by Meara Platt
As she doubled over in pain, Callum rushed to her side. He bent down next to her chair and put his hand over hers. “Is it the bairn?”
She nodded her head vigorously, turning tortured blue eyes on him as she whispered for his ears only, “You’d better fetch the vicar if you want to make sure he’s born a Murray.”
An hour later, Damaris was in her bedchamber in the four-poster in nothing but her nightdress. Her hair was plastered to her head, and sweat drenched her body as the contractions came every few minutes. Before Callum had carried her upstairs, she’d heard her mother say that Damaris would likely be confined to her room before the child was born. But after the midwife, Mrs. Hallburn, arrived, she seemed to think otherwise. After checking Damaris’s progress, she had nodded her head. “I shouldna think we would have t’ wait long for this one’s arrival.” She’d looked at Damaris and added, “Ye’re a lucky woman considering this is yer first bairn. Some women labor for days.”
While Damaris should have been thankful, all she could think of was where Callum could be. As soon as he’d taken her to her chamber, he’d gone to fetch the vicar. Since then, she’d been waiting anxiously for their return so that they might commence the wedding before her parents intervened. Thankfully, they couldn’t very well whisk her back to London while she was in the process of giving birth.
Another pain shot through her abdomen, this one stealing her breath. By the time she’d caught it, another one ripped through her stomach moments right after it, each one worse than the last.
Dear God, it’s really happening…
At that moment, the door burst open and Callum was practically dragging an ashen-faced man behind him. “My laird, this is very unconventional…”
Callum spun on the poor vicar. “Do I look like I care?”
Instantly, the other man’s mouth snapped shut.
After a curt nod, Callum looked at the midwife. “How much time do we have?”
“Hard t’ say, my laird. But I wouldna think much longer.”
Damaris noted Callum’s grim expression, although he tried to hide it as he walked to her side and gently wiped the hair out of her face. “This is Aidan Campell, my love. He’s here t’ perform the ceremony.”
She nodded and closed her eyes. “Let’s get on with it.”
“Ye heard the lady,” Callum snapped at the vicar.
A moment later, Mr. Campbell’s voice began rather shakily, “Dearly beloved, we’re gathered…here today t’ join this man and this woman in Holy Matrimony…” He paused and Damaris opened her eyes.
When she saw Callum looking at the man with a murderous expression, she feared he might strangle the man, so she asked evenly, “What is it?”
“We n-n-need…another w-w-witness, m-m-my lady.”
Callum growled in frustration before he stalked to the door and yanked it open. Moments later, Jamie was dragged inside. “Why me and not Gavin?” he nearly whined.
“You were standing closer,” Callum snapped in return.
Damaris couldn’t stop a low moan from escaping, and instantly Jamie shifted nervously on his feet. “Callum, are ye sure—”
“Ye’re standing in as my witness,” he returned. “Vicar, continue.” He nodded at Mr. Campbell.
Thus, the union between Lady Damaris Honeywell and Callum Solomon Murray, Laird O’Donough commenced.
Damaris did her best to pant through her vows as she began to push their child out of her body. “I can see the head!” the midwife exclaimed. “This one’s got a head full o’ hair, he does!”
Callum was the next to say his vows, and although his words were rushed, he looked her in the eyes the entire time and she knew he was sincere, that what he said would be true for the rest of their days.
Tears rushed to her eyes as the vicar proudly pronounced them man and wife and as Callum leaned down to give her a gentle kiss on the forehead, Damaris gave one final push and the distinct wail of an infant with decidedly strong lungs filled the interior of the room.
It was the best sound in the world.
The moment would have been perfect if it wasn’t followed by the thud of the vicar hitting the floor in a dead faint, and then grumbling and grunting as Jamie dragged his limp form out the door.
Damaris leaned her head back against the pillows in relief. Her child wasn’t going to be a bastard, but the next heir to Castle O’Donough, the laird of his clan.
And she couldn’t have been more grateful.
After a few moments, Callum appeared at her side with a tiny bundle wrapped up in his arms. His dark eyes looked suspiciously moist, and the crooked grin on his face was filled with joy as he bent down next to her. “We have a daughter, my lady,” he whispered.
“A girl?” Damaris breathed, as she smiled widely and looked into the tiny face with her dark hair. “And here I thought you were a boy.” She touched the button nose and her heart stuttered in her chest as her big blue eyes fluttered open. “But you’re beautiful all the same.”
“Aye, she is.” Callum looked at her and said, “As are you, my darling wife.”
Damaris awoke later that evening to Callum sitting next to her bed in a chair, rocking their daughter, Catriona, in his arms. She had been named for Callum’s mother and Damaris couldn’t have picked a better one to honor her grandmother’s Irish ancestry.
Her parents hadn’t been too pleased by the name, nor by the rather hasty wedding that had taken place without their knowledge. But Damaris hoped that, given some time, they would accept her family. If not, then they were doomed to a rather long and miserable life, for she intended to enjoy hers to the fullest.
She looked over at Callum as he began to sing another Robert Burns song, his deep, Gaelic voice as hypnotizing as it ever was.
“I love you.”
