Ewan's voice held an edge of frustration as Leon worked on the elaborate knot at his throat, trying to secure the formal plaid that Ewan almost never wore.
The heavy wool was dyed in McGill colors—deep green and blue with threads of silver—and it felt stiff and uncomfortable after weeks of not bothering with such formality.
"It's fine, ye're just nervous," Leon said, his tone amused. "Never thought I'd see the day when Laird Ewan Byrne was nervous about anythin', let alone a weddin'."
"I'm nae nervous," Ewan lied, then caught Leon's knowing look and sighed. "Fine. Maybe a bit nervous. But only because—" He stopped, not sure how to articulate the feeling.
"Because ye want everythin' to be perfect for her," Leon finished, stepping back to examine his handiwork. "Because after everythin' she's been through, ye want this day to be everythin' she's dreamed of."
"Aye." Ewan tugged at the collar again. "Is that foolish?"
"Nae. It's love." Leon clapped him on the shoulder. "And it suits ye, friend. Marriage suits ye. These past six weeks, I've never seen ye happier."
It was true. Despite the complications of the past six weeks—despite having to clean up the mess left by Callen Ferguson's death, despite the political maneuvering required to formally merge Clan MacMahon with Clan McGill, despite the delays that had pushed their wedding back again and again—Ewan had been happy.
Because Maia was in his life. In his bed. In his heart.
She’d been beside him through all of it, offering advice when he needed it, supporting him when the burden of managing two clans became overwhelming, making him laugh when everything felt too serious.
She’d helped him navigate the complexities of the merger—convincing both councils that combining their strength made sense, that her father’s clan would be honored rather than absorbed, that this union would protect both bloodlines.
The solution had been elegant in its simplicity: Kian would remain Ewan’s heir to the McGill lairdship, while any son born to Ewan and Maia would one day lead the MacMahon clan, keeping both legacies alive and strong.
She’d worked with both councils to ensure a smooth transition. She’d even visited the castle where she’d been imprisoned for so long, walking through those halls with her head held high, reclaiming the spaces that had once held only pain.
And through it all, she’d been his. Completely, wonderfully his.”The guests are all assembled,” Leon said, moving to the window to look out over the castle grounds. “And I just saw Aisla and Mollie headin’ toward the bride’s chambers, which means it’s almost time.”
Ewan’s stomach did an uncomfortable flip. “How do I look?”
“Like a man about to get married.” Leon grinned. “Terrified and excited in equal measure.”
“That’s accurate.” Ewan moved to join Leon at the window, looking down at the courtyard below, where tables had been set up for the wedding feast. Lanterns hung from posts, ready to be lit when darkness fell.
Musicians were already tuning their instruments in preparation for the ceilidh that would follow the ceremony.
Everything was ready. Everything was perfect.
Now all he needed was his bride.***
The great hall had been transformed. Every surface was decorated with autumn flowers, heather and thistle and wild roses that Maia had insisted on despite the late season. Candles flickered in every corner, casting a warm glow over the assembled guests.
Ewan stood at the front of the hall, Leon beside him, and watched the door with barely contained impatience. Around them, the clan had gathered—familiar faces and new ones, McGill and MacMahon alike, united for this celebration.
Kian was practically vibrating with excitement in the front row, his face split by a huge grin.
The boy had been overjoyed when Ewan had confirmed that the betrothal was real, that Maia would truly become his aunt through marriage.
He’d immediately started planning all the things they’d do together as a family.
The musicians struck up a processional, and the hall fell silent.
The doors opened.
And Ewan forgot how to breathe.
Maia stood in the doorway, backlit by the fading afternoon sun, and she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.
Her dress was deep green, McGill green, with silver embroidery along the bodice and sleeves. Her brown hair was partially pinned back with small flowers woven through it, the rest falling in soft waves past her shoulders. And her face—
Her face was radiant. Glowing with happiness and love and a joy so pure it made Ewan’s chest ache.
She caught his eye across the hall and smiled, that dimpled smile he loved so much, and started walking toward him.
Mollie walked beside her, having taken on the role Maia’s father would have played if he’d been alive. The maid looked nearly as happy as the bride, her own eyes shining with tears as she escorted her friend down the aisle.
