Time will tell.
She clung to that thought, stubbornly hugged it to her heart as her body swelled with Alex's child. And sometimes she fancied he was softening toward her. As spring turned to summer, he accompanied her on visits to the crofters. He listened silently while she solicited advice on child-rearing from the mothers in the village. And on the stroll home, he tolerated her delight in picking wildflow-ers, in walking barefoot through the heather, in stopping for a drink of icy-fresh water from a mountain stream.
Those lazy days encouraged her to hope he might grow to love her. She was content to put off resolving their problems until after the baby was born. That moment finally came on a sunny day in June.
ChapterNine
Her laughter drifted through the opened window of his office.
Normally Alex would have ignored his wife. He knew better than to seek out her company lest he be seized by useless longings. But this morning, the infectious sound of her merriment floated from somewhere outdoors, and curiosity proved stronger than his willpower.
Stepping outside, he saw that Flora had set up the round wooden laundry tub alongside the stream that meandered behind the house. Sunlight dappled the two women, both in mobcaps and plain work gowns.
Beautifully pregnant, Helen stood in the tub, her skirts hitched above her knees and her feet plunged into the wash water. The sight of her bare legs caused a shameful response in him. The feeling burned so fiercely he deflected it into anger.
Stones crunching beneath his boots, he strode across the yard. Helen saw him, and her expression lit with pleasure. With her rounded belly and the tendrils of golden hair framing her face, she looked like the goddess of fertility.
"Why the devil are you treading laundry like a peasant?"
The splashing of her feet ceased, though her eyes still danced. "It's too fine a day to sit sewing. And I was too restless, besides. So here I am."
"You'll fall and harm the bairn."
"Och, dinna be daft, Alex," she teased in a fair imitation of him. "I'm perfectly fine . . ." Her voice trailed off, and she rubbed her tailbone.
Frowning, he slipped an arm around her. "You're having pains."
"Only sometimes in my lower back."
"Since when?"
"Why, yesterday. It's the weight of the baby, Flora says." '
"Or the start of your labor," he said grimly. "Step out of there at once, and I'll examine you in my office."
No sooner did he help her over the side of the tub than a gush of liquid ran down her legs and into the grass. "Oh, my," she breathed, her eyes widening in shock.
Willing his hands not to shake, he lifted her into his arms. " 'Tis only your water breaking. The sac around the bairn."
She clung to his neck. "Then the baby will be born . . . today?"
" 'Twould seem so." He didn't mention the fears that leapt out to throttle him. Sometimes labor went on for days. Many women died in childbirth, or from a fever afterward. He had witnessed it himself, those times when even the finest-trained physician could do nothing .. .
Helen sucked in a sharp breath. Her fingernails pressed into his neck, and he felt the sudden tightening of her belly. "Breathe with the pain," he murmured in her ear. " 'Twill pass shortly." Lifting his head, he barked, "Flora, run on and ready the bed."
"Aye, m'laird." The older woman dashed toward the house.
Alex wasted no time in striding after her. Helen sighed as the cramp eased, and she buried her face in the crook of his neck. His mouth dry, he considered the ordeal ahead of her. She would endure agony in the hours to come. And there was little he could do to help her.
She suffered another pain as he was lowering her to the bed. The swiftness of it alarmed him. While Flora plumped the pillows, he rubbed Helen's lower back. He had seen prospective fathers pacing outside a croft, and he'd felt a mild sympathy. Now already he understood the frustration and powerlessness that a man felt for his laboring wife.
When the pain lessened, he unbuttoned her gown and helped her out of it. Turning to him, she smiled and touched his cheek. "Don't look so fierce, Alex. This is surely a happy occasion, for tonight I'll hold our child."
Her excitement astounded him. She looked determined and unafraid, completely trusting in him. Her tender blue eyes promised fulfillment of the hopes and dreams that had lain dormant within him for too long. He wanted to tumble into her warmth, to believe she would stay with him forever.
