Page 93 of The Laird’s Wrong Wife

His hand went still against her face.

“Even if she kept lovin’ us—” She broke off, her grip tightening on his tunic. “She could…”

Oscar waited while she pressed her lips together. Her next breath shook against his chest.

“Ma died givin’ birth to Tommy,” she whispered. “If Ceana has a bairn, she could die too. We could lose another maither.”

Her words dredged up memories he would rather have remain buried forever. He could feel Tommy’s little body in his arms again, wrapped too loosely because his hands would not obey him. A pool of blood spread across the sheets on the bed as the healer covered his wife’s face.

His grip on Paisley tightened until she shifted against him. He loosened it at once and cupped her head in his palm.

“Nay one is leavin’, do ye understand?” he said, his voice gentle. “Nay one is dyin’.”

Paisley gripped his tunic while he brushed tangled hair away from her damp cheek.

“Nay one is dyin’.”

Her shoulders continued to shake for several breaths. Oscar stayed beside her until she calmed, his cheek resting on the crown of her head. When her hands finally relaxed against his back, he kissed her hair.

“Will ye sit here a little longer?” she asked.

“As long as ye need.”

When she straightened, she made him promise that Tommy would hear nothing of her tears. Oscar walked her to her room eventually and watched her step inside.

Later, he found Mairi near the lower hall, directing a servant who carried a stack of mended blankets. He waited until the man was out of earshot.

“Me Laird, is there anythin’ I can⁠—”

“There will be nay more talk of future bairns where the children may hear it,” he said, cutting her off.

Mairi glanced toward the stairs. “Has someone upset them?”

“I just want that talk to stop.”

Her gaze returned to him. “Aye, me Laird.”

Oscar crossed the hall toward the garden passage. Through the open arch, he saw Ceana sitting on the low wall in the afternoon sun. A handful of small white flowers lay in her lap, while Tommy held up another for her inspection. Ness had planted her front hooves against the stones and was stretching her neck toward the blossoms.

Ceana caught the goat’s nose in her palm and pushed her back. Tommy laughed, and she joined him, her face tilted toward the boy.

Oscar stopped beneath the arch. He knew the warmth of Ceana’s body under the covers and the quiet sound she made when she settled against his chest. Each night beside her required him to refuse what they both wanted. One lapse in that restraint could put a child inside her.

Paisley’s teary face returned to him. So did Tommy’s fragile little body and the blood all over the birthing bed.

Paisley had called Ceana their mother, and Tommy already reached for her whenever he was frightened. Another pregnancy could leave them both beside a bloodied bed.

Another pregnancy could break him.

He took a breath, then stepped into the garden and went to speak with his wife.

CHAPTER 23

Ness jerked her head aside as Ceana brought the ends of the flower chain together. The unfinished crown slipped over one horn and hung beneath her jaw.

“The large one belongs on this side,” Tommy said, pointing to the goat’s left ear.

Ceana caught the flowers before Ness trampled them and moved the white bloom where Tommy had chosen. She felt a faint pull in her healing wrist as she twisted the stem around the chain.