Epilogue
Joey Eight Months Later
Could anyone be happier than I am? Nope. I'm sitting on a settee in the solar with my wife---and our newborn son. Yeah, I'm a dad. Nobody who ever knew me before I got sucked into a time-travel vortex would believe I'd turn out this way. "Bad seed" was the phrase most often applied to me. But my new life in the medieval era has shown me that I was never that kind of kid.
Now I'm all grown up, and I can't wait to see how my son will turn out. Joey Finnegan, a former troublemaker who found himself unexpectedly transported to medieval Scotland, is now a proud father.
Yeah, I'm grinning from ear to ear these days.
I stroke the downy dark hair on my son's head, marveling at how tiny his fingers are as they curl around mine. Rachel leans against my shoulder, exhausted but radiant after bringing our little miracle into the world.
"He has your eyes," she whispers, "but thank heaven he has my nose."
"Hey, my nose has character."
"Aye, the character of someone who's been in too many brawls," she teases, but there's nothing but love in her voice.
Outside, a storm batters the stone walls of Dùndubhan, but in here, it's warm and safe. The fire crackles in the hearth, casting long shadows across the solar. We named our son William, after Rachel's grandfather who died before she was born. At my request, we Anglicized the Gaelic name Uilleam. Kieran didn't mind. He's so thrilled to have a grandson that I doubt he'd care if I suggested we call the kid "Fatso."
Okay, Kieran would mind that.
William is a much better name, anyway.
A soft knock interrupts our little cocoon of family bliss, and Kieran's massive frame fills the doorway. For such a badass warrior, he moves with surprising gentleness as he approaches us, his gaze fixed on the bundle in Rachel's arms.
"How fares my wee grandson?" he asks, his gruff voice softened to something almost tender.
"Sleeping like the dead," I reply, and then wince. "Bad choice of words."
Kieran chuckles. "The lad has good timing. Storms always bring change."
Rachel shifts slightly, making room for her father to sit beside us. "Father, would you like to hold him again?"
The fierce Highland warrior---a man I've seen cleave enemies in battle without blinking---now looks almost fearful as Rachel carefully transfers William into his massive arms. Once Kieran's done mooning over the baby, he turns to me.
"I was wrong about you, mo macan ," Kieran admits. "From the beginning, I assumed you were the treacherous one who might wish to destroy my daughter. But 'twas the MacLeods, and later, An Bodach as well as your mafia mates who were the true menace. Their treachery escaped my notice. I regret my assumptions about you, and ahm honored to have ye in our family, Joey Finnegan."
"Thanks, Kieran."
"You are my son now, and I've no doubts you'll be a fine father."
Am I getting choked up? Kinda. Just a little. I have something I never thought I'd find---an extended family of grandparents, aunts-in-law, a father-in-law, a mother law, and a wife and child too. I'm still getting used to the whole dad thing. Me, Joey Finnegan, responsible for a tiny human. The kid's been out of the womb for less than a week, and already I'd fight a hundred Highland warriors for him.
"Do you think he has the gift of dà-shealladh ?" I ask quietly, watching William's eyelids flutter in sleep. At least I finally figured out how to pronounce that Gaelic phrase, and some others too. My wife is determined to get me up to speed.
Rachel's gaze drifts to the window, where lightning sparks in the sky off and on. "It's too soon to tell. But with our bloodlines, there's a good chance."
Da-shealladh . The second sight. Just one more thing to worry about as a parent in medieval Scotland. As if a beithir , marauding clans, and the occasional time-traveling mafia goon weren't enough.
"He'll be a warrior," Kieran announces. "Look at those fists. Already prepared to hold a claymore."
"Father, he's three days old," Rachel says with a laugh. "Perhaps we can wait until he can hold his head up before we start weapons training."
I catch Kieran's eye and wink. "Don't worry. I'll sneak him some dagger lessons when his mother isn't looking."
Rachel swats at my arm, careful not to disturb William, who sleeps peacefully against her chest. It's still surreal to me---this tiny human we created. Every breath he takes feels like a miracle.
"Joey Finnegan, if you put a blade in my son's hand before he can walk, I'll show you exactly how fierce I can be."
Kieran sneaks out the door, only to return a moment later carrying something in his hand---a small bundle wrapped in a piece of tartan. He approaches with the careful steps of a warrior trying not to wake sleeping enemies. It's almost comical watching this bear of a man tiptoe across the stone floor.
"A gift for the wee laddie," he says, unwrapping the cloth to reveal a small wooden figure of a carved wolf. The detailing is intricate despite its small size.
"Father, it's beautiful," Rachel says.
"Did you carve it yourself?" I ask, taking the wooden wolf and turning it in my hand. The carving is remarkable---I can see individual strands of fur and the fierce intelligence in the wolf's eyes.
"Aye," Kieran admits, suddenly looking almost shy. "I worked on it during the nights while Rachel was waiting for the wee one to show himself. Needed something to do with my hands besides wearing a hole in the floor pacing."
It's amazing how much things have changed. When I first met Kieran MacTaggart, he was ready to run me through with his claymore for daring to look at his daughter. Now he's carving toys for our son. Life has a funny way of working out.
