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“Why, I have nae idea where they are.” Branwen made a pretense of looking flummoxed as she gazed around. “Surely, they must be nearby. They’ve been so verra eager to see their da.”

Another stifled giggle floated from the alcove farther along the corridor, and the sea-foam green drapery fluttered the merest bit.

“Och, ’tis too bad Meddy, Eliot and Errol arena here. I brought gifts home for them,” Bryston said.

The three exploded from their hiding places, dashing straight toward their parents. Meddy had his hair but her mother’s gray eyes. The boys had inherited Branwen’s raven-black hair, but their eyes were a startling blue. Branwen said her father’s eyes had been blue.

“Da, ye have a gift for us?” Meddy asked, her best friend panting at her side. The two had been inseparable since Alba first laid eyes on the lass.

“What is it, Da?” Errol asked, holding his brother’s hand. “A sword?”

“A dagger? Dirk?” Grinning, Eliot swiped his hair off his forehead.

Someone had been filling his son’s head with stories about pirates and buccaneers again.

Branwen gave him a contrite look and a half-shrug. “’Tis how I get them to fall asleep when ye are nae home. I tell them about yer adventures.”

Bryston cleared his throat. “Ahem. Och, well.”

He did not like the idea of his sons and daughter following in those footsteps.

Meddy laid a small hand on Branwen’s belly and leaned in to speak to the infant. “Hello, wee bairn. Please be a lass.” She cut her brothers, now pretending to sword fight with an impatient glance. “I’m already outnumbered.”

Branwen took her hand. “Well, if we count Alba, there are three lasses and three laddies.”

For a moment, Bryston thought their daughter might be mollified, but after a few seconds, she shook her head. “Nae, I love Alba, but she canna talk to me.”

Collecting one of his son’s hands in each of his, he canted his head toward the butler.

Stoute smiled fondly as he opened the door Bryston had passed through not more than five minutes ago.

“Close yer eyes,” Bryston told his children.

Obediently, they shut their eyes as he and Branwen led them outside.

Alba barked excitedly, and the children’s eyelids popped open.

Three sturdy Shetland ponies stood in a neat row, a groom holding each by a harness.

“Ponies!” The twins whooped in unison, jumping up and down.

“Da, we each get one?” Wide-eyed in wonderment, Meddy clapped her hands.

“Bryston, why dinna ye tell me?” Branwen gave him a reproachful look, but her brilliant smile belying any true censure.

“The gray one is for Meddy, the black for Eliot, and the bay for Errol.” He’d decided on the way home it was better to not let the children choose. Meddy’s was slightly larger, and Errol’s was the most docile.

“Can ye calmly approach them?” he asked, looking to his sons and then Meddy. “Ye dinna want to scare them.”

“Aye, Da,” they chorused.

Bryston released the boys’ hands, and Branwen released Meddy’s.

As their children greeted the ponies, he drew his wife to his side. “I have something for ye too.”

She gazed at him with adoration, and his heart plopped at her feet.

“Ye ken, I dinna need trinkets and baubles.”