Then the pains struck quickly, mercilessly. As morning wore into afternoon, Helen uttered not a word of complaint, begging only a sip of water now and then, or asking him to massage her back. In between, she told him how much she wanted their baby to grow up here in the wild beauty of the Highlands. She talked of seeing him take his first steps and going on picnics. She would start a school so their child could learn in the company of the village children. With incurable longing, Alex wanted to believe her idyllic plans. But a part of him doubted. She could not truly mean to spend her life here.
By sunset, her resilience began to flag, and she closed her eyes between the waves of pain. Her golden lashes enhanced the delicacy of her flushed skin. During each contraction, she clung tightly to his hand, and Alex would have sold his soul to ease her agony. Surely the pains had been too close for too long. Experience told him there were differences in each woman's labor, that one baby came easily while another proved difficult. But the worries crowded in on him. She was so small, so dainty, and he was a big man. What if the infant were too large? What if he lost Helen?
Though the room was warm, a cold sweat caused him to tremble. He mastered himself with effort. It was stunning to realize how empty his life would be without her smiles, her chatter, her endless optimism. Somehow, she had become as vital to him as air.
At that moment, she uttered a fierce cry, her fingers knotting in the bedlinens as she strained to expel the baby. When he sprang to examine her, he saw to his relief the crowning of the head. He encouraged her to focus all of her strength into bringing their child into the world. She did so with great fortitude, and within moments he held a slippery, squalling baby.
" 'Tis a boy," Alex muttered, half dazed with elation.
The next moments passed in a blur. His actions automatic, Alex tied the cord and delivered the afterbirth, then washed up while Flora wrapped the baby in a blanket and brought him to his mother. Helen cuddled the infant in her arms and laughed with joy. "Oh Alex, we've a son. Isn't he beautiful?"
Alex sat down beside her. "Aye," he whispered.
He could trust himself to say no more. Reaching out, he touched the boy's still-damp black hair. He'd always found red-faced, squalling newborns rather ugly. But this one made his eyes burn with fierce, protective ardor.
Helen's radiant smile enveloped him. Seeing her cradling his son, Alex felt giddy, love-daft. Impelled by a powerful impulse, he leaned forward and gently kissed her. For one sweet moment, their lips melded with tenderness and hope.
He knew then that it was too late to fight his feelings for her. He wanted the three of them to be a family. His life—his son's life—would be incomplete without Helen.
But he didn't know how to hold her.
"I haven't been to Scotland since Justin and I wed at Gretna Green," Isabel said. "Oh, it's such a lovely place."
Sitting on the porch steps, Helen shared a smile with her half sister. The mountainous vista enhanced the delight of enjoying Isabel's company again. With the sun glinting on her loosely upswept copper hair, Isabel looked too young to be the new Duchess of Lynwood. "I'm glad you and Papa came to visit," Helen said fervently. "I've missed you both ever so much."
"And I wouldn't have missed meeting your husband and little Ian for the world," Isabel declared. "I've never seen a man dote so on a baby."
It was true, Helen knew. In the past weeks, Alex had proven himself a fine father, never hesitating to change a nappie or rock Ian to sleep. Now if only he would pay half so much attention to her. Deliberately, Helen deflected the con
versation away from Alex. "Speaking of doting," she said, "Papa certainly dotes on his grandchildren."
She shaded her eyes to watch Lord Hathaway standing beneath the old oak tree, pushing Isabel's four-year-old daughter in the swing while Isabel's son toddled after the dog. The trill of childish laughter floated across the park. They had been here for a few days, having come six weeks after baby Ian's birth. Justin was due to arrive tomorrow after tending to estate business. And Helen would see Justin and Isabel hug with the tenderness she herself longed for from her own husband.
She felt the soft touch of Isabel's hand on her arm. "Helen? I don't mean to pry, but is everything all right between you and Alex?"
One glance into those sympathetic sherry-brown eyes cracked the dam around Helen's emotions. She spilled out the story of how Alex resented their forced marriage, glossing over the details of who had seduced whom. "We can't truly be a family until he loves me," she concluded with a sigh.
