Page 97 of Treachery in the Highlands
"I, Joseph Anthony Finnegan, take thee, Rachel Morainn MacTaggart..."His voice is steady despite his trembling hands, each word pronounced with deliberate clarity as though he's been practicing for weeks.Mayhap he has.
The vows continue, beautiful Gaelic words binding us together for eternity.When it's my turn, I speak clearly, though my heart threatens to burst from my chest.
"I, Rachel Morainn MacTaggart, take thee, Joseph Anthony Finnegan..."
The minister nods approvingly as we exchange rings.Joey slides onto my finger the "borrowed" museum piece that caused such a stir with Father.I place a thick silver band on Joey's finger, one crafted by our clan's metalsmith specifically for this day.
"By the power vested in me," the minister intones, "I now pronounce you husband and wife."
Joey pulls me in for a deep, romantic, exquisite kiss that leaves me slightly woozy in the best manner.Then he sweeps me up in his arms and twirls us round and round while I giggle like a silly lassie.Once he sets me down, Joey gives me an odd look.
"Your middle name is Morainn?"
"Aye.'Twas my grandmother's name.She was a Ross by birth, but once she met my grandfather Uilleam, she became a MacTaggart through and through."
"When did she die?"
"Oh, long before my father met my mother."
"I'd love to learn more about your family tree, but right now..."He sweeps me up in his arms once more."It's time for the wedding night to begin."
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.
