Page 111 of Hold Fast

“Aye,” Ewan croaked. “They are.”

“I believe I’ll go tell our brothers about her. I am certain they are listening at the door.”

Just before she exited the room, she said, “You were brilliant, Una. Absolutely brilliant.”

Una smiled her thanks, and then they were alone. The fire crackled in the hearth, and the baby made small, contented sounds as she nursed. Una stroked gentle fingers down the baby’s cheeks, as if she was the most remarkable thing Una had ever seen. Ewan understood because she was, without a doubt, the most remarkable thinghehad ever seen.

“Have you thought of a name?” Ewan asked after a long moment of watching.

Una hesitated. “I have, but you’re free to say nay.”

“Ask me for anything in the world, Una,” he said, feeling a lightness in his heart for the first time in months. Una snorted.

“I thought we could name her Margaret, for your mother. And perhaps Joan as a middle name?”

“Margaret Joan MacDonald,” Ewan murmured. “Aye. It suits her.”

Una smiled and sighed, resting her cheek against the top of Ewan’s head. Margaret fell asleep and unlatched, her tiny mouth hanging open. It reminded Ewan of how his brothers looked when they slept, and he smiled. Una gently transferred Margaret into Ewan’s arms. He gazed down at his sleeping daughter, who looked so much like her mother already that it stole his breath.

“I hope Joan is happy,” Ewan said absently as she shifted downward, snuggling close.

“I believe she will be.” She looked up at him. “And you, mo ghraidh? Are you happy?”

Ewan took a deep breath. How could he possibly communicate an answer to that question? He felt as if he wasmadeof happiness.

“Ewan?” Una asked sleepily, her head heavy against him.

He turned and kissed her crown, lingering with his lips in her hair and smelling deeply.

“Aye, Una. I am the happiest man in the world.”

EPILOGUE

The brisk, spring wind whipped Una’s black hair behind her like a banner as she strode across the field between the forest and the keep. The sun was high in the sky, shining brilliantly with no clouds to block its warmth. Una turned her face up and closed her eyes. It was the perfect day.

After months cooped up in the keep with a newborn who liked nothing more than to nurse, Una had finally snuck away, leaving Margaret with Fiona and Fenella. The hours in the quiet forest had been as good as medicine for her, but her aching breasts told her it was time to return home.

Greer had accompanied her, along with her brood. The nine puppies—now nearly full-grown dogs—were gangly and enthusiastic, bowling into each other and, on occasion, their mother, earning them a sharp nip on the heels. The pups were an assortment of white and gray, some solid, some with patches of color. But all had shaggy coats like their father, albeit shorter. The sight of the pack of them never failed to make Una smile.

Una had just bent to remove her skirts from one of the pup’s mouths when she heard rapid hoofbeats. Though there had been no threat on the MacDonald lands since Ewan had formed an alliance with Blair and the Camerons, history taught her to be wary of riders approaching. She bent and removed her sgian dubh from her boot, but just as she stood, she saw Ewan’s blond head rise above the crest of the hill, Calman’s gray head bobbing happily as he ran.

He pulled up, and Calman stopped a few paces from Una, whinnying as the pups ran to him, running around and under him.

“What are you doing out here, mo ghraidh?” Ewan asked with narrowed eyes.

Una dropped her basket and put her hands on her hips, her anger flashing hot and immediate. “I told you nae fewer than ten times that I was coming today, I told Angus, I told Kenneth, I told David, I told the watch at the gate, I told Fenella and Fiona, I—”

She broke off when she saw the smile teasing at the corner of Ewan’s mouth.

“You’re an arse, Ewan MacDonald.”

“Aye,” he said, smiling in earnest now, his eyes crinkling. “But you love me.”

She couldn’t deny it. She did love him. She loved their family and the life they were building together. She loved the kind of father he was, as patient and caring as he was as laird. Imperfect, to be certain, but always striving to be better, always trying.

“I was just heading home,” she said, shielding her eyes against the bright sun.

“Care to take a detour?” he asked suggestively, an eyebrow tilted high.