"It's mine."
Scattering another shovelful of dark, rich soil over the slowly rising mound, Micah looked up, meeting the dark eyes of his twin, noting instantly a look of pain that ran soul deep in the blue pools. Not sure what Jacob was even talking about, he shook his head in confusion and rubbed a filthy hand over his sweaty brow, the motion leaving a dark brown smear above his eyes before he turned back to his task. "What's yours, Jacob?"
"The baby. It's mine."
"Huh?" Turning back, Micah eyed his twin querulously, disbelief drawing his full lips down into a thin pale line. "Annie said the girl was fairly new here. Livin' alone, in a shack down the road from Kiah. I doubt she's even been here long enough for it to be yours."
Groaning in exasperation, Jacob dropped his own shovel. The metal clanged sharply when it bounced off a rock half embedded in the grass covered earth. "Look," he said, stepping over to where Micah was standing. Long fingers splayed wide, he counted backwards, naming the months as he did. "See. I slept with her not two days after we moved into the cabin, during the mid-Winter festival. The baby is mine."
"Y'all can't count, Jacob. Pregnancy lasts nine months; it's only been seven since then. It ain't yours." Micah's tone held a touch of derision. Rolling his eyes at his twin's self-gratifying audacity, he turned away.
"It- she, it is a girl-baby, was born early, at least six weeks early. Annie said so."
Rounding on his brother in sudden irritation, Micah growled at him. "Everyone knows that's one of the nights when everyone screws everyone, Jacob! The festival ain't nothin' but a mass orgy, the last big hurrah until Beltain. That baby could be anyone's, and y'all damn well know it!"
Jacob's eyes glittered ferally, teeth gleaming in a ferocious sneer that gave him a wolfish air. "She's Mine!" he roared at the top of his lungs, the muscles of his neck bulging with the effort to control his raging temper. "The girl was a virgin... I took her virginity, Micah, just like you took Ailill's. I liked her, she reminded me of McKell. I spent the entire fucking night with her! Is that clear enough for ya?"
Dumbfounded, Micah could only nod. The girl had looked vaguely familiar when he had seen her face, before it was covered in a fresh winding cloth by Ailill and her mother as they prepared the body for burial, though, at the time, he hadn't known why. And then, suddenly, the reason struck him like a slap in the face.
It was highly unusual for Jacob to bring any girl home with him; usually he was content to either lift his kilt where he stood or to go home with whomever his conquest happened to be at the time. During that festival, though, he had brought a girl home; a small, dark haired girl with aqua-blue eyes and full, pouty lips. He had thought her to be very pretty, Micah recollected, seeing again the light eyes peeking out from behind Jacob's back like a startled doe as he passed by after Jacob had kicked him out of their room for the night.
The noise alone would have been enough to wake Micah from a drug induced coma. The very pretty young woman had been a screamer. Remembering that his father had been away for the night, at his own sordid affair no doubt, Micah could easily recall the relief he had felt when his brother had at last exhausted his supply of erotic pleasures on the excessively noisy girl. Not wanting to chance having her there when Kiah came home, a highly satisfied Jacob already dead to the world, Micah had walked the embarrassed girl home in the dark hours of pre-dawn, holding her chilled, bone-thin arm with a firm grip to keep her on her feet as he walked across the snowy fields using only the pale moonlight to see. The girl had held his hand tightly and thanked him in a softly drawled accent before she went inside her own one-room shack; the same girl who's pale belly had had to be sliced open like a dead fish in order for Ailill's tiny hands to retrieve the life within the lifeless womb. Eyes darkened with the truth of the memory, so blatant before him, he spun toward his twin with a look of absolute reproach.
"Why, ya damn fool bastard! What the hell were ya thinkin'?"
Violently, Jacob shoved past, stalking away with stiff movements, and Micah stared after him in surprised silence, unsure of what to make of this new twist on the ever changing drama which seemed to be making up their lives with Ailill; wondering whether they would suddenly be left without her because Jacob had developed a terrible case of satyriasis since McKell had died. It seemed to Micah that his twin had indiscriminately slept with nearly every woman he had met since that fateful day and he couldn't help but question, in his own troubled mind, how many other children Jacob might have sired using nothing more than natural good looks, a strong sexual appetite, and a willingness to please anyone who managed to catch his eye as he strove to forget his own heart.
