A few hundred years ago, after a battle between the Scots and the English (I’m guessing it was one of those English traditions of taking things that isn’t ours) a baby was found on the battlefield. He was taken in by Scots who, as you would, wondered what to name him. A name beginning with ‘Mc’ or ‘Mac’ wasn’t appropriate because they mean ‘son of’ and nobody knew who the baby’s parents were.
It was night when they found him. In fact, they found him under moonlight.
So that’s what they called him. Moonlight.
True story.* Isn’t it magical?
*I have just come off the phone to a lady who I used to teach writing to. He daughter is researching her family tree because she was curious as to the origins of her ancestors’ family name.