"Of course." Elise smiled weakly, turning her head that she might watch the man interact with the baby.
One finger, its tip large and blunt, was instantly enveloped by the child's whole hand. It held on instinctively, drawing emotion from the man who towered above.
Leaning closer, Alasdair was able to see the scrunched-up face of a pink and healthy baby girl.
"She is pretty, no?" Elise whispered.
She.
The laird's smile was one of true sadness. Had the child been male, perhaps there would have been a means of honoring him. Claiming him as his own.
But as a girl...
The chances of him producing a formal heir were still too high. An illegitimate female would only suffer, left to languish in her bastard state.
"She is beautiful," he agreed. Beautiful and entirely lost to him. "Her...her late father would be proud of such a child."
The look the two of them shared spoke more than could ever be voiced.
Elise was a widow. Her husband had been gone only ten months. A whisper of lateness in the birth would be all that was needed. The child would be able to proudly claim an honored memory as her sire, and he...
He would be left to wonder what had become of his daughter over the years.
"Your husband was a fine man, Elise. A respected man. I shall see that your family are cared for in his memory."
Again, the message beneath the words was heard. The sentiment of filial loyalty was there.
Alasdair Henderson would not see his child want or need. She would be cared for, even if she could never know his name or her connection to him.
"I understand," Elise murmured in the dark. Her own eyes were bright with their shared tears. "And I thank you for your care."
"There is no need."
A quiet fell between them. Each was lost in their own thoughts, staring upon the child around whom their turmoil spun.
Having found her mother's knuckle on which to suck, the child was quiet now. Suckling sounds mingled with the crack of firewood. It was a sweet and nostalgic sound of home.
Inhaling, long and slow, Alasdair rearranged his cloak. His feet shifted, and his gaze flickered to his companion, who watched like a wraith in the corner.
Beyond his promises, there was little more he could offer to Elise this night. His very presence, in fact, was a potential injury to her and her family's reputation.
He knew that he had to leave.
One last need, however, drew his gaze back to the baby. The infant blinked open pale eyes. Eyes of greyish-blue.
Alasdair swallowed hard.
"May I know her name?" he asked.
Elise smiled with a devotion only found in fresh mothers, her bond with their baby already violently strong. She looked upon the child now, their eyes locking and her embrace drawing the baby close.
"She will be Arabelle," she said.
1
Bell giggled as the fluffy little creature wriggled its nose. The way it fluttered and snuffled was adorable.
"Steady on, wee thing," Arabelle chided when the doxie leaf disappeared beneath its fidgetting nose. "There is much to be had, and Mother says to eat with haste is to waste."
