Forbidden Kilted Highlander – Extended Epilogue
Three years later
The sun rose golden over Armstrong lands, casting a soft light through the narrow windows of the master bedchamber. The keep below was already stirring, but in this room, it was still quiet.
Agnes lay nestled against Tav, her back to his chest, her hand resting gently over the swell of her belly. The child stirred within her, a flutter beneath her palm, as if it too sensed the day’s promise. Behind her, Tav breathed slow and deep, arm curled around her middle, his fingers splayed over her hip like a claim made long ago. She didn’t want to move—not yet. The warmth of his body, the safety of it, wrapped around her like armor.
Three years. Three years since she had walked down that aisle and kissed him with all the fire and hope she possessed. Three years since they had rebuilt this place from ash and blood and memory.
Now they had a home. A sister who was a daughter in everything but blood. A son. And soon, another child.
She tilted her head slightly, watching the soft morning light gild the lines of Tav’s face. He had aged well. Softer now in the cheeks. More shadows at the corners of his eyes. But every one of them was earned. She reached back, brushing her fingers along his jaw. He hummed, stirring.
“Mornin’,” he rasped.
“Sleep well?”
“With ye here? Always.”
They lay in silence for a moment longer before the distant sound of giggles drifted up through the stone.
Agnes smiled. “Tristan’s up.”
Tav groaned. “Already? Thought he’d sleep like a bear.”
“He’s yer son. He’ll never sleep longer than he needs tae.”
Tav leaned forward, kissing her shoulder. “I’ll get him.”
“I’ll come down soon.”
But he didn’t move right away. Instead, he pressed another kiss to her skin, then rested his hand over hers on her belly.
“Can ye believe this?”
Agnes turned her face toward him. “What?”
“All o’ it.”
She smiled. “Every day I wake up and try tae.”
The words had barely left her lips when a shriek of laughter echoed down the hall. Agnes and Tav exchanged a look—half amusement, half weary resignation. Tristan.
They both moved to stand, Tav getting there first and offering her a hand. She took it, rising slowly with the weight of their unborn child pressing low in her belly. Together, they left the warm hush of their room and descended the spiral stairs into the life they’d made.
Breakfast was chaos, as always.
Tristan was already covered in jam by the time Tav and Agnes reached the hall. Isolde sat beside him, patiently showing him how to build a tower out of crusts, her own face remarkably clean.
“Since when have ye been up?” Tav asked, settling beside them.
“Since the cock crowed,” replied primly, not looking up from her crust tower.
“That long?”
“Tristan wanted tae make a crown fer the sheep. But I told him sheep dinnae wear crowns.”
Tristan, smeared with jam and grinning wide, clapped his hands. “Sheep! Hat! Baaa!”
Isolde beamed. “I made the crown fer him instead.”
“O’ course ye did,” Agnes said, kissing the top of her head. “Ye’re brilliant.”
Isolde preened.
They ate together, laughter breaking constantly across the table like surf. At one point, Tristan threw a biscuit and Tav caught it midair without looking. Agnes stared at him.
“That was impressive.”
He grinned. “Fatherhood.”
They left the hall together, strolling through the familiar walkways of the keep as the morning light spilled gold across the stones. The sound of hooves in the yard and voices raised in cheerful chatter floated around them. Tristan darted ahead, chasing a butterfly, while Isolde skipped just behind, humming a song she’d made up.
Tav and Agnes walked at a slower pace, their fingers laced together. Tav’s eyes flicked down to her feet, then back up to her face, worry tightening his brow.
“Are ye sure ye should be walkin’ this far?” he asked, slowing just a bit more. “We can rest. Or I can carry ye, if it comes tae that.”
Agnes gave him a look. “Tav, I’m pregnant. Nae dyin’.”
He huffed. “Aye, well, it’s my job tae worry.”
“And it’s me job tae remind ye I’ve been walkin’ in worse conditions.”
They exchanged a grin, his reluctant and fond, hers impish and dry. She nudged his arm with her shoulder.
“If ye keep hoverin’, I’ll make ye even more scared on purpose.”
“Ye wouldnae.”
“Watch me.”
Before he could retort, a loud squeal cut through the orchard path.
“Da!”
Tristan came barreling back up the path, arms outstretched, face red and breathless from running. Isolde jogged just behind him, breathless but laughing.
“He wanted tae race,” she explained. “But he lost.”
Tav scooped up the boy, grinning.
Tristan laughed, hands grabbing at Tav’s beard. “Isi fast!”
“Aye, she is,” Tav said, and kissed his son’s cheek. “But ye’ll get fast too.”
Agnes watched them with her heart full to bursting, her hand resting over her belly. Then she looked to Isolde and opened her arm. “Come here, love.”
Isolde ran into her side, and together they continued walking, a family woven together by choice, by blood, and by all the battles they’d already won.
As they neared the orchard wall, townsfolk began to wave and call greetings. Tav returned each with a nod or a lifted hand. Agnes smiled, stopping to speak now and again, her warmth undimmed despite the weight she carried.
