Page 106 of The Laird’s Wrong Wife

Muriel’s mouth twitched. “I also noticed ye had to sit twice as we worked last week, but I didnae want to say anythin’ about it. Now I’m concerned. Is this somethin’ that has been happenin’ recently?”

“Risin’ has become difficult, even when I sleep deeply.”

“And yer appetite?”

Ceana glanced at the closed door. “Sometimes breakfast turns me stomach. There have been mornings when I pushed the food away.”

Muriel lowered her voice. “Do yer breasts feel sore or heavy?”

Heat crept up Ceana’s face. “Aye. I think I’m goin’ to have me courses soon.”

“When did they last come?”

“Before the weddin’. Long absences are ordinary for me, since I cannae bear children.”

Muriel’s eyes narrowed.

“Who told ye that?”

Ceana opened her mouth, but no answer came at first.

“Ye can tell me,” Muriel said, her voice reassuringly calm.

“I am the second daughter of a second daughter. Daphne was born only minutes before me. The women in me maither’s family spoke of the pattern all me life. When me courses came irregularly, I believed they were right.”

“Did any healer examine ye?”

“Nay.”

“Did ye ever have reason to believe that conception had failed? Were ye with any other man before me brother?”

Ceana’s fingers twitched around the cup. “Oscar is the only man I’ve been with.”

Muriel sat opposite her. “Bein’ born second doesnae reduce yer chances of conception, Ceana. Monthly courses arenae always regular, and a family tale cannae decide what yer body may or may nae do.”

She considered Ceana for another moment. “Yer courses have stopped, and this fatigue began before today. Food turns yer stomach, yer breasts are tender, and ye are pale and dizzy.” She leaned forward, her voice quiet but firm. “All of that points to one thing, Ceana—ye are with child.”

Ceana stared at her. The cup warmed her fingers, yet she could no longer feel it. One hand dropped from the cup and settled on her belly before she knew it. “What did ye just say?”

Muriel’s face softened. “Ye are carryin’ a child.”

For a minute, Ceana was stunned. Then a laugh broke past her lips, small and startled. Tears followed before she could take another breath. She set down the cup and placed her other hand on her belly, pressing both palms to the flat plane beneath her gown.

For years, she had pictured herself tucking Daphne’s children in their beds and returning alone to a chamber without a cradle. She had expected to remain the useful aunt while Daphne became a wife and mother. Now, all she could think of was Oscar on their wedding night.

She remembered his weight over her and his hand holding hers against the bed. She remembered the warmth of his seed inside her, then the care with which he had cleaned and covered her afterward.

“Me bairn,” she whispered.

Muriel waited while Ceana laughed through her tears and stroked the place that held nothing she could yet feel.

“Do ye want me to be with ye when ye tell Oscar?” Muriel asked.

Ceana shook her head. “Say nothin’ yet. Give me time to tell him meself.”

“Then I shall.”

Muriel helped her into dry clothes and made her take several careful steps before permitting her to leave.