She said it softly, but he heard her nonetheless, for he glanced over at her and smiled. “I love ye too, Sassenach.”
Her heart leapt in her chest. “Do you mean it?”
He snorted. “How could I no’? Ye just gifted me the best thing I could ever want, a bairn o’ my own.” He stood up and gently tucked Catroina in the cradle that had been brought down from the attic that afternoon, another O’Donough family heirloom. Afterward, he walked over to Damaris and knelt down next to the bed. Reaching out, he took her hand and held it between both of his. “Damaris Murray, while I may no’ have been looking for a future that night in London, ye have made my dreams come true.”
He smiled crookedly, and she couldn’t help but grin in return. It was an expression that made him appear so unsure and unbearably handsome at the same time. “I ken how mawkishly sentimental that must sound t’ ye, but I wouldna say it if I dinna feel it in here.” He lifted a fist to his chest, and then brought her hand to his mouth to kiss her palm. “Ye are everything I could ever want, Sassenach, and I couldna be more proud t’ call ye my wife, the Lady o’ Castle O’Donough.”
Damaris was in tears by the time he had finished. She reached out a hand and pressed it to his cheek. “And you are all I will ever need, Callum Murray. Going to that Cyprian’s Ball was the best mistake I ever made in my life.”
“Aye,” he agreed with a wink. “And after ye’ve have had time t’ heal from the birth, I intend t’ pay a visit t’ my mysterious Lady Chemistry and show her just how much I appreciate having her in my life.”
Damaris’s midsection fluttered in anticipation. “I’m sure she will be ready and willing when the time comes.”
Epilogue
One Week Later
“I’m sorry we missed the wee one’s arrival, but better late than never!” Genevieve exclaimed as she kissed Damaris on the forehead and cooed over the baby in her arms. “And congratulations o’ the wedding. I couldna be more than happy for ye both.”
While Callum hadn’t been too happy with the idea of Damaris getting out of bed so soon, even after she — and the midwife — had assured him that she was doing perfectly fine, she wasn’t about to play hostess to her cousin
and Mac in her bedchamber. So, in her dressing gown and robe, she had greeted them in her private sitting room with Catriona.
Not only was that happy news, but she had received a letter from her friend Ivy just that day that said she was expecting her own baby. It seemed that everything was falling into place like it should.
“I met yer parents on the road,” Gen remarked.
“Oh?” Unfortunately that was one loose end that Damaris didn’t like to have. She had been rather disappointed by their hasty departure after they had barely given their grandchild a second glance, but it was what her cousin said next that made her heart happy.
“Aye. They were both just as prickly as I remember, and it might take a while for them t’ come around, but ye just got t’ have faith that they will. If not,” she shrugged. “Ye always have me and Mac. I’ll be more than happy t’ play grandma t’ the little bairn.”
Damaris smiled. “And I would be honored for you to play the part.” She paused, for while she had never been comfortable asking Gen about her past and what she’d done that was so scandalous, sending her into her own exile in Haltwhistle, she had to know. “Gen, I know it might be impertinent of me to ask, but I’ve always wondered, what did you do that cast you out of the family’s good graces?”
Gen glanced at her with a coy expression. “Well, it wasna Mac if that’s what yer thinking. We became…friends years later.” Her lips twitched with amusement. “Let’s just say those Scotsmen are hard t’ ignore.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” Damaris said, as she looked over at her husband, who was chatting with Mac. But, as if he knew he was the topic of conversation, he turned his head and they locked gazes. “Although I have a feeling this Scot’s bairn is going to turn into one stubborn Scotswoman.”
Author’s Note
Castle O’Donough that I mention in my story is modeled after Castle Stuart, which was completed in 1625 by James Stuart, 3rd Earl of Moray. It eventually fell into disuse after the fortunes of the family sank and it lay unused for more than 300 years before it was restored and converted as a hotel and golf course. Golf, of course, originated in Scotland and Queen Mary was supposed to have played a few rounds before women were allowed to enjoy the sport.
About Tabetha Waite
Tabetha Waite began her writing journey at a young age. At nine years old, she was crafting stories of all kinds on an old Underwood typewriter. She started reading romance in high school and immediately fell in love with the genre. She gained her first publishing contract with Etopia Press and released her debut novel in July of 2016 - “Why the Earl is After the Girl,” the first book in her Ways of Love Series. Since then, she has become a hybrid author, transitioning into indie publishing. She has won several awards for her books.
