Page 98 of The Laird's Dangerous Prize
"I need ye tae spread the word," Ciaran said. "Tell Finlay to send word fer the announcement tae be made tae the village. Tell him tae ring the church bells and call out the news. Then go tae the castle yard and tell everyone ye meet."
"Aye, me laird! Right away!" Martha bobbed a quick curtsy and hurried off, practically bouncing with excitement.
Within minutes, the sound of church bells began ringing across the MacCraith lands, and reached the castle grounds, their joyous pealing echoing off the hills.
Back in their chamber, Ciaran sat carefully on the bed's edge, not wanting to jostle his wife and son. Outside, he could hear voices calling to each other across the castle yard, sharing the joyous news.
"Listen," Isolde said softly, her eyes bright with tears of happiness. "The whole clan kens now."
"As they should." Ciaran touched the baby's tiny hand, marveling when miniature fingers closed around his finger. "Strong grip. He'll be a warrior."
"Or a scholar. Or a bard." Isolde's eyes sparkled with mischief. "Dinnae go planning his whole life yet."
"Fair enough." He leaned back against the headboard, pulling them both closer. "Though I reserve the right tae teach him swordwork."
"When he's older than a day, perhaps."
They sat in comfortable silence, watching their son sleep. Outside, the bells continued their celebration, and voices carried on the morning air as the news spread throughout the village and surrounding farms.
"What are ye thinking?" Isolde asked softly.
"That I never imagined I could be this happy. This complete." He pressed his lips to her hair. "A year ago, I thought I knew what mattered. The clan, duty, honor."
"Those things still matter."
"Aye, but nae like this. Nae like ye and him." He gestured toward their sleeping son. "Everything I've ever fought fer, everything I've ever wanted—it's right here in this room."
"Aye." Isolde's voice was warm with love. "We're MacCraiths now. Made of the strongest stuff."
Ciaran chuckled. "Is that so?"
"Absolutely. Yer son just proved it."
Ciaran chuckled. "Is that so?"
"Absolutely. By arriving so fast and sleeping through all the bells ringing fer him."
"Takes after his maither, then. Stubborn and brave."
"And his faither. Strong and honorable."
The baby stirred, making small contented sounds. Isolde adjusted her hold, and Ciaran marveled again at how natural she looked—as if she'd been born to be a mother.
"I should write tae yer faither," he said. "Tell him about his grandson."
"He'll be so pleased." She smiled up at him. "Though I suspect he'll want tae spoil this one terribly when we visit."
"We'll go when ye're strong enough to travel. A proper introduction."
From outside came the sound of approaching horses and voices calling greetings. Word was spreading quickly, and soon well-wishers would come to pay their respects to the newest MacCraith.
"The whole of the Highlands will ken by sunset," Ciaran observed.
"Good," Isolde said firmly. "Let them all ken that the MacCraith line is secure, and when we have our next son, our alliance with MacAlpin will be secure." She looked down at their son with fierce love. "Let them know that our children will grow up in a world of peace because of what we've fought for."
Isolde yawned, exhaustion finally catching up with her. "I love ye, Ciaran MacCraith. Thank ye fer giving me this—a family, a home, a future I never dared dream of."
"Thank ye fer trusting me with ye heart." He kissed her forehead as her eyes fluttered closed. "Rest now. I'll watch over ye both."
As his wife and son slept peacefully in their bed, Ciaran looked out the window at his lands—their lands—stretching toward the horizon. The bells had finally quieted, but he could still hear voices in the distance, neighbors sharing the joyous news with each new arrival.
He was no longer just a laird or a warrior. He was a husband and father, with everything worth living for sleeping safely in his arms.
The MacCraith legacy would continue, built on love and strengthened by peace.
But there’s more…