Beyond the Highland Mist
Page 115

“Tavis?” she called softly. Once decided, she fully committed to not wasting one more precious moment.
Tavis’s back straightened and he peered briefly over his shoulder at her.
She almost laughed aloud when his eyes flew wide and he jerked completely around to face her, his gaze roving over her wild mane, her loosened collar, her parted lips.
“Lydia?”
She heard a hundred questions in his one word, and was thrilled by the knowledge that she finally had the right answer to give him. “I’ve been wondering a thing, you see, old man,” she said patting the bench beside her. “Those hands of yours …” Her voice trailed off, a wicked sparkle in her eyes. Coquettishly, she wet her lower lip in an invitation older than time itself.
“Aye?” There was a hoarse catch in his voice.
“Being that they’re so talented and strong …”
“Aye?” His brows rose. His breath snagged in his throat as Lydia made a suggestion for those hands that shocked and delighted Tavis MacTarvitt to the very seat of his soul.
When Grimm finally left the rooftop that night and entered the Great Hall, he stifled an oath and scrambled, in full retreat, right back out the door. In the hall, of all places! Lydia! And Tavis!
“Och! Love!” he grumbled to the stars that twinkled above him with dispassionate splendor.
Three months later the healthy cry of a baby boy resounded through the halls of Dalkeith-Upon-the-Sea.
Hawk Douglas, bursting with pride, sat at Adrienne’s side on the bed.
“Look at him, Hawk! He’s perfect!” Adrienne exclaimed.
“He’s not the only one,” Hawk said huskily, smoothing her hair back from her forehead.
Adrienne smiled at him. He’d held her hand through her labor, alternating between cursing himself and cursing her for letting him get her pregnant in the first place.
But there would be many more such times, Adrienne thought, because she fully intended to have half a dozen babies. Hawk was just going to have to get used to the process of bringing them into the world.
Adrienne touched his cheek wonderingly. “You’re crying,” she whispered.
“Happy tears. You’ve given me a new life, Adrienne—a life I never dreamed I’d have.”
She gazed at him adoringly, their baby snuggled between them.
Adrienne could have remained like that for hours, but Grimm entered the Peacock Room just then, briskly ordering the guards about. “Place it there, by the bed.”
Hawk glanced over his shoulder. “Ah, the cradle. I finished it last night. I suspect he will not be seeing much of it for a while.” Hawk possessively drew their tiny son in his arms. “He should sleep with us for a time, don’t you think?”
“I don’t think I could allow him out of my sight, could you?”
Hawk nodded his agreement as he studied his son intently. “My jaw,” he said proudly. “Just look at that fine strong angle.”
Adrienne laughed. “Stubborn angle,” she teased, “and he already has dark hair.”
Behind them Grimm made a choked sound.
Hawk glanced over his shoulder questioningly.
“What the bloody hell … er, excuse me, milady,” he said to Adrienne, “and pardon me, wee one,” he said to the babe. “But why did you go and carve this on the cradle, Hawk?” Grimm asked. “Haven’t we all had enough of the blasted Fairy?”
Hawk raised his eyebrows in confusion. “What are you talking about, Grimm?” He gently relinquished their son to Adrienne and strode to the cradle.
Flowing letters had been carved deep into the wood. The entire cradle gleamed as if it had been brushed with a sprinkling of gold dust. Hawk gazed a long moment at words he knew he hadn’t put there. A smile curved his lip as he read aloud to Adrienne:
Remember this, mortal—you have your own kind of forever—the immortality of love.
Blessed be the Douglas.