Epilogue
TAG
Six months later
The morning of my wedding day dawned clear and cold, mist rising from the loch like something out of legend. I stood at my bedroom window in Glenshadow, watching the sunrise while adjusting my suit and tie for the dozenth time.
“You’re going to wear out the fabric,” said Con.
I turned to find my best man standing in the doorway, looking amused. Behind him, Ash and Gus struggled with their bow ties.
“Here.” Con stepped forward to help them. “Honestly, you can disarm a bomb but can’t manage formal wear?”
“Bombs are simpler,” Gus muttered.
“I’m not on the bloody bomb squad,” Ash muttered.
They’d been trying to keep the mood light all morning, for my sake and Ash’s. This was his first formal event since Ambrose’s death. He’d lost weight, and shadows lingered under his eyes, but he’d insisted on being here.
“Sullivan?” I asked him.
“On her way.”
A knock at the door interrupted us, and Douglas entered with a silver tray.
“Whiskey, gentlemen. The twenty-five-year Macallan.”
“Bit early, isn’t it?” Gus asked.
“It’s tradition,” I said, accepting a glass. “My grandfather started it. A toast with the groomsmen before facing matrimony.”
We raised our glasses.
“To Tag,” Con said. “Who finally found someone as stubborn as him.”
“To Leila,” Ash added. “Who saved the world and still agreed to marry you.”
“To the future,” Gus contributed. “Whatever it brings.”
“To family,” I said, looking at each of them. “Blood or chosen.”
We drank, the whiskey burning warm down my throat.
“Speaking of family,” Con said, setting down his glass. “Did you know Leila invited the MacLeods?”
“What?” Ash gasped.
“Fiona and the daughter. They’re here.”
“Christ,” Gus muttered.
“That’s my wife-to-be,” I said. “She believes in redemption. Or at least in not punishing the innocent.”
“The daughter just got back from Norway, didn’t she?” Con asked. “Renegade mentioned something about it being complicated. Research station in the Arctic or something.”
“From what we’ve been able to ascertain, she had nothing to do with her father’s crimes,” I confirmed.
“Still,” Ash said quietly. “Can’t be easy for them, being here.”
“Or easy for everyone else, having them here,” Con added.
“We’ve all done things,” I reminded them. “Or had family who did things. Glass houses and all that.”
Gus checked his watch. “Right, then. Philosophy later. Time to get you married.”
The chapel at Glenshadow had stood for four hundred years, witness to countless MacTaggert ceremonies—christenings, weddings, funerals. Today, it had been transformed with white roses and purple heather, Leila’s choices. Simple but elegant, like her.
The guests were already assembled as my friends and I took our positions at the altar. A small gathering by any standard—Unit 23-ers, select MI6 personnel, a few trusted friends. It was perfect.
Typhon sat in the second row with his wife, Eliza. Beside her, Viper dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief, though she’d deny it later. Mrs. Murray sat across the aisle, already weeping openly but silently. Douglas stood at the back like a sentry.
I spotted Fiona MacLeod in the last row, wearing simple black, her face carefully composed. Beside her sat a young woman with auburn hair pulled back severely—Isla. She stared straight ahead, her posture rigid, as if she was enduring rather than attending. Renegade sat beside them.
The music changed, and everyone stood.
First came Lex as maid of honor, radiant in deep purple.
Then, when Leila appeared, everything else faded.
She wore a simple white dress that managed to be both elegant and practical, and her dark hair was swept up. Her eyes found mine, and the smile that spread across her face made my heart stop. This was happening. We were doing this.
She walked alone, because as she’d said, she was giving herself to me.
When she reached me, I took her hands, feeling a tremor in them that matched my own.
“You clean up nicely, MacTaggert,” she murmured.
“You’re beautiful,” I replied, meaning it with every fiber of my being.
The ceremony itself was simple. Traditional vows with a few modifications—we’d removed “obey” and added “support in all missions, classified or otherwise,” which got a laugh from those who understood.
“Do you, Niall MacTaggert, take Leila Nassar to be your wife?” the officiant asked.
“I do.” No hesitation.