"It's the symbol of our clan," Rachel explains, touching the wolf's head with her fingertip. "For protection and cunning."
"He'll need both," Kieran says. "And he has a father who will do anything for him as well as a strong mother who will do the same."
The great-aunts walk into the room, and they have two visitors with them---Dale and Norma, Rachel's grandparents on her mother's side. They still enjoy living in the village of Loch Fairbairn. But I'd bet they'll come back to Dùndubhan a lot more often now. Plus, I'll make sure Rachel and I take the wee tyke to the village occasionally too, once he's old enough to travel.
Kieran ducks out of the solar again. I don't notice how long he's gone since we're all having too much fun baby-talking to the kid who's asleep in Rachel's arms. The aunts brought him baby clothes and plush toys. Dale and Norma fuss over their grandson just as much as Alyssa does.
A few days later, a contingent from Clan MacLeod shows up at the gates, which we had left open in case chieftains from other clans want to pay homage to the sweet little boy who recently came into the world. But we never expected the MacLeods---and especially not Alisdair. But there he is, politely standing beside his father.
Kieran and I approach the two men, but Rachel comes running up beside us.
"Where's the baby?" I hiss.
"In the solar with his grandmother. Alisdair is here because of me, so I should be at your side."
"Okay, fair point. But stick beside me."
She nods her agreement.
Eanraig MacLeod bows his head deferentially to Kieran, though only for a moment. " Madainn mhath , MacTaggart. We hope your kin are doing well, especially the new bairn." He turns his attention to my wife. "I'm glad to see you here, Rachel. What Alisdair needs to tell you is important and should have been said long before now."
Rachel eyes Alisdair with a hint of suspicion. "I reckon I'll hear it, then. But mayhap he should have made his apology months ago. I assume that's the reason for this meeting, aye?"
"That's right," Eanraig confirms. "Will you hear my son's apology? I would understand if ye dinnae what to."
Rachel lifts her chin and rolls her shoulders back, looking every bit the braw, strong lass she is. "Alisdair, you may tell me what you wish to say."
Alisdair MacLeod shifts uncomfortably as if he has fire ants in his trews, his gaze shifting from Rachel to me, then back again. The arrogance I remember from our first meeting is gone, replaced by something that looks suspiciously like genuine remorse.
"Rachel, I..." he begins, then stops, clearing his throat. "I've rehearsed this speech for months, but now that I'm standing here, the words feel inadequate."
"Give it a try anyway," I suggest, not unkindly, but firmly. Nobody hurts my wife and gets away with a half-assed apology.
Alisdair winces, then squares his shoulders. "I behaved dishonorably. When you rejected my advances, I should have accepted your decision with grace. Instead, I let my wounded pride turn to anger, and I spread falsehoods about you throughout the clans."
He hesitates, but his daddy gives him a reproving look.
Alisdair swallows hard. "There is no excuse for my actions. I dishonored not only you but myself and my clan too." His voice wavers a touch, but he meets Rachel's gaze directly. "The things I said were untrue and spoken out of spite. You were right to reject me, and I was wrong in every way that followed."
Rachel's posture remains rigid, but I can feel the subtle shift in her mood. My wife has a generous heart, sometimes too generous for her own good. I slide my hand into hers, squeezing gently.
"Why now?" she asks. "After all this time?"
Eanraig steps forward. "The birth of your son has reminded all of us of what truly matters. Clan feuds can poison generations if not addressed."
"And I could not bear the thought of your child growing up hearing lies about his mother," Alisdair adds, his voice softening. "I have spent these past months reflecting on the man I wish to be, and that man is not one who lets pride destroy the reputation of an honorable woman."
Rachel's fingers tighten around mine, and I can feel the subtle tremor running through her. This apology means more to her than she'd ever admit. The whispers and sidelong glances from other clans had hurt her deeply, though she'd faced them with her chin high.
"It took courage to come here," Rachel finally says. "I cannot say all is forgiven, Alisdair, but I acknowledge your apology and appreciate that you made it publicly."
He smiles tightly. "Thank you, Rachel."
My amazing wife holds out her hand to Alisdair, waiting until he cautiously accepts---with a genuine smile. "We look forward to seeing you at the faidhir our family plans to hold soon, here at Dùndubhan."
Alisdair grins. "Aye, we will attend the fair and purchase the wares being offered."
"The MacLeods are welcome to bring their own wares to sell."
With that, we say goodbye to Eanraig and Alisdair.
The future holds incredible promise these days, and I can hardly believe our good fortune.
As Kieran strides back into the house, Rachel slides her arms around my waist. "Care to visit the abhainn na daoine maithe ? My mother is taking care of the bairn. And something about motherhood has begun to make me extremely aroused."
"Hmm, what should we do about that?"
" Is iomadh rud a nì dithis dheònach , Joey." She winks. "That means two willing people can do many things."
"Damn, you know how to get me hard fast." I cup her ass with both hands. "Let's get naughty on the banks of the Ashray river, baby."
We race through the courtyard hand in hand, laughing as race to the waterfall. And we do exactly what I suggested.
The Ashrays must be blushing.
The Hot Scots will return!