The MacKinnon’s Bride(2)

Iain was torn between wanting to grant his wife this favor, no matter that it pained him that she didn’t wish to see him, and needing to hold his son. The desire was nearly tangible. “She truly doesna wish to—” His voice broke. “See me?”

The midwife shook her head.

“I... had hoped...” His jaw worked.

“Och, but ye canna expect her to come aboot so soon, Iain! Gi’ her time. Gi’ her time!”

“Verra well.” His jaw turned taut. “But I’ll no’ wait long,” he assured her. “I intend to see my son, Glenna! She cannot keep me from him forever!”

The midwife’s eyes slanted with understanding. “‘Tis all she asks o’ ye, lad.”

Iain could not speak, not to assent, nor to refuse.

He turned and made his way belowstairs, cursing whatever prideful act had kindled the accursed feud all those many years ago between her da and his own. He didn’t even know, nor did anyone else seem to recall, what heinous crime had engendered such animosity. Like as not, it was naught more than the simple fact that his father’s hound had pissed upon old MacLean’s boot. Stubborn auld fools!

He didn’t have long to wait. For that he was grateful. Glenna needed only call him once and he was there at the door, shocked to find his wife standing in the middle of the chamber with their babe cradled in her arms, face wan, her hair disheveled. He thought she wavered a little on her feet, but she came forward, her face without expression, to place their infant within his arms. The gesture moved him so that any protest he might have uttered over her being out of bed fell away as he embraced his child.

He stared down in wonder into his child’s wrinkled little face.

Mayhap there was hope after all?

“’Twill be all, Glenna,” Mari said.

Iain barely heard his wife’s clipped command, or the door closing behind Glenna, so overwhelmed was he with the incredible gift his wife had given him.

His throat constricted as he examined his son... so tiny... so incredibly beautiful... He began to count toes, fingers, dared to touch the little nose, lips... skin so soft.

“A son!” he whispered in awe, and glanced up momentarily to find his wife at the window. “Mairi, come away from there,” he said softly, his voice choking with emotion, “afore ye catch your death.” His heart pounded joyfully as he returned to the inspection of his babe.

“I wanted to show ye something, Iain.”

Her voice was lacking emotion, weary. He looked up to find her staring from the window, the breeze blowing gently through her beautifully mussed hair. A lovely halo surrounded her, he thought, the mother of his child. “You should rest,” he advised her. “Show me later, Mairi. Get yourself back to bed now.” She turned to face him then, and there was something indiscernible in her expression.

The hair at his nape prickled.

She tilted her head and smiled a little. “I wanted ye to see that bearin’ your bairn didna kill me, after all. Here I am, ye see!” She swayed like a drunkard, and guilt wrenched at his gut. “Two days it took me, but here I stand!” She laughed softly, and choked on her emotion.

“Thank God!” he said, and meant it fiercely. He peered down at their son, unable to endure her accusing gaze any longer. Self-disgust flowed through him. “Thank you,” he whispered, unsure of what it was he was supposed to say. “I’ll make it up to ye, Mairi. I swear it!”

“I want only one thing from you,” she spat.

“Anything—” He choked on the declaration, but swore he’d give her whatever she so desired. Anything. She need only ask for it.

“I only wanted ye to see me wi’ your own eyes... to know the thought o’ bearin’ ye another—endurin’ your touch!” She shuddered and turned from him abruptly, leaning out from the tower window. “Dear, God!” she sobbed. “I’ll never do it again! I’ll not!”

Iain’s arms went numb with the weight of their child. A sense of foreboding rushed through him. She leaned farther, and a shudder shook him. “Mairi, come away from there now!”

“I want ye to know!”

A cold sweat broke over him. “Now!” he barked. “Get away from there, Mairi! Glenna!” he shouted and he started toward his wife with the babe in his arms, unsure of whether to lay the child down.

“The thought o’ ye ever touching me again did this! You killed me, Iain!”

“Mairi, nay!”

She flung herself from the window before he could reach her.

Iain staggered to his knees, clutching their babe against his pounding heart.

The babe.