Page 92 of The Laird’s Wrong Wife

Oscar heard the maids before he turned into the upper passage.

“The fine linen would make sweet cradle cloths,” one said. “If Her Ladyship gives the Laird another bairn, Mairi will have us sewin’ until the end of the season.”

“I would sew gladly. The nursery has been quiet for too long.”

They came around the corner carrying a basket between them and stopped at the sight of him. Their hopeful smiles vanished as both curtsied so quickly that the folded linen slid sideways.

“Me Laird,” they murmured.

Oscar let them pass, and soon enough, their whispers resumed near the stairs.

Suddenly, a small, broken breath came from the window recess behind him. He turned and found part of his daughter’s gown caught in one of the closet doors.

“Paisley?”

The closet door shifted, and she came out with her chin raised and one sleeve pressed beneath her red-rimmed eyes.

“Is everythin’ all right?”

“Aye, I caught dust in me eyes.”

Oscar looked toward the shuttered window. “Aye.”

Her mouth tightened, and she turned her face toward the glass.

He sat at the far end of the window seat, and she remained standing until her jaw trembled. She plopped down beside him, keeping a handsbreadth between them.

He waited.

She picked at a loose thread on her cuff. “I ken I am twelve.”

“Aye.”

“I ken how bairns are made, and me courses have begun. I am too old to cry because two maids mentioned a cradle.”

He kept his eyes on her small fingers. They pulled the thread until it cut into the pad of her thumb.

“Did their talk frighten ye?” he asked.

Paisley released the thread. “When ye and Ceana have bairns of yer own, will ye forget Tommy and me?”

“Never.”

She shook her head at the speed of his answer, and a tear slipped down the cheek she had wiped dry. “I am old enough to ken that ye must say that.”

Oscar reached for her, and she threw her arms around him with a force that knocked the breath from his lungs. He hadn’t noticed how quickly time had passed. She had now grown too tall to fit beneath his chin as she once had.

“Ye will always have me, love,” he murmured into her hair. “Nay child could take yer place or Tommy’s.”

Her fingers twisted into the back of his tunic. “The women ye nearly married wanted sons. They spoke as if Tommy and I were a burden their children would have to endure.”

“Ceana chose Tommy before she kent his name. She helped him with Ness when they first met, remember? Ye are hers because she loves ye, nae because she has to love ye.”

“She may love her own bairn differently.” Paisley swallowed. “Women say that a maither does. Ceana may nae ken until she has one. Then Tommy and I could become the children she cared for while she waited for hers.”

Oscar wiped the tear from her cheek with his thumb. “There will be nay other bairn. I daenae intend to have one.”

Paisley studied him with Ceana’s stubborn directness, learned over weeks spent at her side. “Can ye promise what Ceana’s body will do?”