More poetry welled up, but he fell silent as Astrid studied him at interminable length.
“You want more children, then? Children of your own?”
“Every child you bear will be a child of mine,” Andrew said, because it was a simple truth, easily given. “If God wills, we’ll have a large, happy family.” Though based on the way Astrid’s lips turned up at the corners, her will would have something to do with the size of their family too.
Her smile died aborning, and Andrew felt as if his heartbeat suspended with it.
“You must not make love to me as another farewell, Andrew. Not ever. I cannot bear it.”
He sat on the bed and steered her by the hips to stand between his legs. She’d put her finger on a truth. All of his lovemaking with her had borne an element of parting, of loss, and acceptance that she would soon be telling him good-bye, because good-byes were all he’d thought he deserved.
“I could learn from you how to make love as something other than a farewell, Wife, but you must be patient with me, for I can be slow to learn the most important things.”
She wrapped her arms around him, bringing him the flowery fragrance of her person and the sweeter scent of welcome. “We will learn together, Husband, and be patient with each other too. We will be patient with each other quite often.”
***
Three months later
“Andrew?”
Three pairs of male eyes riveted on Felicity’s smiling face.
“You can go up now, and congratulations on the birth of a fine, healthy daughter.”
Andrew was out the door like a shot, leaving Heathgate and Fairly to call for the champagne, while he bounded up the steps two at a time.
“What are you doing out of bed?” Andrew asked, closing the bedroom door quietly behind him.
“I have spent the past six hours getting in and out of the bed, Andrew,” Astrid replied. “Unless you are prepared to share the bed with me, I have no intention of wasting any more time there.”
“That’s all right then,” Andrew said, slipping the sleeve button from his right cuff.
“Andrew, what are you doing?”
“If I have to spend the next week in bed with you so you’ll take care of yourself properly, then into bed I go,” he said, freeing the second sleeve button.
“Stop that, Husband. I was being ridiculous.”
Astrid was whole, she was scolding him, and he could breathe for the first time in weeks. She could be as ridiculous as she pleased. Andrew crossed to the window seat where Astrid was perched and sat down beside her.
“Are you all right?” She looked tired, but exultant too, with a luminous quality that was more than the late-afternoon spring sun on her hair.
“Andrew, I am…” She leaned on him, and Andrew felt his heart turn over with joy. “I am in awe…”
“May I see her?”
“No,” Astrid teased. “You have to wait until she’s eighteen, at least. Of course you may see her.” She carefully unwrapped the tiny bundle she held cradled in her arms, and a small, sleepy face emerged. The baby sported a golden-blond peach fuzz of hair and a tiny rosebud mouth.
“She’s perfect,” Andrew said, stroking a finger down the baby-fine cheek.
“Here.” Astrid tucked the blanket back around her daughter—their daughter—and handed the child to Andrew.
Andrew accepted the baby, accepted the implicit trust with which Astrid had handed her over—to him. “I am overwhelmed by her… by you.”
Overwhelmed was accurate, Astrid thought, smiling at her husband and daughter. In the past few months, Andrew had struggled to become a more communicative, trusting husband. For him, it was hard work. He tried Astrid’s patience, and she tried his, bludgeoning him with sentiment and argument and a relentless pursuit of his honest involvement in their marriage. Sometimes they got it wrong, and each had to retreat and reconsider, until the other could be approached again more thoughtfully, or more overtly.
But more and more, they got it right. And as the weeks had gone on and the winter had turned to spring, their love had blossomed like the verdant, well-tended land they lived on.
Andrew wrapped one arm around his wife and kept the baby cradled in the other. “I feel an instant willingness to slay dragons and smite griffons and otherwise take on any challenge for our daughter. This is amazing…”
“Were you concerned?” This was, after all, not his biological child—whom he could not take his eyes off of.
“A bit.”
Which meant he’d been terrified.
“Me too,” Astrid said, resting against him again. “I love my nephews and my nieces, but I wasn’t at all sure I would immediately take to someone who did her level best to split me in two on her way into the world.”