How life had changed for her, for Euan, for Rob. Wed or no, they were a family and their daughter completed them. Soon the baby slept, and all others but them slipped away from the bedchamber. Rob had stood silently by while auld Mhairi and the midwife gushed, and now Morag gave him a verbal nudge. “Well, now, Rob what do you think of your wee sister?”
“Aye,” Euan added, “For once you’ve had naught to say, which isn’t like you.”
In answer, he craned his neck and took another look at the tiny bundle Morag held. She awaited his comment.
For once, Rob dawdled, looked some more, then said, “I thought after all the fuss about the chance of her killing you, she would be a lot bigger,” he said with the honesty of youth.
Her initial glance was at Euan, the man who had stayed by her side for every hour she had laboured, then turning to their son, a blush heating her cheeks, said, “Your father will explain that to you,” she began until Euan interrupted, with a loud bark of laughter, and she huffed. “There have to be some matters to teach your son that are every bit as important as the best way to wield a battle-axe.”
“That I will, Morag, but not at this moment, later. Off you go lad, I’ll come down and share supper with you, but for now, your mother needs her rest.”
As soon as Rob quit the room, Euan lay down on the bed beside her. “I’ve been waiting until I could be alone with my two lasses,” he whispered.
Slipping an arm under her shoulders, he supported both her and the baby at an angle where he could easily observe them both. “Have you decided on a name, now that we know it really is a lassie?” he asked. Then, voice softening, he suggested, “She looks much like you, don’t you think?”
Morag looked down on her daughter’s softly formed features and marvelled that Euan could see any resemblance. Of course when he looked at his daughter it was with love—the kind he had shown to her in the months they’d spent waiting for this day. “I thought you might like to choose her name, since I picked Rob’s.”
“Very well, I think we should call her Margaret, after the Queen.” He reached out a finger to trace the velvety skin of his daughter’s cheek.
She lifted an eyebrow, “You would make this political?”
“What, no? Acquit me of playing politics. I had the notion because, although I’m not superstitious,” he said with all seriousness, “I can’t help but wonder if the rosary she gave me played a part in our daughter’s safe delivery.”
“And so, we will name her Margaret,” she replied softly, ignoring the absurdity of Euan’s contention that he wasn’t superstitious—this from a man who had fashioned his way of life around a curse.
It was enough for Morag to know that her Chieftain loved her too much to ever make her his wife.
About the Author
Frances Housden lives in New Zealand—a beautiful country not so very different from Scotland, where she was born. She began her career as a published writer after winning Romance Writers of New Zealand’s prestigious Clendon Award. She went on to pen six very successful novels for Silhouette Books, where she merged her penchant for characterisation with her love of suspense. She is now delving into the world of historical romance, using her love of history to take her readers on an exciting trip into the lives of memorable characters.
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ISBN: 9780857990242
Title: The Chieftain’s Curse
Copyright © 2013 by Frances Housden
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All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.
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