She pulled Faolan into her arms and buried her face against his chest. She squeezed her eyes shut, fighting against the sting of tears as strange emotions churned inside her.
As she opened her eyes, she stared up at the ceiling, peered over his shoulder, and tried to gain control. It must be the baby. She’d heard of this problem when women carried a bairn. When she’d traveled the realities, invisible to the mortals, she’d often seen expectant mothers sob for no obvious reason. It must be the child that made her heart swell every time she looked into Faolan’s eyes.
She inhaled a deep breath to gain control. She’d thought surely this weepiness would’ve passed by now. She thought it only struck during the first few months of carrying a child but perhaps she’d remembered wrong. This tender ache Faolan caused in her heart; this confusion needed to go away. It had to be the child. She refused to think it anything else.
She brushed the back of her hand across her eyes and gathered up the basin, soap, and rags. As she rested the bowl on one hip, she frowned as she turned back to Faolan. “I thought you were going to the Lowlands today? Weren’t you and Maxwell supposed to ride out this morning?”
Faolan shook his head as he reached into the sporran strapped at his waist. He paused before pulling his hand back out of the elaborate furred pouch. “I didna feel comfortable leaving ye this morning. Ye werena well last night. I know ye said it was just the way of women when they carried a bairn, but I was afraid to leave your side.”
As he took a step closer, Faolan’s face grew serious as he pulled his closed fist from the depths of the bag. “So, Maxwell rode out to find what I sought. He knew exactly which smithy would have the token I had in mind. I wanted to give ye this gift, Ciara, because of all ye have given to me.”
As he opened his hand, Faolan revealed an intricate band of crafted silver inset with a multifaceted amethyst. The Celtic knot work designed into the sides of the ring perfectly cradled the deep purple stone. “I never gave ye a betrothal present, nor a wedding gift. I wanted ye to have a wedding ring to wear for all to see. I want there to be no doubt that ye are truly wed to the laird of Clan MacKay.” Faolan couldn’t explain the fierceness of the emotions that filled his heart. Love didn’t begin to explain what he felt for Ciara or the child growing within her womb. His hands trembled as he took her hand and slid the ring upon her finger. He exhaled in relief as it settled perfectly into place.
Ciara stood silent, blinking her dark lashes hard and fast as she stared down at her hand. She raised her other hand to her chest, her fingers trembling as she rested them against her throat. “It’s beautiful,” she choked out in a whisper. Then her golden eyes flooded with a wall of water and great round teardrops streaked down her face.
“Dinna cry!” Oh God, what had he done? The stone must be ugly. Mayhap he shouldha sent for the ruby. Faolan gathered her to his chest. “I’m sorry. Is it not to your liking? Do ye no’ want to wear a wedding ring? Ciara, please don’t cry.”
His concern only fueled the watery torrent now flowing down her face. Ciara sobbed louder; her body trembled as she buried her face in his chest. “It’s so beautiful…I…want to wear it. It’s just that—” Hiccups interrupted her words. Hysterical crying took over. Her sobs grew so loud, they echoed through the room. Servants passing through stopped and stared at the laird as he tried to console his wife.
Faolan held her close and stroked her hair.What the hell did he do wrong?Gently pulling her aside in his arms, he carefully dabbed at her tears. “It’s just that…what? Tell me, Ciara. Tell me what is wrong. I swear to ye, I will make it right.”
This statement only succeeded in raising her wails to a fevered pitch high enough to frighten the birds nestled in the narrow windows high upon the walls. Her sorrowful cries echoed to the kitchens, causing Sorcha to come running with a meat cleaver clutched high in one gnarled hand.
Wielding her blade, Sorcha’s gaze darted about the room, her teeth bared as though she looked for a battle. The old housekeeper pulled up short, her eyes wide when she saw it was only Faolan holding his wife in his arms.
Faolan raised one hand in a silent motion instructing everyone to remain at a safe distance; he cradled Ciara’s shaking head against his chest and softly repeated his words. “Ciara, please my love, ye must tell me what is troubling ye so. Ye are sure to fall ill if ye dinna tell me what is causing ye so much pain.”
As she hiccupped her muffled reply into his chest, Ciara buried her face deeper into his embrace. With his snowy white tunic clenched in both her hands and her face ducked in the folds of his plaid, Ciara’s body trembled as quieter sobs drenched the front of his shirt.
Faolan took a deep breath. He tucked a finger under her chin and raised her face to his. He tenderly pressed his lips to her forehead and reveled in the taste of her warm, sweet skin against his mouth. “Say it again, love. I couldna hear ye with your lovely face buried in my plaid.”
Ciara sniffed, then swallowed hard as she clenched her fists even tighter. “I said…you are making me loveyoooou.” She ended her sentence with a piercing wail that sent the hounds scooting beneath the tables. Then she buried her face against his chest as a fresh torrent of tears started anew.
Faolan looked over the top of Ciara’s head at Sorcha where she still stood on the other side of the room. He rounded his eyes in questioning arcs as he silently mouthed his words. “Is she not supposed to love me?”
Sorcha nodded her head and made a circling motion over her stomach as she mouthed her reply. “It’s the babe bringing on her tears. Dinna worry. It will pass.”
Faolan’s entire body relaxed and he smiled as he cradled Ciara closer. He waved everyone out of the hall and rocked her trembling body as he shushed his words into her hair. “’Twill be all right, my dearest love. I promise. Dinna worry ’twill be all right.”
* * *
Her lower back throbbed asif she’d been beaten. Their son must be the size of an ox. Ciara rubbed her aching back and counted the months she’d waddled around the keep. As best she could figure, she still had at least another full moon of misery before she held her baby in her arms. How did these mortals tolerate this? And many of them did it more than once.
The baby chose that moment to roll a double somersault and Ciara warmed at the pulse of this most private of connections. Stroking her stomach, she now understood without the slightest doubt.Thiswas how mortals survived this misery. When they felt the gift of life as it flared in their bodies, it showed them a glimpse of immortality. Their short lives were often such a struggle and filled with pain; this was the only magic most of them would ever know.
Then he stretched, he hooked a tiny foot under her ribcage and pushed until she gasped. Ciara held her breath, and pressed back against her side until her son repositioned and gave her a bit of relief.
“It would’ve been much more comfortable if ye could’ve talked the goddesses into allowing ye to take the form of a bird. Then the bairn would’ve been inside an egg instead of battering about your body.” Alec hopped down from the branch where he’d been perched to alight upon Ciara’s shoulder.
Ciara returned both hands to her lower back and kneaded her muscles as she swayed down the cobblestone path. She meandered deeper into the canopy of the gardens so no one would overhear her talking to the raven. “Where have you been, dear old friend? You left without saying goodbye.”
Alec’s feathers ruffled a bit as he resettled his wings. “I thought ye might need some time alone to finish your wooing of your fine, sulking husband. From the looks of your waistline, ye appear to be doing well. Are ye sure there’s just one of them in there?”
Ciara shoved the black bird from his seat on her shoulder and straightened her gown with an irritated huff. “Alec! If you’ve only returned to be rude, you can go back to wherever it is you came from.”
Alec perched atop the ivy-covered stone wall that rose even with Ciara’s head. He jerked his head, ruffled his feathers, and glared around the garden fully bloomed with the warmest days of summer. He hopped along the wall and crushed a beetle in his beak, then spat it upon the ground.
Ciara watched Alec take out his irritation on the bug, frowning as she puzzled over his behavior. Alec had returned in a foul mood. Where had he disappeared to for so long? “Where did you go, Alec? What happened that’s soured your view of the world and turned you to such an ill humor?”
