Ewan shrugged and sent another longing look at the door. “I still cannae believe she banished me.”
They had just summoned a servant to retrieve the supper tray from the drawing room when a scream rang from the upper floor.
Violet.
Ewan was out the door like a shot, taking the stairs two at a time.
Kieran and Eilidh exchanged tense looks.
A few minutes later, Lady Aster and Lady Rose entered.
“Well, I would never have thought of Ewan as implacable,” Lady Aster said, “but he stormed into the bedchamber, crawled right onto the bed, and inserted himself between the headboard and Violet’s back. Our sister is currently using her husband as an armchair.”
“The midwife only laughed, thank goodness,” Lady Rose added. “I doubt even explosives could dislodge Ewan now. The man is a mountain of determination.”
“I think it for the best,” Lady Aster nodded. “Violet may never admit it, but I know she is glad to have him at her side.”
Lady Rose looked at Eilidh and Kieran. “You both might want to return to Kilmeny Castle, as the midwife feels our sister’s labor might last throughout the night.”
One glance at Eilidh was all Kieran needed to understand that she wished to stay.
And he certainly would not be leaving without her.
The twins excused themselves, leaving Eilidh and Kieran alone.
Kieran paced over to the window, looking out over the garden. Twilight still lingered in the blue sky, even though the hour was well past ten o’clock.
The weight of Eilidh’s gaze pressed against his shoulder blades.
He could feel the heaviness of her thoughts.
The air between them hung with the memory of their lost babe.
Kieran swallowed back the ache in his throat.
Who knew how it might have played out . . . had Eilidh not been separated from the Brotherhood, if she had not been injured, if their child had not been born far too soon?
Or, at the very least, if she had not miscarried the baby alone in that villager’s hut, believing the child to be the result of an unwanted liaison. If he could have been there—tucked behind and arms around her—to share the grief.
“Would ye like tae talk about it?” he asked, not turning around.
“No,” came her reply. Decisive. Unwavering.
He clasped his hands behind his back, contemplating the irony of the moment—how this Eilidh was so vastly different from the woman he married . . . and yet, so utterly the same.
His Jamie would have refused to talk about it, too. She had avoided unpleasant topics while aboardThe Minerva, whether it was her pregnancy or the constant threat of discovery.
He said nothing more on the topic.
They stared in silence, each turned away from one another.
The gulf between them had never felt wider.
A sharp cryrent the air.
Eilidh woke with a start, jerking upright.
Weak morning light filtered through the drawing room windows.