Agnes turned to find Tav watching her, his expression unreadable.
“What?” she asked.
“Ye’re beautiful, that’s all.”
“Even this swollen?”
“Especially this swollen.” Tav grinned and bent to kiss her temple, his hand never leaving the curve of her back. They continued walking, following the path until it led them through a break in the trees. The orchard stretched out before them, dappled in soft golden light. They found a quiet corner beneath a gnarled apple tree, where the shade was cool and the ground scattered with petals. Tav walked beside her, one hand resting at the small of her back.
“Dae ye ever think about it?” she asked.
“What?”
“Back then.”
“Aye. All the time.”
“It still feels like… another life.”
He stopped walking, pulling her gently to a halt beside the stone monument nestled in the grove. Names etched deep in granite. Some they’d known. Some they’d lost. He reached out, fingers brushing Armstrong’s name.
“He was a bastard. But he gave me Isolde.”
Agnes nodded. “She loves ye. Fiercely.”
He looked at her. “Dae ye think I’ve done right by her?”
“I think ye’re her whole world, Tav.”
He exhaled, long and shaky, and took her hand again. They stood together beneath the apple blossoms, quiet.
Not long after, they joined the children for a small picnic on the edge of the orchard. Tav spread a blanket beneath the dappled shade while Agnes and Isolde unpacked a small basket of honeyed bread, apples, and soft cheese. Tristan, sticky with juice and joy, was already toddling toward the nearest tree, chasing a ladybug with singular focus.
“That one’s on a mission,” Tav said with a grin, already rising to follow.
“Mind he daesnae eat it,” Agnes called after him.
Tav turned and winked. “Nay promises.”
Agnes settled herself beside Isolde, stretching her legs carefully and pressing a hand to the curve of her belly. Isolde reached for an apple, turning it over in her small hands with a tiny frown.
“Can ye help me with this?” she asked, holding it out. “It’s too big.”
Agnes took the apple and pulled a small blade from the basket, slicing it into neat wedges before handing them back. Isolde’s face lit up.
“Thank ye,” she said, her voice sweet and solemn.
Agnes smiled softly, letting the moment settle over her like sunlight—warm, golden, and slow to fade. She watched Isolde crunch into a slice of apple with exaggerated delight, her small hands sticky and her face alight with pride. The hum of bees in the orchard, the gentle rustle of leaves above, the distant sound of Tav laughing with Tristan as the boy squealed with glee—it all folded around her like the pages of a story she never thought she’d live to write.
“Dae ye think the baby will like me?” Isolde asked suddenly.
Agnes turned to her. “The baby will adore ye.”
“Even if it’s a boy?”
“Even more if it’s a boy. He’ll need a big sister tae keep him from daein’ foolish things like his Da.”
Isolde giggled. “I can dae that.”
She pulled the girl into her arms, kissed her brow, and held her a long while.
“Tired?” he asked, brushing his fingers through the ends of her hair.
“Aye. But it’s a good kind.” She tilted her face toward him. “The kind that says the day was full.”
He kissed the top of her head, lingering. “This place, this life… it’s more than I thought I’d ever have. More than I knew how tae want.”
Agnes shifted to look up at him, her brow lifting gently. “Then let’s never take it fer granted. Nae a single day.”
He met her gaze, something tender and unspoken passing between them. “We’ll protect it. Always. Whatever it takes.”
She reached for his hand and placed it carefully over the swell of her belly.
A tiny kick met his palm, soft and startling. Tav’s eyes lit up, wonder blooming across his face. “Another little warrior. Just like his maither.”
Agnes laughed softly, her voice a hush against the crackle of the fire. “Gods help us indeed. He’ll be wild if he’s anything like ye.”
“Or stubborn if she’s like ye,” Tav murmured, kissing her forehead. “Either way, we’re doomed.”
She smiled. “Doomed in the best way.”
They stayed like that, wrapped around each other, letting the stillness settle into their bones. The kind of quiet that wasn’t empty, but whole. Outside, the wind rustled faintly through the trees. Inside, the embers glowed low. Peace, hard-won and deeply cherished, wrapped itself around them.
And in that hush, with her heartbeat against his ribs and his palm guarding the life between them, they let themselves dream—not of war or grief or vengeance, but of harvests and lullabies, of laughter in the halls and tiny feet on stone. Of days that would grow slowly, beautifully, together.
The End.
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Confused, who was Tav MacLeod. You mentioned him in the summary of the book, but through out the book he was Tad Graham.
Love to story though.
Great catch Carla, Tad Graham is the correct name, but it slipped through in the summary. Thanks for pointing it out, I’ll have it corrected as soon as possible! I’m so glad you still enjoyed the story! ❤️
Lovely. Is there a book for laird Caithness?
Thank you so much my dear Sheila! You can check out “Tempted by the Kilted Devil”, the next chapter in the Temptation in Tartan series 🧡