The Laird’s Sinful Secret – Extended Epilogue
One year later
The scream that tore through Dunvegan Castle made every warrior within hearing distance freeze mid-stride.
Euan took the stairs four at a time despite the lingering stiffness in his shoulder, his heart hammering against his ribs. He’d been in the council chamber discussing grain shipments when the sound reached him—Moyra’s voice, raw with pain and effort, coming from their chambers above.
The birth. Saints, the birth was happening now.
“Me laird!” Niall caught his arm at the top of the stairs. “Brighde said ye’re nae allowed in there until—”
“Like hell.” Euan shook him off, reaching for the door.
It opened before his hand touched the latch. Brighde stood there, her sleeves rolled up, hair escaping from beneath her cap. Behind her, he could hear Moyra’s labored breathing, could see Catriona moving around the bed with clean linens.
“Absolutely not.” The healer blocked his path with surprising strength for someone half his size. “Ye’ll only distract her, and she needs tae focus. The bairn’s coming fast, and I’ll nae have ye making things harder by hovering.”
Another scream cut off his protest.
“She’s strong,” Brighde said more gently. “Stronger than ye give her credit fer. Now get out of me way and let me dae me job. I’ll call ye the moment it’s safe.”
The door closed in his face with decisive finality.
He turned to find half his household crowded in the corridor—servants trying to look busy, guards pretending to patrol, Niall hovering with poorly disguised concern.
“Well?” Niall asked. “Any news?”
“She’s nae letting me in.” Euan dragged a hand through his hair. “Says I’ll distract Moyra.”
Niall’s hand landed on his shoulder. “Come on. Let’s get ye a drink afore ye wear a hole in the floor with yer pacing.”
He dragged Euan to the great hall despite his protests, pressing whisky into his hands while servants bustled around preparing what looked like a feast. Word had spread quickly—the Lady MacLeod was delivering the heir, and the entire castle hummed with anticipation.
The hours crawled past with agonizing slowness.
“I should be up there,” he said for the hundredth time. “What if something goes wrong? What if she needs me?”
“Then Brighde will come get ye.” Niall refilled his cup. “Until then, ye’re staying here where ye cannae accidentally cause problems by being an overprotective husband.”
Another hour passed. Then another. The sun set, and servants lit torches throughout the hall. The crowd of well-wishers grew larger—villagers who’d come to celebrate, refugees who’d settled permanently at Dunvegan, even a few former MacKenzie warriors who’d sworn fealty to Moyra personally.
Then Catriona appeared at the top of the stairs, her face flushed and her smile bright enough to light the castle.
“Me laird!” Her voice carried across the hall. “Ye have a son!”
The room erupted in cheers.
Euan was moving before conscious thought caught up, taking the stairs three at a time despite Niall’s shouted warning about his shoulder. He burst through the chamber door to find Moyra propped up in bed, exhausted and radiant, holding a tiny bundle wrapped in MacLeod plaid.
“Euan.” Her voice came hoarse but joyful. “Come meet yer son.”
He crossed to her on trembling legs, hardly daring to breathe as she carefully transferred the bundle into his arms. The baby was impossibly small—barely the length of his forearm, with a cap of dark hair and a scrunched face that looked vaguely offended by his sudden existence outside the womb.
“He’s perfect,” Euan managed, his throat tight. “Ye’re both perfect.”
“He has yer stubborn chin.” Moyra’s hand found his, squeezing gently. “And he screamed loud enough tae wake the dead when he arrived. I think he’s going tae be trouble.”
“He’s a MacLeod. Of course he’s going tae be trouble.” Euan couldn’t tear his eyes away from his son—from the tiny fingers that wrapped around his thumb with surprising strength, from the way the baby’s face relaxed from offended to peaceful as he settled against his father’s chest.
“What will ye name him?” Brighde asked from where she was tidying away supplies. “The clan will want tae ken.”
Euan looked at Moyra, seeing his own emotions reflected in her green eyes—wonder and joy and fierce protective love for that tiny person they’d created together.
“Tavish,” he said quietly. “After the guard who died defending her when she was taken. And Murtagh, after me faither who died so I could live.” He touched the baby’s downy hair. “Tavish Murtagh MacLeod. Our son.”
“Perfect.” Moyra’s smile made his chest ache. “Now give him back before ye drop him from exhaustion. Ye look ready tae collapse.”
“I’m fine.”
“Ye’re dead on yer feet.” She took the baby carefully, cradling him against her chest with the natural ease of someone who’d been waiting for this moment. “Go tell everyone the good news. Let them celebrate. We’ll still be here when ye’re done being laird fer a few minutes.”
