“Of course I do. Why would I not want children with the woman I love?”
“Because whatever children we have will have a very good chance of having some sort of gift. I know I mentioned this before, but you said you did not care. I wondered if you still felt that way after meeting my family.”
“After meeting your family, I feel even stronger about it. Yes, they have skills I simply do not understand and may never do so. But the ones I have met are loyal, loving men and women. A child could not ask for a better family. If our child is born with a gift, they will all help in the raising to make sure the child understands the gift and uses it correctly. So, yes, I want a child with you. Do not worry about what I might say if there is a Vaughn or Wherlocke gift that comes with the baby. I will love any and all of the children we have, even if they can see ghosts.”
Alethea was almost weak with relief. “I hope this child does not have too strange a gift. You will want to adjust to such things before a second one comes along.”
Hartley propped himself up on his elbows and stared at her. “Alethea?”
She took his hand and placed it low on her belly. “Olympia told me there was a child the day we saved you, but I had no sign of it yet. Now I have. Yes, Hartley, you will become a father in seven or eight months.”
He stared at her belly, nearly completely covered by his hand, and then looked at her. It took a moment for the news to really sink into his mind, and then Hartley felt a stinging in his eyes. He blinked quickly and gently kissed the place where his child grew. A heartbeat later he sat up and stared at her in horror.
“My God, woman, I just made love to you on the stairs!”
“And the kitchen table and the desk and—”
“But you were with child while I was doing that.”
He looked so horrified, so afraid he had hurt her in some way, that Alethea was able to swallow her laughter. “It did not hurt the baby. You made love to me in odd places, Hartley—you did not bounce me down the stairs or the like. I am fine. The baby is fine. And we will both be fine no matter how often or where you make love to me.”
With a sigh that was filled with both relief and disbelief, he pulled her into his arms. “I love you, and I already love the child. I do not suppose Olympia said which it was?”
“No, only that there is a child. I may be wrong, it may be just a wish to please you with an heir, but I think it is a boy.”
“Do you have any names you dearly wish to use?”
“No. I think you do, though, do you not?”
“Yes, I would like to name the first girl after my sister and the first boy after my brother. They both died too young.”
“Then that is what will happen. I always wanted a child, but, due to the sort of names our family has, I always imagined they would be called Mary or John. Something common. I am already impatient to meet him. It will be a long wait.”
“And worth every month.” He kissed her. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
“And I think we ought to celebrate.”
“Really? How?”
He leapt out of bed, picked her up, and grabbed the blanket. “We have not made love in the wine cellar yet.”
Alethea wrapped her arms around his neck and laughed all the way down the stairs.
Epilogue
“Alethea, where are you?”
“In the parlor, Germaine,” Alethea yelled back. “I hear that tone in her voice, Justus,” she said to her son, who stared up at her with his father’s eyes. “She is just a little too happy.”
A moment later Germaine swirled into the room. She curtsied to Alethea and then to her young cousin Justus, who was struggling to pull himself up on his feet. Only nine months old and already tired of being an infant, Alethea thought lovingly.
She then looked at Germaine and nearly groaned. By the look of it, Germaine thought she was in love—again. For a girl who was usually so mature and sensible, Germaine had revealed an alarming romantic streak that had her thinking she had met her true love every other month. She fell for a pretty face, elegant clothes, and fine manners much too easily. Neither she nor Hartley had the heart to deny her her fun, however, and they were also confident that she would never do anything foolish such as rush off to get married in the middle of the night or destroy her good name. However, Alethea really wished she would get over this falling-in-and-out-of-love stage she was stuck in.
“Who is the lucky man this time?” Alethea asked.
“Tristan Maccleby. Baron Maccleby.” Germaine placd her clasped hands on her heart and sighed dramatically. “He is the most handsome, the most dashing, the—”
“—most poverty-stricken, debt-ridden, whore-mongering piece of pretty man flesh that has ever donned a pair of breeches,” Alethea said, having made a close study of all the young men currently prancing around the ballrooms and parlors of the ton for just this reason.
Germaine stumbled to a halt and looked at Alethea in horror. “Are you certain?”
And this, Alethea thought, was another reason she and Hartley did not do anything about Germaine’s many romantic flights. The girl heeded them when they told her what they knew about the chosen one of the day. She trusted them to always tell her the truth, and they treated that trust with all the respect it deserved.
“Afraid so. He is only welcomed everywhere because his father is a powerful duke.”
Germaine sighed and flopped down on the settee next to Alethea. Unfortunately, her action caused young Justus to fall down. He landed on his well-padded bottom and frowned at Germaine. Alethea laughed softly, for he looked very much like his father when he frowned, even though he had her black hair.
“Oh, I am so sorry, little man,” Germaine said and picked the boy up, kissing his cheek and apparently oblivious to the drool dripping onto her fine gown.
Alethea saw something when Germaine stretched out to get the boy and set her sewing aside. She inched up Germaine’s sleeve and frowned at the long scratch there. “How did you get this?”
