Epilogue

Euan Donald, Lord of the Isles, master of all he surveyed, swiped an unmanly tear from his eye as he watched his beautiful wee Janet suckle their hour-old son Alistair. Bonny Glynna was sitting next to them on the bed, grinning down at her new baby brother as she held onto one of his tiny hands.

He thought back on that eve several months past when first his wife had told him she was carrying his bairn. She had been right, he thought with a grin, he had needed more than one tankard of ale. Though not from the announcement of his son's conception but from the tale of how Janet had come to be with him in the first place.

Odd, but Euan had believed every word, having decided after that day at the wall to never doubt his wife again. He wasn't a man given to trusting others, yet Janet he trusted both implicitly and explicitly. 'Twas a good feeling, having another in the world he knew he could always rely upon.

"Look da'," Glynna giggled, "he's all red and wrinkly."

Janet laughed. "I'm sure he'll grow out of it, sweetheart."

Euan grinned at his wife and daughter as he strode toward the bed to join his family. "Let's hope so. Otherwise he might no' be verra popular with the ladies."

Janet and Glynna giggled at that, warming his heart.

It occurred to Euan as he sat down and gathered his wife and children closer to him that a year ago when he'd first set out to steal a bride, he had never anticipated finding such bliss. Fate was a funny thing.

Thank the saints.