He kissed her forehead, then the baby’s, before forcing himself to leave. Downstairs, the great hall had filled to capacity—warriors and servants and villagers all waiting with barely contained excitement.
“Tavish Murtagh MacLeod!” Euan’s voice carried across the crowd. “Me son. The heir tae Clan MacLeod.”
The roar of approval shook the rafters.
Someone thrust a cup into his hands. Someone else started a song—one of the old Highland ballads about heroes and homecomings. The feast Euan had noticed earlier was brought out in full force, tables groaning under the weight of roasted meats and fresh bread and honeyed cakes.
Niall found him in the chaos, grinning like a fool.
“A son!” Niall clapped his shoulder hard enough to stagger him. “Saints, but ye work fast. Married barely a year and already producing heirs.”
“Shut up.” But Euan was grinning too, unable to contain the joy bubbling through his chest.
“What’s he look like?” Niall asked. “Daes he favor ye or Moyra?”
“Both. Neither. I dinnae ken.” Euan shook his head. “He’s tiny and perfect and I’m terrified I’m going tae break him somehow.”
“Ye’ll be fine.” Niall’s face had gone soft. “Ye’ve got good instincts. And Moyra’s the cleverest woman in the Highlands—between the two of ye, that bairn will be fine.”
The celebration continued long into the night. Songs were sung, toasts were made, warriors competed to tell the most outrageous stories about Euan’s exploits. Someone started a betting pool on when the next child would arrive. The whisky flowed freely, and laughter echoed off stone walls that had seen too much war over the past year.
But eventually, Euan extracted himself from the chaos and climbed the stairs back to their chambers. He found Moyra awake despite the late hour, the baby nursing contentedly while she hummed one of the old lullabies her mother had taught her.
“Ye should be resting,” he said quietly, settling beside her.
“I am resting.” She leaned against him, careful not to disturb their son. “Just… looking at him. Making sure he’s real.”
“He’s real.” Euan’s arm came around her shoulders. “We made him. Taegether. Despite everything trying tae tear us apart, we built this.”
“Aye.” Her voice went soft. “A year ago I was a prisoner in an English dungeon. Now I’m sitting here with me husband and our son, listening tae our clan celebrate below. Sometimes I still cannae believe it’s real.”
“Believe it.” He kissed her temple. “This is yer life now. Our life. And it’s only going tae get better.”
After the baby finished nursing his eyes drifted closed. Moyra shifted him carefully, settling him in the cradle Euan had spent weeks carving—Highland stags and clever heroines decorating the sides, a reminder of fairy tales read in firelight and love found in the most unlikely circumstances.
“Come tae bed,” she said, reaching for him. “Before someone else comes up wanting tae talk about the heir.”
They settled together, Moyra curled against his good shoulder, both of them watching the cradle where their son slept peacefully. Outside, the celebration continued—music and laughter drifting up through stone walls. But there, in their chambers, the world had narrowed to just the three of them.
“I love ye,” Euan said into the quiet. “Both of ye. More than I ever thought possible.”
“I love ye too.” Moyra’s hand found his over the blankets. “Me stubborn husband who saved me from dungeons and me faither and gave me everything I never knew I wanted.”
Together, they were unbreakable.
Together, they could survive anything.
Together, they were home.
The End.
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What a great story. Loved how he saved her and married her for love and not duty.
Thank you so much for reading & supporting my dear Terry! It means a lot ❤️
What an incredible tale of gut-wretching hopelessness, a surprise rescue, bravery, and love. You never disappoint, Shona! Thank you for sharing your vision!
Thank YOU so much for your lovely feedback & support dear! 🙏🧡
Very nice story. Loved Euan and the Covenant Brothers! I look forward to the next book in the series.
It’s coming really soon, so stay tuned my dear! Thank you so much 🧡
Loved it…I would have liked to know how the clans and territorial boundaries ended up.
Thank you so much for reading & supporting my dear Em! 🙏
This book was absolutely perfect loved that it had some extra pages to read.
Tammy, your comment really made my day! Thank you so much for the support! ⭐️
It is unrealistic for women to be screaming during childbirth – this may have been true for some cultures but for English and scottish particularly, women did NOT scream. they grunted and groaned as childbirth was called ‘labour’ for a reason, it was hard work and thats how the anglosaxon, Celtic culture saw it. hard work, labour until the baby was born – no screaming to frighten others waiting and praying for a safe birth.
Thank you so much for your honest feedback & for sharing your thoughts with me my dear! ❤️