“Oh, a group of us were out in Lady Gideon’s gardens, and I stumbled against a very large, very thorny rosebush. It was Lord Maccleby who helped me up, and he looked so much like a hero, with the sun glinting in his hair. You would never know to look at him that he is just a fortune-hunting, faithless, rutting swine. Oh, do not worry. It is just a scratch. It bled only a little.”
“I think I will still wash it and put some salve on it.”
Alethea stood up just as her son put his hand right on Germaine’s scratch. “Ah, no, sweet boy, that has not been cleaned yet.” She picked his hand off the scratch and gasped.
“What? Is it bleeding again?” Germaine looked at her scratch and frowned. “It is not nearly as red and ugly as it was a moment ago.” Her words slowed to a halt as she looked at Justus, who was wriggling in his mother’s arms in an attempt to get back on the floor. “But he is still just a baby! Should he not wait until he is older before he gets a gift?”
Alethea set her son down on the floor and then collapsed on the seat next to Germaine. “I know he is only a baby, but it sometimes happens that way. Our cousin Paul was only a toddling little boy when he began to get his warnings of danger. Maybe it is just that the air cooled off the cut, eased the irritation that made it red.” She searched in her sewing basket for a needle as Justus struggled to stand up again.
“What are you going to do with that?”
“Try to see if it was real or just that your irritation went away.” Alethea poked her fingertip with the needle. “Ow!”
Holding her breath, she stretched her hand out toward Justus. He frowned that adorable frown and grabbed her finger. To her astonishment and amusement, he gave the tip a loud, smacking kiss. All amusement fled, however, as she felt a distinct warmth that had nothing to do with baby drool. She knew what that warmth meant. She had never had a healer touch her who did not have that warmth. Gently taking her hand back, she looked at her finger and saw nothing.
“That could be the way of it.” Alethea had the sinking feeling it was not, however.
“Well, we cannot go around wounding ourselves and making him touch the wounds just to be certain. From what I recall of the healers that helped Uncle, healing anyone made them weak. We do not want to make poor little Justus weak.”
“No.” She looked at Justus, who had managed to get himself up on his feet and was bouncing up and down on his plump little legs. “He does not look as if he feels any weakness.”
Germaine looked at her arm again. “If he has a gift at such a young age, at least it is the healing one. That should be no great problem, should it?”
“Not unless he grabs someone who does not understand or is superstitious and heals some wound or illness. When a child gets his gift at such a young age, secrecy becomes very difficult to maintain.” She frowned. “Mayhap I should get Stefan and Darius over here.”
“You think they can help tell us if Justus is a healer?”
“Well, Stefan is one, and sometimes healers can sense each other. And Darius sees auras, and he says he is learning how to tell the aura of a seer from the aura of a healer and so forth. He felt it might be a useful thing in our family.”
“Then let us get them over here quickly.”
Even as Alethea got up to go to the bell pull and summon Cobb, she asked, “Why in such a rush? Justus is not going anywhere.”
“I would like an answer, and I think it would be very helpful if we have one for Hartley when he comes home.”
Alethea thumped her head against the door. “Oh hellfire.”
Although she knew they were doing their best, Alethea could not help pacing as she waited for Stefan and Darius to tell her what they did and did not know about Justus. Ever since Germaine had mentioned Hartley, she had been on pins and needles. He loved his son, and she had no doubt he would continue to love his son even if Justus proved to be gifted early. It would still be a shock, however.
“Well,” said Stefan as he set Justus down on the floor and brushed baby drool off his shirt. “I think you have yourself a very powerful healer.”
Darius nodded. “The aura is right.” He held out his hand. “And look there.”
She looked. “There is nothing there.”
“Exactly. When I arrived, I had a cut there. It was starting to heal, and then Justus touched it. I felt that warmth, Alethea. That warmth of a healer. And then I looked, and it was all healed. He is going to be a very powerful healer, Alethea. And look at him. He is not even wobbling. For such a small boy to heal a cut and not even get a little sleepy? Wonderful.”
Alethea dragged her hands through her hair and ignored the sound of hairpins dropping on the floor. “Oh, yes. Wonderful. Just what am I going to tell my husband?”
“I do not know. What are you going to tell your husband?”
That deep voice coming from behind her froze Alethea on the spot. She noticed that Germaine, Stefan, and Darius all blushed with guilt. Turning, saying nothing was wrong, and smiling was obviously not going to work now.
She turned to see Hartley frowning at Justus. He walked over and picked up his son, who gave him a big, loud, drooling kiss on his chin. After he looked the boy all over, he turned to Stefan.
“Is something wrong with my son?” he asked. “Is that why you are here, Stefan?”
Alethea rushed to Hartley’s side. “Oh, no, no. Nothing is wrong. Truly. I asked Stefan and Darius to come here because I think Justus is already showing signs of having a gift.”
“What? He is a baby.”
“I know.”
Alethea began to tell him all about Germaine’s cut, and how that had been healed and then poking her finger. She knew she was babbling but could not stop. She consoled herself with the fact that she was at least telling him the whole story. There was a lot included in the tale that did not need to be there, but she could not think clearly enough to stick to the exact points that needed to be told.
