And the day I’d given birth had once again changed my life. I’d been terrified—not that I told Jethro. My heart bucked and the fear of dying in labour stole all enjoyment of bringing life into the world.
But Jethro had been my prince, keeping me anchored, rubbing my back when vertigo struck and driving me calmly to the private hospital we’d arranged for the delivery.
The birth hadn’t gone perfectly. I’d been in labour for twenty-four hours. The baby had turned the night before and faced the wrong way. An emergency caesarean had to take place after Jethro roared for the doctors to take away my pain.
For every one of my contractions, Jethro felt it. He sweated beside me. He trembled in sympathy. He almost threw up when the agony threatened to rip me apart.
But when the first screams of our child shredded the operating theatre, Jethro had slammed to his knees. His shoulders quaked in silent sobs as he let himself feel another conscience for the first time.
Not mine.
Not the doctors and nurses.
Our baby.
His.
Our son.
The moment the doctor cleaned up the newborn and swaddled him in Jethro’s arms, he’d irrevocably changed. He became more than lord and master of Hawksridge. He became more than lover and friend.
He became a father. A protector. A single piece in a jigsaw of never-ending history. The look on his face when he stared into the eyes of his heir fisted my heart until I couldn’t breathe.
It’d been the singular most awe-inspiring moment of my life.
And I’d done it to him.
We’d done it together.
We’d created the squalling new life wriggling in his embrace.
He’d found his peace.
His centre.
Our son cooed as I brushed his bronze-black curls off his cherub cheeks. To begin with, I’d been terrified of making a mistake—of being the worst mother imaginable. But once I returned home to the Hall, the cooks and cleaners all came to welcome their new inhabitant; granting snippets of their own experiences, and filling me with courage I could do this. I could raise this little person. I could teach him how to be moral and kind and wise. I’d been able to break the Debt Inheritance. I could raise a baby boy, no problem.
Jethro touched my hand from the other side of the cot, looping his pinkie with mine. Our son wriggled in his bed, grabbing our joint fingers and squeezing them tight.
My heart glowed as Jethro strained across the crib, kissing me softly. “I love what we’ve created.”
I smiled. “I’m rather glad about that.”
The chubby fingers around ours pinched, demanding more attention. “Okay, okay, demanding little thing.” Jethro let me go, bending over to kiss his son one last time. “It’s time to go to bed.”
“No!”
“Yes.”
The little boy shook his head, loving his favourite game.
I stood quietly, watching son and father interact. The name we’d chosen couldn’t be more apt.
Kestrel.
Kestrel ‘William’ Hawk after Jethro’s original ancestor and closest brother.
Jethro sighed dramatically. “If you don’t go to sleep, you won’t get to enjoy tomorrow.”
