He tugged her forward. The words would not come easily, but they needed to be said. Aila needed to hear them, to understand how very much she meant to him.
“Aila, even before the night we spent together in Ce I suspected I loved you. Even then I planned ways to convince you to leave your beloved homeland and come with me into Dal Riada.”
A single tear spilled from one eye and trickled along her cheek. The sight tore his heart. His Aila, who had never cried in front of him despite everything she had suffered.
“It was the reason I went insane at the knowledge you were promised to my half brother. The reason I tried to make you break your word.”
“I did not know,” she whispered as her other hand tenderly cradled his jaw. “I thought it was merely your wounded pride.”
He rested his forehead against hers, savored this moment and tried not to let the impending darkness cloud his heart.
“Connor.” Still cradling his face, she guided his other hand to press against her belly. The black fear roared once again and this time would not be subdued. “Can you not find it in your heart to love our babe? I truly don’t understand. Is it because you don’t want a family with me?”
Every word scorched his soul. The horrifying vision of Aila, bloodied and sliced open, filled his tortured mind.
“I don’t want to lose you.” The words were raw. “But God forgive me. I’d give almost anything for you to safely bear my child.”
“That’s the reason?” She sounded stunned. “Goddess, is that the reason you withdraw?”
What other reason could she imagine? And had she just called upon a goddess?
“I’ll ensure the best physicians attend you. They will travel to Ce for a royal birth.” MacAlpin would not argue when the fate of his blood-kin was at stake. Aila would survive. And then he recalled her other question and pain lashed through him. Was she concerned he could not—would not—accept this child? “Aila, there’s something else you should know. I do love this child. How could I not? It’s part of you. And part of my bloodline also.”
She stared at him, the silence growing taut between them. He didn’t know what else he could say, what else he could do to convince her but then she shook her head, as if attempting to clear her thoughts.
“You told me this child would inherit Dunfodla if it was a boy.” Her eyes were no longer shining with tears. “Why?”
Had she forgotten? “Because that’s the hill fort of Fergus’ forefathers, from his royal mother’s side.”
“Yes,” Aila said. “I know that. But what does that have to do with this babe?”
Heat seared through him as her implication rammed into his brain. But it couldn’t be. She had assured him that night it was safe. She had been adamant in her denial after the feast, when he’d dared to assume his seed might have planted within her.
He’d believed her. Believed Fergus, his king, even his mother. But all along, he had harbored the secret, despairing wish that her child was his.
Words failed. He pulled back, stared at her belly, as if the answer might miraculously appear before him.
“Oh, my love.” Aila’s sigh rippled through him. “I thought you knew and had rejected us both.” She flattened her hands against his chest. “Connor, Fergus and I did not consummate our union. He was incapacitated and I was scarcely willing. He didn’t touch me, do you understand? This child is yours, from our night together in Ce.”
His. Protectiveness surged through him, protectiveness and pride and a love so wild he feared it might tear him apart. He took her hands, hoped she couldn’t feel how they trembled and lost himself in the green depths of her beautiful eyes.
“I love you.” He couldn’t hide the way his voice cracked, but what did it matter? Only Aila was here. And Aila was all that mattered. “I love our child. And I swear to you, I will never put you through this again. One child is more than I ever dared to hope for with you.”
“Alas,” she said, sounding as if she wanted to laugh, or perhaps cry, “we are destined to have five children. I’ve discovered recently there’s no point in trying to alter some things. And this, I fear, is one of them.”
“Five?” He crushed the spike of elation. “No. I won’t tempt fate. We will have this one child and be thankful.”
Her fingers tightened around his and a soft smile touched her lips. “I denied my goddess’s wisdom for nine years. And now I know why she showed me those children. It wasn’t for me at all. It was for you.” She lifted his hand and brushed her lips across his knuckles. “To show you your future family. The children you will have with me.”
He wanted to believe her. But the fear lingered. Perhaps it always would.
“After we reach Ce, I have to return to Dal Riada.” But this time he had no intention of remaining there as he’d expected to before today. “But I’ll be back with you long before the birth.” He would not say such to Aila, although he knew she was fully aware, that with the death of King Bredei and imprisonment of Talargan, Connor was now the tacit King of Ce. He had a perfectly justifiable reason for traveling there without prior permission from MacAlpin, even if his king would not approve the relocation of his prized hostage.
But that didn’t concern Connor. When MacAlpin discovered Aila was with child, her comfort and safe delivery was all that would interest him.
“I will accompany you to Dal Riada.”
He dragged his knuckles, still clasped within her fingers, along her cheek.
“No. Stay with your kin. Where you belong.”
“I belong by your side, my lord. And that is where I intend to remain. Whether that is Duncadha, hill fort of your forefathers, Dunbrae, home of Fearchara, or Ce-eviot, in the palace of my ancestors.”
She had always possessed a regal air, a sense of serenity. But now, as he looked upon his wife, the mother of his unborn child, he was struck by a quiet aura of authority that he’d not been aware of before.
As though she had finally found her rightful place in the world.
His world.
Fierce pride and primal love gripped his heart and constricted his throat. “Our child,” he said, “will be born in the palace of his ancestors.”
He cradled the face of his beautiful, brave Pictish princess. The woman who had given him a new future to cherish. A new life to embrace.
Aila.
The End
About Christina Phillips
Christina Phillips is an ex-pat Brit who now lives in sunny Western Australia. She has always loved writing, and while her efforts in eighth grade usually involved space ships, time travel and unfortunate endings, as soon as she discovered romance novels a whole new world opened up.
She writes hot ancient historical romances about tough Roman warriors, sexy Highland warriors and deliciously bad vampires who, no matter how torturous their journey, are always guaranteed their happily-ever-after.
Christina welcomes comments from readers. You can find her website and email addresses on her author bio page at www.ellorascave.com.
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Her Savage Scot
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Her Savage Scot: 1 (Highland Warriors) Page 32