Hartley listened to his wife go on about Germaine’s latest infatuation, rose-briar scratches, pinpricks, drool, and calling on Stefan and Darius to discover the truth. When she finally stopped talking, he leaned forward and kissed her. Then he looked at Stefan.
“Justus is not sick,” he said.
“No,” Stefan answered.
“So you are here to find out something else about my son. About a gift?”
“Yes.” Stefan sighed. “Seeing as the women have been struck speechless, I will tell you that we are fairly certain that your son is already showing the signs of being a very strong healer.”
“I see.” Hartley looked at Alethea and then back at the others. “Perhaps, Germaine, you could take the young men to the kitchen and see if Mrs. Huxley has anything good to eat. And I thank both of you young men for coming so quickly in response to my wife’s call for assistance.”
“No trouble,” said Darius as he followed Germaine and Stefan out of the room. “It was wonderful to see the aura of a new, powerful healer. You should be very proud.”
Alethea looked at Hartley, who was staring at Justus. “I am sorry.”
He put his arm around her and pulled her close, then kissed the top of her head. “You have nothing to be sorry for. We both knew this could happen.” He chuckled. “I just did not expect it to happen to a child who cannot speak or walk yet and who seems to be an unending source of drool.”
“You are not upset?”
“Just answer me this—will there be more gifts?”
“No, I very much doubt it. Well, it is very rare for a healer to be anything more than a healer. There might be a tiny touch of something later, such as when he enters manhood, but nothing is as strong as the first gift that reveals itself.”
“So, I have a son who can heal people but still has three months to go before he is even one year old.”
“I am afraid so.” She stroked her son’s head. “He will be such a powerful one, too.”
“I love you,” Hartley said and kissed her.
“I love you, too.”
“Do not look so worried, love. I am not upset. A little uneasy, as he is too young to know how to be discrete, but not upset at all.” He grinned. “Hell, I have a very strong healer here. It could have been another Modred. Love the man though I do, I have dreaded the chance that our child could get his gift. No, Darius is right. I should be very proud, and I am. Now, since I know that Mrs. Huxley has baked gingerbread, I think we will wander down to the kitchens to celebrate.”
Alethea slipped her arm through his, and they started down to the kitchen. Olympia was right in what she had seen in her future. Alethea was very happy.
Dear Readers:
Hope you have enjoyed the tale of Alethea and Hartley. I’m leaving the Wherlockes for the next book and returning to visit the Murrays, the Highlands, and the heather. Sir Simon Innes—who appeared in both HIGHLAND WOLF and HIGHLAND SINNER—has been whining for his own story and his own special heroine. And who better for him than a Murray lass? A lass raised to be strong, quick of wit, adventurous, and destined to find trouble if it doesn’t find her first.
Ilsabeth Murray Armstrong is the daughter of Elspeth Murray and Cormac Armstrong from HIGHLAND VOW. Following in the footsteps of her illustrious ancestresses, she stumbles her way into a lot of trouble. She overhears her betrothed speaking with another man of a plot against the king. Before she can get home to speak to her parents she is warned that a man has been murdered, her dagger found in his heart, and that the king’s men were already searching for her.
Knowing that she cannot drag her family into the midst of such treachery and suspicion, she seeks out a man who has already saved two Murrays from the hangman—the dark, sober Sir Simon Innes. Ilsabeth finds him to be a man very much to her liking despite the distrust he reveals as she pleads for his help. She is not one to back down fr
om a challenge and sets her heart and mind on proving her innocence. But can she prove to him that she is the perfect woman for a man who is too much alone, his spirit burdened by the evils he has seen?
Sir Simon Innes is a man dedicated to finding the truth and he is not all that sure that the beautiful Ilsabeth is being completely honest with him. She may have Murray blood but she is also an Armstrong and they do not have a particularly sterling reputation. He finds himself tempted by her big blue eyes and her lively spirit, however, and is drawn deep into the danger and betrayal surrounding her. Passion soon rules them both and he risks his position as a king’s man to try and save her.
Oh, yes, Simon and Ilsabeth have a hard row to plow, enemies to fight, and doubts to conquer. Will she win? Or will treachery defeat all her plans? And what of Simon? Can he give his well-protected heart to a woman he is not sure he can trust?
After the tale of Simon and Ilsabeth I do plan to return to the Wherlockes. There are so many stories about their vast and gifted family that need to be told. I am thinking it is time the cocky, randy, but oh-so-charming Sir Argus Wherlocke gets his tale. He is certainly demanding one. Nudging at my mind even as I turn my attention back to the Murrays.
But what sort of woman would deal well with a man who has two illegitimate sons? A man who has bedded far too many women, starting at a very young age? A man who can make anyone tell him their deepest, darkest secrets?
She would have to be a very strong woman. She would also have to have some defense against that strange gift of his. After all, what woman wants a man who knows all her secrets? Where would be the mystery in that? Matching that arrogant rogue will not be easy but I know there is a woman out there ready to take him on. And I think Argus should have to work very hard to deserve her, don’t you?
Look for Highland Protector, coming in December 2010!
Here’s hoping you will enjoy a return to the Murrays!
If He’s Wild Page 28