Page 38

Her words had been nonsensical, calling the bairn mine, but in that moment, they both were—her and the child.

Mine.

I leaned over to brush a kiss across her forehead.

“I love ye, Cataline.”

Her eyes flashed open in shock, her gaze met mine, just as the contraction hit.

She bore down with all her might, another mighty scream wrenched from her as a gush of weight and fluid hit my hands, and I caught her child.

“Oh, my God,” she whimpered, falling back against the log as I pulled her skirts out of the way to bring the bairn into our sight. As soon as the cold winter air hit him, the wee warrior opened his mouth in a scream as loud as his mother’s.

“A boy,” she choked, half-laughing, half-moaning. “A son.”

I wanted to answer, to tell her how proud I was of her, but I could do naught more than stare down at the tiny flailing body in my hands.

Because aye, Cataline’s son had her dark hair and dark eyes, and a wail as loud and stubborn as hers…

But mine too.

I swallowed, terrified and awed and confused.

Because the tiny bairn I held? The one Cataline had nurtured all these months?

His skin was green.

Mine.

She’d told me, hadn’t she? Not just the recent comments about your babe is killing me or my head of dark hair. She’d said she’d taken no other males to her bed, and I’d dismissed it as faulty counting because of what John told me.

In my arms the bairn screamed and kicked and I could do naught more than stare down in shock.

I’d had the audacity to believe that bastard over the female I now knew I loved? The one who…

“Palton’s Spear,” I whispered, the truth slamming into me so hard I nearly fell back.

If Cataline and I had been able to create a wee miracle like this… Slowly, I lifted my gaze to see her staring back at me in exhausted concern.

It meant she was… She was my Mate.

Suddenly, she gasped, throwing her head back and arching, her hands scrambling for purchase, and I remembered what she’d said about the afterbirth.

Fook fook fook fook!

Glancing frantically about, I scooped up the folded rags and wrapped the screaming bairn in them as well as I could, placing him on the pile to keep him from the cold ground as I turned to once more deal with his mother.

My Mate.

Torvor’s Hammer, my Mate.

Honestly, I couldn’t tell you what exactly I managed in the next hour. As the sun rose in the east, and Ewan emerged from the tent rubbing his bleary eyes and demanding to know what all the yelling was about, I cleaned Cataline and followed her exhausted instructions as well as I could.

I stripped her sodden skirts from her, dressing her in a clean chemise and wrapping her in blankets and shawls before packing the clean rags she’d had me prepare between her legs and laying her in the tent. Ewan seemed torn between worry about her and excitement at meeting his brother, so I sent him in after her as I washed the bairn in the water I’d warmed for him, and apologized repeatedly for the indignity.

“I’m sorry, dkaar,” I murmured, stroking the cloth over him. “Scream all ye want—ye have a right to be angry.”

My voice broke as I hefted the tiny body up to my eyeline, studying his miniature perfection.