More exhausted than she realized after a long, heartrending night spent on an emotional roller coaster ride, Ailill dozed off where she sat, the overstuffed sofa in the cozy living room soft enough to lull her into a blissfully dreamless sleep. The infant, exhausted herself after voraciously gulping down two ounces of Annie's specially made baby formula, was cuddled belly-down against the warm fullness of Ailill's breasts as if it came naturally to the young woman, an everyday occurrence despite her already full lifestyle; as if being a mother figure was one of the many Fates allotted her, though one, by the look of it, which she would much more readily accept without question.
Slowly, Micah sat down, careful not to jostle Ailill, loathe to wake his love because the dark half moons beneath her eyes spoke of much more than mere exhaustion, the crease between her cinnamon brows only a small sign that, even in sleep, her mind was troubled by her own suppositions as to the mysterious visit from the tall, elfin Highlander, who was truly as darkly beautiful as Micah knew, deep in his heart, himself and his twin to be. He and Jacob, both, had heard the byplay between her mother and herself, drawn down the hallway after they had arrived by the sharp scent of freshly shed blood; a whole freaking lot of it. The sound of voices had stayed the brothers only a few feet from the door, both young men unselfconsciously eavesdropping on a conversation which had obviously been thought private. When he'd realized that she was crying, really crying, releasing a flood of emotional tidewaters, Micah had wanted badly to go in and comfort Ailill. Jacob had stopped him with a quick shake of the head, his twin wishing to hear all of what Ailill might reveal in her husky, cathartic ranting, Jacob's own face paling at the realization of what he was hearing; the suppositions running rampant in his mind, though he had never told Micah a thing about any of it; had never lain with the dark haired girl again.
Jacob's child.
Even as the thought whispered at the back of his mind, Micah tried to dispel it. One thing only could reveal the truth, as far as Jacob's involvement was concerned, and he leaned in close to the swaddled newborn, nostrils flaring wide at the scent of Ailill's natural pheromone mixed with the sweet smell of the milk which had dribbled out of the side of the tiny, perfectly shaped mouth, carefully extricating the hand sized bundle from Ailill's sleep slackened arms to look for the proof of his brother's claim. Moving the edges of the soft blanket aside, he stared in open-mouthed wonder at the tiny, perfectly formed being laid bare before his eyes. A girl she most certainly was, he could not help noticing, and with a shock of silky black hair that, almost by itself, proclaimed her paternity to be that of the unapologetically dominant Morna genes. Oh yes, he knew the tales Ailill had revealed had at least a modicum of truth to them. That much he'd gleaned from the constant dream visits from his supposed brother, Tiernan MacDuff.
It had been many years since he had held a baby, but he remembered, quite vividly, that his own siblings, especially his little sister, Noelle, had looked exactly like this one when they had been born. His gaze traveled slowly over the tiny body, taking in every minute detail. Ten fingers, ten toes, each one tipped with paper-thin nails. Long black lashes swept open and then shut after the dark colored eyes focused and lit briefly on his face, as if she knew by instinct that she was safe in his care. No longer able to put off the reason he had picked the infant up in the first place, Micah's eyes moved d
irectly to her slightly protruding belly, blinking in disbelief at the sight of smooth, ruddy flesh, unblemished by the birthmark he had been expecting to see. Looking back and forth across the tiny torso, still not seeing what he knew in his heart should be there, he sat back wearily, uttering an inaudible sigh of discontent. He was torn between a sense of relief, that the mark was not there, and confusion, as to why it was not. Micah knew his twin. Jacob had spoken plain enough. The newly born girl was his; he would not claim it as truth if it were not, in fact, true. Therefore, by all rights, the five dots should have shown up plain as day on the baby whom his twin had started. He did not understand it at all, and he realized, quite suddenly, that he did not understand most things going on in his life of late. Life with Ailill was proving to be a never ending series of intriguing riddles and unanswered questions. It was becoming annoying, to say the least.
