Authors: Connie Mason
“No, the man deserves to be punished for what he’s done.”
“Then you must go.”
“But the babe…”
“… will be born in her own good time. Besides, you’ll be safer in London.”
“Dammit, Christy! I’m not frightened of Cameron. I promised to be here for the birth of our child.”
“Do you think I haven’t noticed your restlessness this winter? I know you miss London. You’ve conducted your life as Lord Sin too long to change over the course of a few months.”
Sinjun’s eyes narrowed. “Are you deliberately goading me? Have I interfered in your life? Are your clansmen more important to you than I am? All you ever wanted from me was my child to ensure Glenmoor’s future. He was conceived for only one purpose. To continue the Macdonald dynasty and hold the land for future Macdonalds.”
Her face turned pasty. Oh God, why were they arguing like this? Sinjun silently lamented. They were at each other’s throats over old issues that had been resolved long ago. Or had they been resolved?
Christy knew exactly what she was doing. It was in Sinjun’s best interest that he return to London. Not just for the trial, which was reason enough, but to find out if he could be happy with one woman. He had to discover that truth for himself. She’d seen the way he’d moped around all winter, those faraway, wistful looks when he thought she wasn’t looking. She didn’t want him if he was remaining at Glenmoor simply because he thought she needed him.
She wanted Sinjun to love her as much as she loved him. She knew he cared for her, but did he care for her enough to abandon his old life? Returning to London now would give him a taste of what he had been missing and settle the question once and for all.
“Think what you want, Sinjun,” Christy said tiredly. Her back hurt, and arguing only made it worse. “For whatever reason, you should return to London. Your brother isn’t one to take no for an answer.”
“Will you send word as soon as the baby is born? I doubt I’ll be back in time for the birth.”
“I’ll send Rory.”
Sinjun nodded. “I’ll explain everything to Julian. Actually, he’ll be ecstatic to know I’m to be a father. He’s been goading me for years to consummate our marriage and settle down.”
Christy gave him a wistful smile. “Time will tell what the future holds for us.”
“I’m sorry,” Sinjun said. “I don’t know why we are arguing. Upsetting you is the last thing I want to do. Forgive me.”
Christy had forgiven him before he’d even asked. “Of course. Come along, I’ll help you pack. You can boost me up the stairs.”
Christy was out of breath by the time she finished negotiating the winding stone stairs. She sat on the bed to catch her breath, watching Sinjun rummage through his trunk.
“I’m only taking a few things in a knapsack,” he explained. “I’ve plenty of clothes in London, though I doubt they’ll accommodate the new muscles I seem to have acquired.”
“What’s that?” Christy asked as an official-looking document drifted from the trunk onto the floor. Sinjun picked up the document, looked at it, and handed it to her.
“I forgot about this. It’s the writ of annulment I brought from London for your signature. After I learned Flora and Christy were the same person, and that you were expecting my child, I packed the annulment away and forgot about it. You can do what you want about it.”
Christy thought about it a moment. “Put it back in the trunk for now. You might need it one day.”
He sent her an inscrutable look and restored it to the trunk. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.” He returned his attention to the trunk. “These will do,” he said, placing a small pile of clothing on the bed.
“I’ll pack your things in the knapsack while you inform John Coachman that you’ll be leaving with him tomorrow,” Christy said.
He grasped her hands and pulled her against him. “Are you sure this is what you want, sweetheart? I can tell Julian to go to hell.”
‘
Tis what you want,
Christy thought. “No, your brother needs you. I’d hate to think that a scoundrel like Sir Oswald could go free without your testimony. He deserves to be punished for what he’s done to you and my clansmen.”
She felt the warmth of Sinjun’s kiss upon her lips and refused to let herself cry. He
would
return, she told herself. And if he didn’t, it wasn’t the end of the world. She would still have his bairn to love.
