“Agreed. No harm in me slowly easing him into knowing what the job entails, is there?”
“Nay. I just dinnae want him, weel, coerced into something he really hasnae got the heart for.”
“Nor do I. I want the heart for the dukedom as well as the brain and brawn. And the stomach because he will always be the son of the blacksmith’s son to society. He can never take that away, can never do anything to change that in people’s minds. Wrong but that is how it is and he needs to know those things. I am not one who will be popping over on every holiday and birthday.”
“I ken it. I just need to keep a watch on him.” He leaned forward and met the duke’s eye. “Ye see, Harold, the boy has the heart. He had a demmed big heart and your class, your society is a cruel lot. I dinnae think ye would disagree with that.”
“Not at all.”
“And I dinnae want the boy dragged into anything that will kill that sweetness in him.”
“Agreed. Perhaps when he is older there can be a visit made. You or Emily or both of you can come over with him.”
Realizing he was curious about how she had lived over there, Iain nodded, then tensed when a cry came from upstairs. “Emily.”
“Son,” Harold said as Iain lifted the pot of water, “you best get hardened to that sound because there will be a lot of them before that baby comes out. But you will have a fine son.”
“Daughter. I am having a daughter.”
“God help the poor child,” murmured the duke.
He raced off to the kitchen and into the new rooms he and Emily had only to realize Mrs. O’Neal would have taken her into the sickroom. Cursing, he turned and ran back through the kitchen, past the duke, who was climbing the stairs and into the sickroom. The sight of Emily clinging to Mrs. O’Neal hand and panting made him lose some of his terror. She looked hale enough to him.
He set the water down and went to sit on the other side of Emily. She smiled at him but it was a tired expression and he had to wonder if she had the strength to go through with this. She took his hand in hers and held on so tight he hissed, then he changed his mind about her strength.
It went on for what felt like days to Emily and she hoped the women were right when they said you did not remember anything about the pain and mess afterward. Then the time came to push and she was so afraid she was simply too weary. Suddenly her grandfather was seated at the side of the bed holding her hand.
“Come on, child, you are a Stanton. It is time for the finale,” he said, and smiled when she giggled, then just gently squeezed her hand and sat there.
Emily worked hard and began to think her child was as stubborn as its father. Between pushes she was all too aware of the various parts of her that were hurting. She looked up into the steel-gray eyes of her grandfather and grit her teeth. She would not fail the man. A glance at Iain made her determined to get the baby out before her poor husband disgraced himself with a swoon.
The newest MacEnroy made an entrance after taking far too long as far as Emily was concerned. Mrs. O’Neal let out a load guffaw and held up the baby to reveal a girl. Iain whooped and danced around the room.
“What are you doing?” asked Emily as soon as she had been cleaned off, and the covers pulled up. Then she held her arms out for her child and nearly wept when she was placed there by a beaming Mrs. O’Neal.
“I am doing a jig. I have broken the curse.”
“What curse?”
“That the MacEnroys, our little twig of the clan, will never see a lass borne to them.”
“That is one they usually use to curse one against having sons, not daughters.”
“Some long-winded tale of love lost and an angry suitor, I suspect,” said the duke. “I would like to loudly say nay, but, aye, that was pretty much the way of it.”
“Well, jig your backside out and tell your brothers. With all the racket you have been making, they could be running up here soon.” She laughed when he grinned at her, kissed her cheek and the baby’s, and actually jigged out the door.
Emily was ready to sleep by the time all of Iain’s brothers marched in and stared at the girl as if she was a mirage. “Did you never have a girl child born?”
“Sure, a lot of them in the broader clan but nay in our wee family. We had eight uncles and each of them got wed and had sons. The uncles claimed all they had had was uncles, too, and their father before them and on back. What is her name?”
“Nuala,” Iain said. “Nuala Isbeal MacEnroy.” All the brothers nodded solemnly as if giving him the last permission he needed to name his child after their mother.
Matthew reached out and lightly stroked the surprising mop of pale blond hair the child had. “Do ye think she will have your eyes, Iain, or yours, Emily?”
“She should have the Stanton steel eyes.” The duke winked at Emily. “Emily softened them a bit but I forgive her. She is beautiful.” He lightly touched the child’s hair. “You did good.”
Emily laughed but knew she would be falling asleep soon. By the time Iain cleared out the room she was barely able to keep her eyes open. Iain lay down beside her and kissed her cheek, then kissed little Nuala’s.