Ewan couldn’t look away from Maia. Couldn’t do anything but watch her approach, his heart hammering in his chest, his hands clenched at his sides to keep from reaching for her before she’d even reached him.
Finally—finally—she was standing before him, and Mollie was stepping back, and there was nothing between them but air and promise and love.
“Hi,” Maia whispered, her voice trembling slightly.
“Hi, Me lady.” Ewan whispered back and felt Leon elbow him in the ribs, probably to remind him that there was an actual ceremony to get through.
The priest stepped forward, an elderly man who’d served Clan McGill for decades.
“Dearly beloved,” he began, but Ewan barely heard the words. He was too focused on Maia, on the way she was looking at him, as if he were something precious, as if he were worth all the love shining in her grey eyes.
The ceremony passed in a blur of traditional words and responses. Ewan spoke his vows clearly, his voice steady despite the emotion threatening to overwhelm him. Maia’s voice shook slightly on hers, but she never looked away from his face.
Then came the handfasting.
The priest brought forward a length of cloth in McGill colors and another in MacMahon colors, twisted together to symbolize the joining of two clans. Ewan held out his hand, and Maia placed hers in it, their fingers intertwining naturally.
The priest wrapped the cloth around their joined hands, binding them together as he spoke the ancient words.
“Ye are bound now, hand and heart, for as long as love shall last. What is bound here cannot be broken by any force save death itself.”
Ewan felt the weight of those words, the promise in them. He squeezed Maia’s hand gently, and she squeezed back.
“Ye may kiss yer bride,” the priest said, stepping back with a smile.
Ewan didn’t need to be told twice. He pulled Maia close, careful of their bound hands, and kissed her. Soft and sweet at first, then deeper as applause and cheers erupted around them.
When they finally pulled apart, both breathless, Maia was laughing.
“We’re married,” she said, wonder in her voice. “We’re actually married.”
“Aye.” Ewan pressed his forehead to hers. “Ye’re stuck with me now, lass. Forever.”
“Good,” Maia whispered. “Forever sounds perfect.”
The ceilidh was in full swing; the great hall transformed into a space of music and laughter and dancing.
Ewan had danced with Maia for the first dance—a traditional Scottish reel that left them both breathless and laughing—and then had been forced to share her with what felt like every man in the clan who wanted to congratulate the bride.
Now he stood at the edge of the hall, watching Maia dance with Kian. The boy was trying his best to keep up with the steps, and Maia was patiently guiding him, both of them grinning.
“She’s good with him,” Leon observed, appearing at Ewan’s elbow with two cups of whisky. “Good with everyone, really. The clan loves her already.”
“Aye.” Ewan accepted the cup, taking a sip. “She’s everythin’ I never knew I needed.”
“Ye’re disgustingly happy,” Leon said, but there was fondness in his tone. “It’s actually a bit nauseatin’ to watch.”
“Jealous?”
“Terrified,” Leon corrected. “Because if even ye can find love and happiness, that means there’s hope for the rest of us. And I was quite comfortable with me bachelor status, thank ye very much.”
Ewan laughed. “Yer time will come, friend.”
“God, I hope nae.” But Leon was smiling as he said it, his gaze tracking Aisla as she danced past with one of the younger warriors.
The song ended, and Maia extracted herself from Kian with a hug and a kiss to his forehead. The boy ran off to join his friends, and Maia made her way through the crowd toward Ewan.
She was flushed from dancing, her hair coming loose from its pins, and she’d never looked more beautiful.
“Dance with me again?” she asked, slightly breathless.
“Always.” Ewan set down his cup and took her hand, leading her back onto the floor just as the musicians struck up a slower tune.
This time, they moved together with the ease of long practice, Ewan’s hand at her waist, Maia’s resting on his shoulder. Around them, other couples joined in, but Ewan barely noticed them. His entire world had narrowed to the woman in his arms.
“Thank ye,” Maia said softly.
“For what?”
“For all of this. For makin’ today perfect. For everythin’.” Her eyes shone with tears, but they were happy tears. “I never thought I’d have this. A weddin’, a husband who loves me, a clan that accepts me. I never thought I’d be this happy.”
“Ye deserve all of it and more.” Ewan pulled her closer, not caring that they were supposed to maintain a proper distance. “Ye deserve the world, Maia. And I’m goin’ to spend the rest of me life tryin’ to give it to ye.”