The baby squirmed ever so slightly and he took one last look, still not quite able to believe his eyes, before Micah carefully swaddled her in the square of buckskin and laid her across his own chest, a smile hidden behind his closed eyes, in the upturned corners of his mouth, as the soft belch that had been about to make her cry came burbling up with surprising volume. The softness of her, the absolute vulnerability in the too small body, the featherlight weight upon his broad chest, filled the man with a sudden sense of possessiveness unlike anything he had as yet experienced in his life and he clung to the feeling with a mental grip that sent his mind reeling.
She's mine.
A soft gasp of surprise, barely audible though it came from the woman only a foot away, made Micah's eyes spring open, shocked by the fact that he had obviously uttered the words aloud. Blinking at his own faux pas, his dark eyes met Ailill's with a sudden gleam in the deep blue orbs, narrowed as if daring her to challenge his claim.
"She's mine," he repeated in a louder voice, looking away from the pain that suddenly flared up in the eyes of his occasional lover and friend, knowing that Ailill would see that he was lying if he held her gaze. "As you pointed out before, it don't take full penetration to start a baby." It was mean, he knew, to throw that back in her face, unfeeling as it sounded, but even with the claiming of the infant, Micah, selfishly, wished for Ailill to know that it was she by whom he had been deflowered.
"No, it doesn't," she answered softly. "But it does take a man's seed, and it wasn't your name that the lass uttered while in the throes of labor." She watched him closely, seeing the deep flush that crept up from the collar of his shirt, staining his sculpted cheeks with a rather sickly purple shadow. "Nor was it your twin's."
His head snapped up in surprise. "But...Jacob said-"
"No matter, Micah. It doesn't signify," Ailill cut him off sharply, a fire burning in the sapphire depths of her eyes. "If you wish to lay claim to the wee bairn as your own, I won't challenge you, nor the honor you give her and her mother's spirit in so doing. It's right and good of you to wish the best for her, as she hasn't a name, nor a reason to even to live upon this cursed earth. You honor the spirits of all who have walked the same precarious path of dark and light into the shadowy realm with the claim you have made, whether it's true in body or heart." Looking away, toward the doorway, she gazed solemnly into the eyes of Jacob, who had been silently standing guard since his twin had first sat down, awaiting his own turn to study the child he believed he had started. He looked as guilt-ridden as a lad who had accidentally murdered his own best friend and Ailill's heart thumped most painfully to see that the man had obviously been working through some overwhelming emotional angst. His eyes were bloodshot, the lids red and puffy from crying; the glossy mass of his hair was disheveled, as if he had literally been ripping it from his scalp with hands so bruised and battered that she wondered how he could stand there without showing the pain of at least one broken knuckle. "Neither of you are the father, she isn't your bairn, but your concern is not the least bit untoward, as the bitty wee lass is, evidently, of your blood."
It took a long moment for her words to sink in, both men blinking in confusion at what sounded like yet another Highlander's bewildering play on words. And yet, there was a sadness in her eyes and a look of such candor that it had the impact in both of their intelligent minds that she had been hoping for. Flashing her a direct look, Jacob stepped into the room and strode over to where the swaddled infant lay sleeping in his twin's strong arms. Realization burned brightly in his dark blue eyes as he carefully scooped up the tiny thing for a close, scrutinizing look.
"That fuckin' bastard," he growled at last. "No wonder she looks like Noelle." Micah's head shook almost violently in denial even as Jacob whispered, "she's our baby, alright. Our baby sister."
"Kiah?" Micah said after a pause. "But, how?"
"How d'ya think, Micah? He screwed Angel, obviously around the same time I did." The bitterness in his tone touched Ailill deeply, and her eye was drawn up to his perfect face, to his reddened eyes, now burning with righteous indignation. "No wonder she didn't want me when I went back to see her. Hell, he probably abused her, as cruel as he is. What a fuckin' shit!"