Christy slept in Sinjun’s arms that night. Making love was out of the question, but they kissed and cuddled until she finally fell asleep. She awoke in the middle of the night with a backache. Her restlessness awakened Sinjun, and he asked what troubled her. She lied and said she was too uncomfortable to sleep.
When morning came, she put on a cheery smile and kissed Sinjun good-bye. She lifted her hand in a halfhearted wave as she watched him disappear over the horizon.
“That’s the last we’ll see of his lordship,” Margot said dryly.
Christy didn’t respond. What could she say, when Margot could be right? As she turned away, she felt a twinge in her back and grimaced.
Margot saw and sent Christy a sharp look. “Are ye all right, lass? Ye look like yer hurting.”
“Tis nothing, Margot. I’ve been having back pains since yesterday.”
“Perhaps ye should tell Mary.” She turned Christy toward the kitchen.
“Aye,” Christy said, glancing over her shoulder for a last glimpse at Sinjun before following Margot into the kitchen.
Over her pots and pans, Mary studied Christy’s face, felt her distended stomach, and asked a few pertinent questions.
“It willna be long now, lass,” she predicted. “Why dinna ye tell his lordship afore he left?”
“Sinjun had to leave, Mary. I accepted that. I didn’t want him to stay with me for the bairn’s sake. You’ve all seen how restless he’s been this winter.” She heaved a tremulous sigh. “I never really believed he would be content at Glenmoor. City life has more to offer a man like Sinjun.”
Mary clucked her tongue. “Dinna fret, lass. We’ll take care of ye. Yer clan needs ye even if yer husband doesna.”
Christy took that thought to her empty bed that night. Deep in her heart she wanted to believe Sinjun would return, but she had to be practical. She might never see Sinjun again except for brief visits to see his bairn. It would be painful to live with the knowledge that Sinjun would always have a mistress in London.
A sharp pain in her lower abdomen banished her dismal thoughts. She tried to settle herself into a more comfortable position, but the pain persisted. She suffered in silence until dawn, finally acknowledging that she was in the early stages of labor. She was writhing in agony when Margot found her a short time later.
Both Mary and the midwife were sent for. Mary arrived first and insisted that Christy get up and walk, declaring that it was good for the bairn. So Christy walked while cloths, hot water, herbal preparations, and other paraphernalia were gathered. Then Agnes, the midwife, arrived. She examined Christy and announced that everything was progressing normally.
Christy had no idea what that meant, except that the pain was unrelenting and at times more than she could bear. Hours passed, the pain continued, and Christy wondered if the child would ever be born. Night came. The moon rose high in the sky. Christy walked until a building pressure demanded that she push.
“‘Tis time for my daughter to be born,” Christy gasped when the pressure became unbearable.
Agnes nodded agreement, and she and Mary helped Christy into bed. Margot held her hand while Agnes spread her legs and murmured instructions. Through a fog of pain, Christy heard and obeyed. An hour later, just as dawn was breaking, the babe came into the world, loudly protesting its difficult journey.
Utterly drained but jubilant, Christy held out her arms for her child. “Give my daughter to me,” she whispered.
Mary gave her a strange look. “Christy. Yer bairn is…”
Immediately Christy thought the worst. “Noooo! What’s wrong with her? Oh, God, please don’t take my bairn.”
“Dinna fret, lass,” Mary crooned. “Yer babe is as hale and hearty as his lusty sire. I ken ye were expecting a daughter, but God has given ye a fine, braw laddie.”
Christy went limp with relief. As long as her bairn was healthy, its sex, though potentially cause for worry should Sinjun take him away, didn’t matter. She had hoped for a lassie, but a laddie was just as welcome. Perhaps the next child … No, she shoved that thought aside. There might never be another child if Sinjun decided the life he led as Lord Sin held more appeal than a wife and son.
C
hristy cuddled her precious son against her breast as he nursed. Gazing down at his dark head, his rosebud mouth sucking vigorously on her nipple, she thought fiercely of how much she loved this child. He was a month old now, and Christy still hadn’t sent word of his birth to Sinjun. The first months of a child’s life were so precarious that she had wanted to make sure her bairn remained healthy before notifying Sinjun. Babies were known to die for no apparent reason the first weeks after birth.
