Epilogue
Four days after the battle, Euan opened his eyes.
Moyra saw it happen—the subtle shift from unconsciousness to awareness, the way his eyes focused slowly on the ceiling beams above their bed before tracking sideways to find her face.
She’d been reading aloud from the book of Highland legends, her voice hoarse from days of near-constant vigil, when his fingers twitched in her grip.
“Euan?” His name came out broken with relief and exhaustion. “Can ye hear me?”
“Aye.” The word rasped out, barely audible. “Water?”
She had the cup ready—had kept it filled and waiting beside the bed for exactly that moment.
Her hand shook as she lifted it to his lips, supporting his head with gentle care while he drank.
He managed three swallows before collapsing back against the pillows, breathing hard from even that small effort.
“How long?” he asked.
“Four days.” She set the cup aside, her hand finding his again. “Ye’ve been unconscious fer four days. Brighde said it was yer body’s way of healing, but saints, Euan—I thought—”
“I’m all right. Takes more than one bastard with a blade tae kill me.”
“One bastard nearly did. Ye could’ve died. Should’ve died from the amount of blood ye lost. If Brighde hadnae gotten tae ye when she did—”
“But she did. And I’m still here.”
Tears streamed down her face despite her attempt at sternness. “Ye scared me. Terrified me. Watching ye collapse, all that blood—”
“I’m sorry. I dinnae mean tae frighten ye. I just—when Keith came at ye with that blade, I couldnae—”
“I ken.” She leaned forward, pressing her forehead against his carefully. “I ken why ye did it. And I love ye fer it, even though I want tae strangle ye fer being so reckless.”
“Love ye too.” His free hand lifted—slowly, painfully—to cup her face. “Even when ye’re threatening violence.”
She kissed him softly, tasting salt from her own tears. “How dae ye feel? Brighde said yer shoulder might never—”
“Might never what?” A familiar voice came from the doorway. “Because I distinctly remember telling ye that he’d be fine with proper rest and care.”
Moyra turned to find Brighde entering with her healer’s bag, the Covenant brothers trailing behind her like oversized ducklings. Calum’s grin was bright enough to light the room. David’s hawk-like features showed open relief. And Archibald—the massive warrior actually looked like he might cry.
“About bloody time,” Calum said, moving to the bedside. “Four days we’ve been listening tae Moyra read fairy tales. If ye’d slept much longer, I’d have learned all the Highland legends by heart.”
“We took shifts.” David moved to Euan’s other side, his hand gripping his brother’s shoulder carefully.
“Someone needed tae make sure ye both ate and slept. Though convincing yer wife tae leave yer side was like trying tae move a Highland stone—impossible and likely tae get us injured in the attempt.”
“She’s stubborn like that.” Euan’s mouth curved despite the obvious pain movement caused. “It’s one of her more endearing qualities.”
“One of many,” Archibald rumbled from the foot of the bed. “The lass organized the entire refugee situation while ye were unconscious. Fed everyone, found housing, even convinced half the surrendered MacKenzie forces tae swear fealty tae MacLeod rather than scattering tae the winds.”
Moyra felt heat crawl up her neck. “Someone had tae dae it. And ye were all busy with defense preparations in case more ships arrived.”
“She’s being modest.” Calum’s expression turned serious. “Truth is, she held this castle together while ye were out. Made decisions a laird would make and made them well. Yer clan’s lucky tae have her.”
“I ken that.” Euan’s eyes found Moyra’s, and the warmth there made her chest ache. “Luckiest bastard in the Highlands.”
“Enough sentiment.” Brighde shooed the Covenant brothers back. “Let me examine him properly. All of ye—out. Except ye, Lady Moyra. I’ll need yer help with the bandages.”
The brothers filed out reluctantly, though Calum paused at the door. “We’ll be just outside if ye need anything. And Euan? Good tae have ye back, braither.”
When they were alone—just Moyra, Euan, and Brighde’s efficient ministrations—the healer’s expression grew more serious.
“The wound in yer side is healing well,” she said, unwrapping bandages with care. “But yer shoulder—that’s going tae take time. Months, maybe longer. And ye may never regain full mobility in that arm.”
“I can live with that.” Euan’s jaw clenched as Brighde probed the injury, but his voice remained steady. “As long as I can still hold a sword when needed, and hold me wife always, that’s enough.”
“Romantic and practical.” Brighde’s mouth twitched.
Moyra watched Brighde work, memorizing the careful way she cleaned and re-bandaged, knowing she’d have to do that herself in the following weeks.
Brighde finished, covering Euan with clean blankets. She fixed him with a stern look. “Ye’ll stay in this bed fer at least another week. Nay arguments, nay attempting tae take command, nae daeing anything more strenuous than existing. Understand?”
“Aye.” The agreement came too easily.
“I mean it, Euan MacLeod. If I hear ye’ve been trying tae walk the battlements or attend council meetings—”
“I’ll make sure he behaves,” Moyra promised. “Even if I have tae tie him tae the bed.”
“That might work.” Brighde gathered her supplies.
“Though knowing this one, he’d find a way tae escape and call it strategy.
” She paused at the door. “Yer faither would be proud. The way ye fought, the way ye protected yer own—that’s what being laird means.
Remember that when ye’re healed and facing whatever comes next. ”
Then she was gone, leaving them alone.
“So,” Euan said after a moment. “Tied tae the bed?”
“Dinnae even think about it.” But Moyra was smiling despite herself. “Ye’re injured, exhausted, and under strict orders tae rest. Which means nay inappropriate suggestions.”
“Can’t help it.” His eyes tracked over her face with familiar heat. “Four days unconscious means four days of nae touching ye. I’m making up fer lost time.”
“Ye can make up fer lost time when ye’re healed.” She settled beside him carefully, mindful of his injuries. “Right now, ye’re going tae rest while I read more fairy tales. And before ye complain—Calum says ye need cultural education.”
“Calum’s an idiot.”
“Aye, but he’s yer idiot.” She opened the book, finding her place. “Now hush. The selkie princess is about tae outwit the sea king, and I’ll nae have ye interrupting with commentary.”
“I make excellent commentary.”
“Ye make irritating commentary. There’s a difference.” But she was grinning as she began reading, her voice soft in the afternoon quiet.
She looked at Euan, at the way his eyes tracked her face while she read, at the faint smile that suggested he was more interested in watching her than hearing the story.
Her husband. Her stubborn, scarred, absolutely infuriating husband who’d killed her father to protect her and nearly died doing it.
“What?” he asked, catching her staring.
“Naething. Just thinking about how we got here.” She closed the book, setting it aside. “From that cell in Norham tae this. Seems impossible when I think about it.”
“Ye were always going tae end up here.” His certainty made her chest warm. “From the moment I found ye in that dungeon, I was lost. It just took me a while tae realize it.”
“Lost?” She traced the scar along his jaw. “Seems like ye found yerself just fine tae me.”
“Found us.” His hand covered hers, holding it against his face. “Found ye.”
“Careful, husband. Ye’re getting dangerously close tae romantic declarations.”
“Good.” He pulled her down carefully, mindful of his injuries but determined. “Because I plan tae spend the rest of me life making them. Every day. Until ye’re sick of hearing how much I love ye.”
“I’ll never be sick of that.” She kissed him gently, aware of his healing body but needing the contact. “Never.”