She is a small town, Missouri girl who continues to make her home in the Midwest with her husband and two wonderful daughters. When she’s not writing novels filled with adventure and heart, she is either reading, or searching the local antique mall or flea market for the latest interesting find. You can find her on most any social media site, and she encourages fans of her work to join her mailing list for updates.
www.authortabethawaite.wix.com/romance
Also by Tabetha Waite
Ways of Love Historical Romance Series
How it All Began for the Baron (Christmas prequel novella)
Why the Earl is After the Girl (Book 1)
Where the Viscount Met His Match (Book 2)
When a Duke Pursues a Lady (Book 3)
Who the Marquess Dares to Desire (Book 4)
What a Gentleman Does for Love (Book 5)
* * *
Season of the Spinster Series
Triana’s Spring Seduction (Book 1)
* * *
Novellas
Twelve Gifts by Christmas
Lord Castleford’s Fortunate Folly (Fortunes of Fate #1)
A Lady’s Guide to Marriage
A Promise Beneath the Kissing Bough
Miss Pageant’s Christmas Proposal
* * *
Novels
Behind a Moonlit Veil
The Secrets of Shadows
The Piper’s Paramour
* * *
Anthologies
Heyer Society (non-fiction essays)
Wrapped Up in Love (Breast Cancer Charity – Contemporary)
Lords, Ladies & Babies –Little Consequences (Regency)
Rogues On My Mind (Regency)
Some Wallflowers Do (Regency)
Take Two: A Collection of Second Chance Stories (Thistle Farms WOTR Charity – Various Genres)
* * *
Short Stories
Love’s Frozen Kiss
Love Out of the Ashes
EARL OF SIN
By Tammy Andresen
The Earl of Sinclair vowed never to marry again. But when a pretty spinster befriends his daughter, he begins to wonder.
Chapter One
Miss Mary Chase stood at the front gate of the stately mansion situated in the heart of London and stared up at the imposing brick façade. It wasn’t too late to turn around, go back to her aunt and uncle’s, resume her life.
Lord and Lady Winthrop had taken her in after the loss of her parents seven years ago, even financed a season for her. But she could not, in good conscience, continue to leech off them with no prospect of marriage.
Her aunt insisted she could still find a husband but Mary knew how these things worked. In all likelihood, she’d get passed by. She was four and twenty, after all. No man would want her now. A season would be the exclamation point on the sentence of her life. You weren’t meant for a happily ever after, Mary! Haven’t you learned that yet?
And so instead of another season, she’d accepted an interview for the position of tutor within the home of the Earl of Sinclair.
Her family was mildly appalled. Unlike many girls who’d become orphans, she’d been treated with love and kindness and she’d happily acted as companion to several of her cousins. But she was of age now, and, in her mind, that meant that she ceased to be a burden to them and learned how to care for herself. Besides, she liked being useful. In a life that had been filled with loss, she found real joy in work.
She straightened her shoulders as she approached the front steps. She’d not lose her resolve now. After fixing the ribbons on her bonnet, she raised her hand and lifted the knocker, giving two decisive smacks to the brass plate on the door.
The sound echoed through the house and her insides quivered along with the noise. But she’d gone too far now to back down, so she held her breath as she waited for the door to open.
When her lungs were near bursting, the door swung in, and a tall butler with an amazingly erect back, stared down at her. “Yes?”
Mary swallowed, pressing her hands together. “I’m here for the position of tutor.” The earl’s daughter, as she understood it, had lost her mother some time ago and the earl wished for a woman of society to teach his daughter how to properly behave. As a spinster who had grown up in the house of an earl, she was perfect for such a task.
The butler’s mouth turned down. “I thought you would enter by the kitchen door.” He gave her a long look up and down.
Drat. Her chest tightened. She was no longer a member of the family but a servant. How could she have forgotten that? The look on the butler’s face assured her he was wondering the same. She dropped into a quick courtesy. Here, the butler was above her in station. “Of course. My apologies.”
He gave her a single nod, his expression unchanged. “His lord is expecting you. Follow me.”
Her stomach twisted into an uncomfortable knot and she drew in a deep breath to calm it. Mary would not allow her nerves to get the better of her. She had a multitude of family to rely on should this position fall through. She needn’t be worried.
Today felt like the beginning of her new life. One where she was independent and able to care for herself. If she failed, she’d be proving she couldn’
t even complete the simple task of providing for her own future. If she couldn’t do that, what could she do exactly? Of what use was she to this world?
The butler started up the stairs and she followed. She’d expected some sort of introduction. When none came, in her usual fashion, she began it herself. “My name is Mary Chase,” she murmured, unsure of what else to say. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“I know,” he answered, not looking back. “Should you succeed in this interview, I shall introduce you to the staff.”
She pressed her lips together. Apparently, the man wasn’t going to perform the basic nicety of giving his name without first making certain she would stay. She had the distinct impression he didn’t like her, but why? He didn’t even know her.
They reached the top of the stairs and Mary followed him down a lovely hallway, lined with beautifully polished oak panels and covered in thick carpet that dulled their footsteps until they reached an open door.
The butler stepped inside while she remained in the hall. “Miss Chase is here to see you.”
“Send her in,” a deep male voice replied.
The sound reverberated through her in the most pleasant way. Both strong and capable, she wanted to sigh just hearing those three short words.
The butler turned back to her and waved her forward, with a flick of his hand.
Straightening her back again, she stepped into the room as the butler moved to the side. But she didn’t bother to look at him, instead studying the earl. The first thing she noted was the dark crown of his hair as he bent at the desk, finishing some task with his quill. His hair was a touch overlong, which suited him nicely. Rich brown waves swept back from his forehead and down his neck, nearly brushing the nape of his neck. But his hair was forgotten as she noted the breadth of his shoulders, strength of his arms, and the large capable hands that held the tiny quill.