The tiny scrap of humanity in her arms reminded her strongly of his father. She wondered if Sinjun was enjoying London and if he had resumed his old way of fife. Did he ever think of her? Though Sinjun had seemed reluctant to leave, she’d be a fool to believe he preferred simple living to London’s pleasures.
The baby’s lips fell away from her nipple; he was sated and sleeping soundly. She wished Sinjun had been here to name his son. Strange, they had never spoken of names, and Christy had only names for a lass picked out. For want of direction from Sinjun, Christy had named the boy Niall, after her father.
Christy placed her sleeping son in his cradle in the adjoining nursery and left the chamber to compose the letter to Sinjun she’d put off writing. A month after his birth, Niall was the picture of health, a sturdy replica of his father. She tiptoed from the chamber and ran into Margot, who had come to summon Christy.
“Calum Cameron is here to see ye,” she said sourly.
Christy’s hand went to her throat. “Now? ‘Tis late. What could he want at this time of night? Dear Lord, what kind of trouble has he stirred up now?”
“Perhaps he just wants to offer congratulations on the birth of yer bairn,” Margot offered.
Christy knew Calum better than that. He had come to make trouble.
“Yer looking fine, lass,” Calum said, his gaze roaming over Christy’s newly slim figure with unconcealed admiration. “I hear ye had a fine braw laddie.”
A shiver of apprehension slid down Christy’s spine. Calum’s hulking form seemed to fill the hall with unspoken menace. “You heard right, Calum. Niall is a fine, healthy lad.”
“What do ye hear from his sire?”
“Nothing yet. He’s only been gone a month.”
“I dinna think he will return.”
Christy bristled. “You don’t know that.”
A persistent banging on the door drew Christy’s attention from Calum to the front hallway. Two unexpected visitors in one night was rare. Margot opened the door, admitting John Coachman into the hall. He was reeling from exhaustion and nearly asleep on his feet.
“A message from yer husband,” Margot said, ushering John into the hall.
“Sinjun,” Christy said, eyes glowing. She hadn’t expected to hear from him yet.
A travel-weary John Coachman doffed his hat and placed Sinjun’s letter into Christy’s hand. “His lordship said I should wait for an answer.”
“Thank you, John. Margot will take you to the kitchen and see that you’re given something to eat and a place to sleep.”
Margot led John toward the back of the fortress. Christy wished Calum would leave so she could read her letter in private. But Calum seemed disinclined to leave. She could almost see the wheels turning in his brain as he stared at the letter she held in her hand. Before she knew what he intended, he ripped the letter from her hand and tore it open. She knew he could read, for he’d learned from the same tutor who had taught her to read and cipher.
“You have no right!” Christy raged as she tried to snatch the letter from his hand.
“Dinna fret, lass, I want to see what yer fancy English husband has to say. I’ll read it to ye, if ye’d like.”
“I can read it myself,” Christy snapped, wishing Calum to hell.
“His lordship writes ye on the day after his arrival in London,” Calum read aloud. “He says Sir Oswald’s trial has been postponed a fortnight.” He looked up and gave her a disgruntled scowl. “He says he will return to Glenmoor after the trial.” His gaze left the pages and returned to Christy. “Have ye told him about his bairn?”
Furious, Christy snatched the letter from his hand. “Not yet, but I intend to remedy mat.”
The smile that Calum gave Christy was anything but reassuring. “Tell his lordship ye dinna want him to return.”
“What? You’re mad. You know Sinjun will want to see his bairn.”
“The moment Lord Derby sets foot in the Highlands he’s a dead man,” Calum promised. “He’ll never reach Glenmoor alive. I’m a man of my word, Christy Macdonald. I tried once to kill the bastard and failed, but I won’t fail again.”