“One whose daughter was already taken,” he answered. He kept his voice emotionless and it seemed to set off her temper.
“How can you be so calm about this?”
He ignored the question, for he couldn’t let himself think of anything happening to Adaira. Right now, he needed to focus on what needed to be done, keeping his personal feelings locked away. “Tomorrow, I’m sending you home with your escorts. Callum will stay with us.”
She lowered her head, her fingers clenching her side. “I don’t understand you. You act as if you’re going off to battle. As if nothing’s wrong.”
He stared at the fire, but it did nothing to warm the coldness inside of him. “Iamgoing off to battle, Laren.”
“Don’t you care at all? This is our daughter.”
Of course, he cared. But blind rage and recklessness wouldn’t save her. He needed a cool head and a sound plan. “I know well enough what’s at stake, Laren.” He didn’t need her to remind him that their baby’s life lay in his hands. If he made a mistake, Adaira could die because of it.
Laren shook her head, backing away from him. “You were like this when David died. It was as if his life didn’t matter.”
“It mattered to me.” The words were emotionless, but beneath them, he felt the shadow of loss. The more she dwelled upon the past, the more it dug into him like a dull blade. “Right now, I have to think of how we’re going to get inside Harkirk’s fortress. And how we’ll free her.” He used a heavy staff to poke at the fire, sending up a shower of sparks.
“You never mourned for David, did you?” she murmured. “You visited his grave . . . but that was all.”
The accusation sliced through the shell surrounding his heart. He caught her wrists and held them in front of her. “Don’t ever accuse me of not loving our son. I mourned for him, aye.”
He was holding her too harshly and released her, feeling the frustration rising higher. “But I’m the chief of this clan. I can’t let anyone see what’s inside of me. Not them. And not you.”
Every word she spoke was grinding against him. Couldn’t she see that he felt pain as deeply as she, even if he could never show it?
“I’m your wife, Alex,” she whispered, her eyes filled with tears. “If you don’t confide in me, who else is there?”
When her hands moved up to his face, he gripped her hard, lowering his face to her hair. “We won’t lose another child. I swear it to you.”
Despite his efforts to block the memory of his daughter, he saw Adaira’s face in his mind. He remembered the sweetness of her smile and the way she would skip and gallop instead of walk. He’d surrender every last drop of his blood for her.
Just as he would for his wife. In her eyes, he saw the disappointment. He didn’t know what she wanted from him. Dwelling on the past wouldn’t change it.
But perhaps . . . by holding back his thoughts, he was hurting her more.
“When we lost our son, there was nothing I could do to comfort you,” he said at last. “Nothing I could say to take away your pain.”
“I was afraid to reach out to you,” she admitted. “You never spoke of it.”
“It was the worst moment of my life. I’d wanted a son so badly . . . and then to lose him so soon—“ The only thing worse than losing David was losing his wife.
She reached up to take his face in her hands. “We will have another son one day. And he’ll grow up to be as strong as his father.”
He kissed her. “One day, perhaps.”
Laren reached for his hand and brought it to rest upon her womb. She remained still and he moved his fingers in a circular motion. “Have you felt the bairn move within you yet?”
She shook her head. “But I’m feeling a little better. Not as tired or sick.”
For a time, he rested his hand there, as if willing their unborn child to be safe. “I won’t fail you, Laren,” he vowed. “I’ll bring Adaira home.”
She drew him to lie down beside her, but he remained protective of her body. He smoothed her hair back from her temple and she twined her legs with his. The future was too uncertain right now. He didn’t know what threats awaited them or what had already happened to their daughter.
Laren was staring at him, her blue eyes filled with unspoken emotions. He cradled her face, as if he could hold the image in his mind for ever. God above, he loved her.
He kissed her mouth, drifting lower to her throat. Though the layer of her gown separated him from her bare skin, he kissed her ribs, the swell of her hip, then he laid his mouth upon their unborn baby.
“You’re going to live,” he whispered to the child, “and grow strong. I promise you.”