"Oh, but he does! I've seen the way he looks at you. As if he were a starving man and you were a feast."
Helen doubted that. Her throat ached as she remembered their tender kiss after Ian's birth. Other than that brief closeness, Alex had remained aloof. Sometimes he vanished for the entire day, as if he needed time alone.
She turned her gaze to the distant loch, and the deep blue reminded her of his eyes. "You must be mistaken. If he truly loved me, he would want to . . ." Reluctant to reveal their lack of intimacy, she bit her lip.
"He hasn't shared your bed for a while," Isabel guessed. "Do you know, Justin had a peculiar notion after our first was born. He swore he wouldn't subject me to the rigors of childbirth again. So I had to seduce him."
She didn't know that Helen had already seduced Alex. Twice. "I wish it were so simple."
"It is simple. A man likes to pretend he has a strong will. But he can't resist a determined woman—especially not the woman he loves."
"Och, there ye are, m'lady," said a voice from behind them. Smiling broadly, Flora held out a basket. "Perhaps 'twas forward of me, but I packed a feast of the laird's favorites. I ken ye two need some time alone."
"A picnic!" Isabel exclaimed. Her eyes sparkling, she shooed Helen up from the step. "What a perfect idea. Papa and I shall watch Ian for the afternoon. While you take your husband on a picnic."
Half an hour later, Helen stepped into Alex's office. In her damp palm she clutched the basket of food. She didn't quite understand how Flora had come to appear at the right moment, but it all seemed part of the magic of hope. In a flurry, Helen had fed Ian and then put him down for his nap before changing into a rose-pink gown, cut low over her newly maternal bosom. All the while she had trembled to imagine Alex caressing her. Perhaps Isabel was right. If they found pleasure in each other's arms again, perhaps intimacy could mend the terrible rift in their marriage.
He sat writing at his desk, the window open to the balmy August day. As she approached, he looked up sharply and her heart sank. In his rough features she could see no sign of unrequited love. Instead, his dark brows were lowered as if he resented being disturbed.
She would not let him drive her away. Not today. "We're going on a picnic," she said firmly. "Just you and I."
He stared, his eyes enigmatic. She braced herself for a refusal, but he merely said, "On one condition. That I choose the place."
"Agreed." So long as it’s secluded, she added to herself.
He rose from the desk and took the covered basket from her. Without another word, he opened the door and ushered her out into the sunshine.
His easy compliance surprised Helen as he led the way up a gentle slope fragrant with heather. Bees buzzed the pinkish-lavender blooms alongside the dirt path. As the hill grew steeper, Alex dropped back and cupped her elbow, helping her over the rocky, upland trail.
"Where are we going?" she asked.
He shot her a cryptic glance. "You'll see soon."
She took another look, and recognition excited her. The last time she'd been this way, snow had covered the great boulders, and the trees had worn their autumn grandeur. Already, she could see the crumbling gray stones through the trees up ahead.
The castle.
Nestled against a sheer rock cliff, the ancestral home of the MacBruts looked majestic in the sunlight, like an ancient warrior standing straight and tall. The square keep loomed beyond the twin towers. Something sweet and wistful stirred in her breast. Here, Alex had made her a woman. Here, they had conceived their son.
She expected Alex to set down the picnic basket in the meadow outside the stone walls. But he steered her through the open gate and toward the keep with its dismal aura of neglect. Helen slowed her steps. She wanted a new beginning, uncluttered by the past.
"We should have our picnic out on the grass," she protested.
"This willna take long. I've something to show you."
In the sunlight, his features had the rough splendor of an unpolished gemstone. Helen sensed a grim determination in him as they entered the castle. His fingers felt tense and stiff on her arm.
Their footsteps echoed through the vast chamber. Even in the midst of a summer day, the great hall was dim and cool. No cheery fire lit the huge hearth, and she found herself edging closer to Alex's warmth.
To her surprise, he slid his arm around her waist and let his hand rest on her hip. The breath faltered in her throat. She glanced up at him, wondering if his embrace was a thoughtless gesture. But his gaze was focused beyond her.
