Page 118 of The Laird’s Wrong Wife

Ceana placed her hand on her belly. She was still too early in her pregnancy to feel anything, but touching it gave her courage.

“Well, they’re growin’.”

Oscar’s eyes closed briefly. His hand dropped from the wall as he let out a slow breath through his nose. When he looked at her again, the strain around his mouth had deepened.

“Thank ye for answerin’.”

He remained where he was while more cheers erupted from the judges’ ground. His relief had earned him no promise, and he seemed to understand that.

“I accused ye of lyin’ when ye brought me the happiest news of yer life,” he rasped.

The memory returned vividly. She could see his hard stare across the study and how his question had stripped the joy from her before she had finished sharing it.

“Aye, ye did.”

Oscar lowered his gaze to the damp grass between them. “I ken what ye believed about bearin’ children,” he continued. “I had watched ye grieve the bairns ye thought ye could never have. Then I asked whether ye had deceived me.”

Ceana brushed her thumb over her skirt. “And what do ye call that now?”

His eyes met hers. “I was wrong.”

The plain answer held her still.

“I answered out of fear,” he said. “And I shouldnae have done that.”

He did not plead for forgiveness. Every fault remained where he had placed it—upon himself.

For the first time, he wasn’t thinking solely about himself.

Ceana glanced toward the fire trench. An attendant was spreading the embers while villagers gathered their children and collected empty cups.

“What do ye see now when ye think of this child?” she asked.

“MacKane already has an heir. This bairn is ours, and wanted because it is ours.” Oscar’s throat bobbed before he continued. “Havin’ a bairn with ye is the best thing that could have happened to me.”

Ceana sucked in a sharp breath. “Are ye still afraid?”

“Aye.” His answer came quietly. “I am afraid for ye. That fear hasnae gone.”

At least he was being honest. His fear would grow tenfold when her body began to change, when the birth drew close, and perhaps whenever she crossed a room too quickly for his liking.

“Do ye truly believe I didnae trick ye?”

“Aye,” Oscar answered before she could draw another breath. “I ken ye believed every word ye told me. Ye would never deceive me in such a way.”

Ceana searched his face. His gaze held hers, and his shoulders remained lowered rather than set for command.

“I kent ye better than the question I asked,” he said.

The drums changed rhythm again.

He gave her time to consider his answer, his open hands, and the space he had maintained between them. Then he took a step forward and asked the question that had been on his mind since the day had begun.

“Will ye come home, Ceana?”

Ceana swallowed thickly.

Home.