“Ye already have.” Maia smiled up at him. “Ye gave me freedom. Gave me love. Gave me a family again. What more could I possibly want?”
“I can think of a few things.” Ewan’s voice dropped lower, more intimate. “Starting with gettin’ ye alone so I can properly celebrate our weddin’ night.”
Maia’s cheeks flushed pink. “It’s barely evenin’. We cannae leave our own celebration yet.”
“Watch me.”
“Ewan!” But she was laughing, that joyful sound he’d do anything to hear. “We have to stay at least until the feast is served. It would be rude to just leave.”
“I’m the laird. I can do what I want.”
“Aye, and I’m the lady now. Which means I have a say in this.” Maia’s smile turned mischievous. “Besides, I have somethin’ I want to tell ye. Somethin’ important.”
Ewan’s attention sharpened immediately. “What is it? Are ye alright? If someone said somethin’ to upset ye, I willnae take it lightly.”
“Nae, nothin’ like that.” Maia glanced around, then pulled him toward a quieter corner of the hall where they could have a moment of relative privacy. “I’ve been waitin’ for the right moment to tell ye, and I think—I think now is perfect.”
“Tell me what?” Ewan’s heart was starting to race with something that might have been anxiety or excitement; he wasn’t sure which.
Maia took his hand and placed it on her stomach, covering it with her own. “I’m happy, Ewan. So incredibly happy. And I cannae wait for us to meet our new family member.”
Ewan stared at her, his mind processing the words, the gesture, the gentle pressure of her hand over his.
“Are ye—" His voice came out rough, choked with emotion. “Are ye sayin’ what I think ye’re sayin’?”
“I’m pregnant.” Maia’s smile was radiant, glowing with joy and hope and love. “We’re goin’ to have a baby. Ye’re goin’ to be a faither.”
For a moment, Ewan couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe. Could only stare at the woman—his wife—who’d just given him news that felt too big, too wonderful to be real.
“A baby,” he finally managed. “We’re havin’ a baby.”
“Aye.” Maia’s eyes searched his face, suddenly uncertain. “Are ye—are ye happy about it? I ken we havenae been married long, and maybe it’s too soon, but I want this and I want to ken if ye want it too. It’s just…”
Ewan cut her off with a kiss. Deep and thorough and full of every emotion he couldn’t put into words, joy and love and wonder and a fierce protectiveness that made his chest ache.
When he pulled back, he was smiling so wide his face hurt. “Happy? Lass, I’m—I’m beyond happy. I’m—" He laughed, unable to contain the pure joy bubbling up inside him. “We’re havin’ a baby. Christ, we’re havin’ a baby.”
He swept Maia up in his arms, spinning her around despite her laughing protests, not caring that half the clan was probably watching them.
“Ewan! Put me down! People are starin’!”
“Let them stare.” He set her down but kept his arms around her waist, his hand splaying over her stomach where their child was growing. “Me wife just told me I’m goin’ to be a father. I’m allowed to celebrate.”
“Ye’re impossible,” Maia said, but she was beaming at him.
“I’m happy,” Ewan corrected. “Happier than I ever thought possible. Ye’ve given me everythin’, Maia. A future I never let meself dream of. A family. Love. And now—" His voice caught. “And now a child. Our child.”
“Our child,” Maia echoed, her own eyes shining with tears. “Are ye sure ye’re ready for this? For all the chaos a baby will bring?”
“I’ve never been more ready for anythin’ in me life.” Ewan pressed a kiss to her forehead, then her nose, then her lips. “Thank ye, lass. For choosin’ me. For lovin’ me. For givin’ me all of this.”
“Thank ye for climbin’ through me window that night,” Maia said softly. “For tearin’ down those bars. For showin’ me what freedom and love could feel like.”
“Best decision I ever made,” Ewan said.
“Best mistake I ever made,” Maia countered, “thinkin’ I could run from ye.”
They stood together in their corner of the hall, wrapped in each other’s arms, watching their clans celebrate around them. The music played on, laughter and joy filling every corner of the castle.
And in that moment, with his wife in his arms and the promise of their child growing between them, Ewan felt complete.
Finally, after years of darkness and fear and loneliness, he’d found his light.
And he was never letting it go.
The End?