"Well, whether he may have abused her or not," Micah replied in a calm tone, "he did make her pregnant, and now the girl is gone and her baby, his baby, is still alive." His gaze flicked briefly to where Ailill was sitting, a throw pillow clutched to her belly as if the small weight could keep her still. She badly wanted to tell them all that she had heard from the mouth of the dying young woman, but she was purposely staying out of it, waiting to see how these men, who had much on their proverbial plates that neither even knew of yet, would chance to resolve this particular Gordian knot; there would be no slicing it in two with the gleaming blade of a sword this time. It was yet another test, perhaps cruel of her to allow them their own unfounded beliefs, but she'd been through plenty of tests, knew the ways around them without actually cheating; it was simply for the best that she remain closemouthed, for now. There was a hopefulness in her eyes that Micah could not easily dismiss. He wondered what it was that she held back, dismissed the thought as quickly as it had come.
"We will lay claim to the baby," he added softly, giving his twin, and then Ailill, an even look. "We will both claim paternity, and we'll raise her as if she were our own daughter. It is our right."
Jacob's handsome face cleared at once, as if he had been struck with a sudden epiphany. His dark head bobbed in agreement, making a glossy wave fall from the widow's peak atop his forehead and slide forward, half covering his face. He looked down at Ailill, saw the way she was looking at him, and paled, suddenly stricken. "Unless you don't want us to?"
It was a question, not a statement, and Ailill breathed an inaudible sigh of relief that he had thought to ask. The full truth of the matter could come later. Much later. A slow smile spread across her face, lighting up her features until she very nearly glowed. "I wouldn't have it any other way," she answered truthfully, a tone of pride evident in her husky voice which said far more than her words had, touching them both deeply. Laughing softly as a feeling of tremendous relief spread over her, Ailill reached for the infant, cuddling the warm body as if she were holding a doll, as if she were truly the child's mother.
Jacob and Micah exchanged a glance at the sight, both suddenly feeling the urge to cry, to laugh; in relief, and in fear; to put the baby to bed so that they both could take their beautiful, fiery love to bed and show her all of that; to do all of those things which they knew could send her into sweet oblivion. All of this showed clearly in the eyes of each man when Ailill looked up. Her eyes glowed softly in answer, the slight weight in her arms a vivid reminder that much had still to be done. The two men smiled, understanding well what she was about. Death, and the ordeal of having to bury a tiny woman who had not even lived long enough to see true adulthood, had a tendency to fill a man with an almost overwhelming need to bury his sorrows deeply between a responsive lovers thighs.
"Well then, my bonnie raven loves," Ailill breathed softly, her fingertips stroking the silken
hair atop the newborn's head. She was smiling; that secretive smile that hid her true thoughts, though not her feelings, from view. "What will you be calling this bitty wee lassie? Now that you've asserted that she will have a surname, and a very good one at that, I might add, she will need a first name, to start. We shall give her an honorable naming ceremony once we have more people here to bless her with any rights she will have, she being the daughter of... fine men such as yourselves. I believe we could work that in during the days to come, so that all will know she is your daughter as well as a part of the clan."
Although it was a bit of a surprise when both Jacob and Micah immediately spoke up, naming the infant in unison as if they had already discussed the subject, Ailill took no real notice of the look in each man's eyes above her as they said it. Instead, she looked down, smiling into the deeply colored, unfocused eyes of the newborn baby girl. "McKell MacDuff nic Morna," she said softly. "Such a sweet, bonnie name for a sweet, bonnie lass. You're father's have got very good taste, have they not?"
The infant flourished over the next few weeks. With the help of everyone who lived at Hidden Jewel, and the constant feeding of 'Annie's Miraculous Mama Milk', as the two men aptly dubbed the concoction which made up the sweet baby formula, the tiny girl grew healthy and strong, looking more like the chubby newborn she should have been with each passing day. True to their word, Jacob and Micah took the care of Baby McKell to heart, taking turns with her throughout the long days and nights, when someone else hadn't gotten to her first. Though neither wished to move into Hidden Jewel, the cozy cabin being their first real home without the constant rule of Kiah, most of their time was spent there. To Ailill, it looked as if the men had truly found the love which they had been seeking for so long. She, as well, felt quite captivated each time she set eyes upon the silky raven curls, the eyes which, after the first week, held just a touch of a promise that they would be the same glacier blue as her true sire, as her poor unfortunate mother, lost souls within the Histories. It was getting on time for yet another trek, this one less brutal than the last; it was time to open up her sight to its fullest, to search for the wee bairn's own lost history.
Hidden Jewel (Heartfire Series) Page 31