Fox had intended to return to Laverloch when the snowdrops faded in mid-March, but by then, Leah’s advancing pregnancy had become apparent. And so, they simply stayed at Thistle Muir. The distance to Laverloch was too far for a midwife to travel with any haste and, therefore, it was better to remain down-glen until the babe was born.
Now, as they were into June, Madeline was in Staffordshire with her grandparents. Though it had only been two weeks, both Fox and Leah felt the girl’s absence keenly. But with the baby soon to be born, Fox knew Leah appreciated having time to adjust to adding another member to their family.
Yet now that the moment of the babe’s birth had arrived, Fox was unsure if he was equal to the strain of it.
What if, like Aileen, Leah bled too much?
What if infection set in?
What if she were simply too old to be having a chil—
A newborn babe’s cry rent the air.
Fox froze.
Malcolm let out a relieved sigh.
A few minutes later, footsteps sounded on the stairs.
Fiona, the maid of all work, poked her head in the door.
“Ye’ve a fine son, Captain Carnegie,” she announced, all smiles. “Mrs. Carnegie appears tae be doing well. We’ll be ready for ye tae come up in a minu—”
The girl hadn’t finished her sentence before Fox was out of the room and taking the stairs two at a time.
He could not go another moment without ensuring that Leah was well.
His wife looked up as he entered the room, flushed, exhausted, and glowing in triumph, a small bundle cradled against her chest. The midwife still fussed about, seeing to the afterbirth. Fox barely spared a glance for the woman.
He collapsed to his knees beside the bed.
“Would ye like tae meet your son, husband?” Leah’s eyes appeared dazed but so very happy.
Before even glancing at the boy, Fox leaned forward and took his wife’s mouth in a possessive kiss.
“You are a goddess, wife,” he rasped.
She laughed, that throaty sound he so loved. “I love ye, too, Fox Carnegie.”
Grinning, he gently accepted the tiny bundle and looked into the blinking gaze of his newborn son.
A week later, Leah stared down into her newborn son’s eyes—John Fox Carnegie they had named him, after Leah’s late father. But, of course, everyone called him Jack.
“He’s so bonnie,” she whispered to Fox sitting beside her in the bed and holding their bairn. The hour was late, but as Jack was awake, they were awake.
They had hired a nurse, but both Fox and Leah were too enamored of their son to give his care over to another for long. It was one of the side effects of having a child so late in life—they were both old enough to treasure and savor the beauty of caring for a new babe.
“Of course, he’s a bonnie lad,” Fox snorted. “He has me as his father.”
Leah elbowed her husband in the ribs. Though, for the record, Fox was not wrong. Baby Jack did look remarkably like his father with wisps of blond curls and eyes that already hinted at the bright blue they would become.
Fox pressed his lips to the babe’s downy cheek in his arms and then turned to Leah, kissing her soundly.
“I find it remarkable how my love for you deepens over time.” He nuzzled her neck. “I thought I loved you a year ago, but what I feel now pales in comparison.”
She laughed softly. “You’re just saying that because you’ve a fine son now. The joy has addled your wits.”
“No.” He said the word emphatically. “That is categorically not true. I felt only a tiny taste of the horror of Malcolm’s pain when you were in labor. Just thinking upon losing you in earnest—” He broke off, swallowing hard, eyes bright.