“Do you, Leila Nassar, take Niall MacTaggert to be your husband?”
“I do.” Clear and certain.
“The rings?”
Con produced the simple platinum bands we’d chosen together. No inscriptions that could be used for identification if we were captured. Practical even in romance.
As I slipped the ring onto her finger, next to the emerald engagement ring, I said the words we’d written together.
“From the storms of Dunravin to the towers of Brodick, through every mission and every morning, you are my partner, my equal, my love. I promise to trust you, to support you, and to never stop choosing us.”
Her eyes glistened as she put the other ring on my finger.
“You taught me that love isn’t weakness but strength.
That partnership means standing together, especially when we disagree.
You are my anchor, my challenger, my home.
I promise to fight for us, to believe in us, and to love you through whatever comes. ”
“By the power vested in me, I pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss—”
I didn’t let him finish. I pulled Leila against me, kissing her thoroughly while our friends cheered and laughed. She kissed me back just as fiercely, not caring about propriety or tradition.
When we finally broke apart, she whispered, “Hello, husband.”
“Hello, wife.”
Rose petals fell around us as we walked back down the aisle—the guests throwing them with enthusiasm.
Glenshadow’s great hall had been transformed with lights and flowers into the most magical of places for our celebration.
The speeches ranged from touching—Con talking about partnership forged in fire—to embarrassing.
I barely paid attention, too focused on my bride, until Typhon stood, commanding attention without effort.
“I’ve overseen hundreds of partnerships in my career,” he began.
“Most are professional. Some become friendships. Very few become what these two have—a bond that saved millions of lives because they trusted each other when it mattered most. As Con said, the best partnerships are forged in fire, but I’ll add that they are sustained in peace. May you have both in equal measure.”
As the evening progressed, Viper pulled Leila and me aside. “I hate to interrupt, but there’s something you should know.”
“If you’re about to assign us a mission on our wedding day—” Leila started.
“No, nothing like that. But there’s been chatter. Someone’s been asking questions about the Forgotten Sons, about what really happened at Brodick.”
“Press?”
“Unknown. Just be aware. Even on your honeymoon. Maldives, right? Beautiful beaches, terrible sight lines, multiple aquatic approach vectors.”
“We’ll be careful,” I promised.
“I know you will.” She squeezed Leila’s hand. “Enjoy your happiness. You’ve earned it.”
The party continued late into the night. At one point, I found Ash outside.
“Thank you for being here,” I said.
“I wouldn’t have missed it. You know that.’’
“Still.”
“Brose made his choice. My only regret is not paying more attention. Not that I believe it would’ve done any good.
” I watched him return to Sullivan’s side.
For too many years, my friend had been a loner.
More so than Con, Gus, and me. Knowing he had his wife’s support as he navigated his uncle’s betrayal lessened my worry about him.
“What are you thinking?” I asked my wife, wrapping my arms around her from behind.
“That Idris would have loved today. The ceremony, the people, you—us.”
“I think he was here, in the love you carry for him.”
She turned in my arms. “That’s deeply romantic coming from you.”
“You bring out the best in me.”
She kissed me then, slow and deep. “Take me to bed, husband.”
“With pleasure, wife.”
Later, tangled in sheets and each other, I thought about the cycle of loss and love that had brought us here. The future spinning out before us, unknown but no longer feared.
“Tag?” Leila’s voice was drowsy.
“Yes, my love?”
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For not giving up. For choosing us.”
“Always.”
Outside, wind rattled the ancient windows of Glenshadow. Somewhere in the sky on their way back to London, Viper and Typhon were tracking whatever new threat had emerged. The world kept spinning, but here, now, in this moment, we were just Tag and Leila. Husband and wife. Partners in every sense.
It was enough. It was everything.
“I love you,” I said into the darkness.
“I love you,” she replied. “Forever.”
It was a dangerous word in our line of work, just like promises were. But we’d chosen to face whatever came our way together. “Yes, forever,” I said, leaning down to kiss her forehead.
When sleep came, I dreamed of white-sand beaches, long days spent making love under the sun, and the swell of Leila’s stomach when the child—children—we’d create together arrived to join us.
Forever, indeed.