They held each other tightly, and when he finally let her go, he stood back, holding her hand and gazing at her body. A wave of protectiveness washed over him.
He placed his hand on her still-flat stomach, and although there was no bump, he smiled at the home of his child.
“Can ye feel anything yet?” he asked.
Skye laughed. “Nay, nae yet, but it is early still.”
“This changes everything. Nay more travel for ye. And ye are to nap every day. I’ll speak with Astrid, and she’ll make ye anything ye want?—”
“Arran, stop. I’m pregnant, no ill. I’m fine, really. I’ve only been sick tha one time.”
“And ye didnae tell me?”
“Nay. I didnae know for certain, but I suspected. I am a healer, after all. I thought it likely when me monthlies didnae come, but I felt unsure as to when to tell ye.”
“I still think ye should nap every day. And I’m goin’ to consult with Ava. Ye’ll do as she says, Skye. I willnae accept anythin’ else. We have to keep ye both healthy.”
Skye rolled her eyes at him even though she knew he just wanted to keep her and their child safe.
He saw the gesture and grinned at her, acknowledging her aggravation. Then he sobered. “Me maither would be so happy, Skye. I can almost feel her and me faither now, with us.”
“Me too, Arran. We can ride out to the burial lands in the mornin’, and ye can tell her for real.”
He closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against hers, holding her hands. “We are going to be a family, Skye.”
“Forever and always, me love.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Arran could scarcely contain himself as they went back downstairs to join the rest of the family for supper.
The cook must have somehow caught wind of the news, for the evening meal was a festive one. She had put together souse, fine white bread, fresh butter, buttered beans and mashed turnips, all served up with imported tea.
The slices of gelatinous souse, which was made of cooked meat scraps from the recent butchering, went well with the bread. The beans and turnips helped round out the meal.
Helena looked at the array of food and asked, “Goodness! This is nearly a feast. Is there a special occasion?”
“Och, aye, and there is!” Arran exclaimed, scarcely able to contain himself. Then, realizing that perhaps this was not his story to tell, he graciously turned to Skye. “But t’is not me story to tell. Skye?”
Skye colored up beautifully. She glanced at the younger people around the table. “I, uh, we…that is . . .”
“Ye are with child,” Ava put in. “I’ve known it these last three weeks an’ more. Ye have that glow about ye.”
Clearly relieved at not having to find words, Skye nodded. “Yes,” she said simply, her face turning an even brighter embarrassed red.
“Well, of course,” Elsie put in. “What else would ye expect from twa fine young ones? It will come out healthy and squalling, ready to challenge any and all!”
Skye covered her face with both hands, too embarrassed to reply to the fragile old woman.
Helena rose and went around the table to embrace her daughter. “That is wonderful! I agree with Elsie. No doubt there will be an heir for the two clans.”
From her place near the foot of the table, Lilias Conner sighed. Elsie, who sat just above her and nearer the salt, turned to her and asked, “What is it, dearie?”
The widow looked down at her plate. “Once I had hoped for me son to be heir to Clan McKeith. Now, I have nae inkling as to what shall become of us.”
“Hae nae fear,” Arran said. “We shall find a place for ye here wi’ us. I doubt not that as bonnie a lass as yer daughter is, she’ll be snatched up by some lucky lad ere long. As for yer son, every laird has need for strong, loyal men-at-arms. Or if he’s not o’er fond o’ tha fightin’, he might make a fine steward for some lands or other.”
Skye chimed in. “Me maither an’ me, we kent sorrow and hurt enough to know how it feels. Twas no fault o’ yer own that ye caught the eye o’ Grayson Blackwell, may he be feelin’ every blow he struck his wives.”