They stopped before a long table of gleaming oak. The polished silver candelabra glinted in the sunlight that streamed from the high windows. At one end, two fine china plates with crystal goblets were set as if for an intimate dinner.
Helen blinked at what had once been the cobwebbed banquet table. "Someone's cleaned it," she said in amazement.
Alex set down the picnic basket. " 'Twas me."
"You?”
He nodded, his eyes serious. "My father preserved the place because he was brokenhearted. Then I did so too to remind myself of my mother's cruelty. But I didna want Ian to carry on that legacy."
Helen hardly knew what to think. Was it possible Alex had changed? That he would cease to judge her by the mistakes of another woman?
He went on. " 'Twas I who told Flora to pack us a picnic. I wanted to show you what I'd done here." On that astonishing statement, he took Helen's arm and guided her up the winding stone stairs.
In the laird's bedchamber, too, much had been altered. A new mirror replaced the age-spotted one over the dressing table. Lemon-yellow silk draped the four-poster bed with its collection of plump feather pillows. The musty odor of neglect had been replaced by a fresh, flowery fragrance.
"Roses," she murmured. "You've refurbished this room, too. Why?"
"Surely you shouldna have to ask."
He gazed at her as if begging to be spared an explanation. But Helen had suffered too many lonely nights to forgive him so easily. Walking to the bedpost, she leaned against it for support. "I do have to ask. Tell me."
He glanced around as if the walls held the right words. After a long moment, he looked at her, his expression twisted with raw anguish. "I did it for you, Helen. To show you that the past doesna rule me anymore. To convince you to stay with me."
Her heart leapt with hope. Did he truly mean it? She took a shaky breath. "You need a mother for Ian, that's all."
"I canna deny the needs of our son." Alex's voice lowered to a hoarse murmur. "But I also need a wife. I need you, Lady Helen."
For once, he spoke her name like a caress instead of a curse. It wasn't a declaration of love, but close enough. She wanted to laugh and weep with joy. Clasping the bedpost to keep from running to him, she teased, "And just how would a big, braw man like you propose to keep his wife happy?"
A gleam entered his eyes. His gaze made a slow sweep of her from head to toe, lingering on places that ached for his touch. Then he strutted toward her. "I've a few notions in mind."
Her puls
e beat faster. "Such as?"
He stopped so close she could feel his body heat. With his finger, he traced the edge of her bodice. "We might start by testing the new bed."
Helen drew in a breath. "And then?"
"And then I might spend a long while kissing you ... touching you .. . pleasing you." He did just that, his mouth moving over the tender skin above her bosom, his hands reaching behind to unbutton her gown.
She tilted back her head, charmed by the magic of his seduction. It was a dream come true after all those lonely months of resolute hope and stubborn prayer. As her gown slithered to the floor, she reveled in the extravagance of sensation, the rare pleasure of his caress.
Her hands rested on his broad shoulders, but not for long. A boundless love overflowed her, spilling through her with the need to gratify him, too. She arched against him and kissed the rough features that had become so dear to her. They undressed each other and tumbled into the feather bed, nestling naked in a pool of sunshine and desire. He sought to go slowly, to prolong her pleasure until Helen writhed in frustration.
"Enough," she whispered, guiding him home. "I want you now."
As he joined their bodies, a moan of intense pleasure vibrated from her. He lay still, bracing himself with his hands on either side of her. His eyes were dark with passion—and regret. "I dinna mean to hurt you, lass. To take you so soon after giving birth."
"You'll hurt me only if you dinna hurryl"
She moved her hips, wanting all of him, drawing him deeper within herself. He groaned, setting the quickened pace she craved, the glorious friction that took her higher and higher until at last she plunged over the verge into a sea of perfect bliss. She was aware of him falling with her, his harsh cry echoing, his strong body shuddering. The happiness lingered when she came back to herself in the warm shelter of his arms. Her husband. She wanted to stay right here in bed with him forever. If only she could.
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