by C. A. Szarek
The man hollered when he’d spotted them, and slowed in plenty of time to avoid a collision.
Surprise washed over Hugh when the rider straightened and lowered the hood of his gray mantel.
“Hugh MacDonald!”
Only the smile on Duncan MacLeod’s beardless face stalled his demand for the respect—and honorific—he’d left off Hugh’s name. The man shouldn’t have greeted him so casually, even if they were brothers-by-marriage.
He scowled. “MacLeod.”
Amusement darted across his broad face and he kneed his steed closer to Dubh. “Wha’re ye doin’ lurkin’ ‘round my lands?”
“Yer brother’s lands,” he barked.
Duncan arched a dark eyebrow, but didn’t say anything.
Contrition—but not guilt—crept up from the pit of his stomach. Even if he didn’t like this man much, he shouldn’t be a wretch. In the very least, Duncan had cared for Juliette. Hugh frowned, and cleared his throat. “Ye know well why I’ve come.”
Blue eyes studied him, and Duncan raised his chin. “Aye.”
“If ye say ‘twas abou’ time, I’ll knock ye off yer horse,” he snarled.
The man’s chuckle made him narrow his eyes, but when Duncan shook his head and threw his palms high, all Hugh could do was curse under his breath.
What’s so damn funny?
“I didna say anathin.” The man squared his shoulders, and their gazes locked. “I am, however, grateful ta find ye here. ‘Twill be a shorter ride home.”
He reared back and gripped Dubh’s reins tighter, shifting on his saddle-less back. He knew what Duncan would say before his rival spoke.
“‘Tis yer lass’ time.”
Panic washed over him and he squeezed his thighs around his horse so he wouldn’t slip off the stallion’s back and tumble to the frozen ground on his arse. He swallowed—twice. “Is she—”
Duncan was close enough to grab his forearm. “MacDonald?”
When he found the man’s eyes again, he wanted to order him to go to hell, because Duncan MacLeod had never regarded him with concern before. But looking at him at least gave him something to focus on. He couldn’t even muster the energy to shove his hand off.
“She’s askin’ fer ya. Sent me ta get ye.”
Hugh blinked. As if he hadn’t understood the words. His insides had, because his heart galloped and his gut clenched. “Juliette,” he whispered.
“Aye, tha lass ye connived inta marryin’ ye.”
He growled, and ignored Duncan’s laugh.
“Let’s hie to Dunvegan, my laird. Yer bairn is comin’.”
My bairn.
Hugh released a breath. His head spun a little less, but it didn’t help the agony in his chest. “I canna lose her,” he blurted.
Duncan paused.
When he had the bollocks to look at the man, his rival’s dark brow was knitted tight. He steeled himself for some comment about Brenna. It wasn’t a secret how he’d lost his first wife and child. He tried not to wince.
“Ye should tell her tha’.”
The comment wasn’t what he’d expected, but still nothing he wanted to hear—or could deal with. He forced a nod. It was all he had.
“My brother’s wife says yer wife an’ child are healthy. ‘Tis no reason ta fear birth will be difficult.” The man made his mouth a line, and nodded curtly.
Hugh appreciated that he didn’t comment on the past. He echoed the nod and managed not to give into the hovering sob like a lassie. News that Juliette and the bairn—his bairn—were well eased him, if only a little. He hoped it wasn’t too good to be true. “Does…does…”
Duncan looked at him expectantly, but waited for him to work his thoughts out.
“The laird’s wife. ‘Tis rumored to be—”
“Ye know well ‘tis true. Why do ye ask now? She’s Fae. Family as much as ye.”
Family.
Hugh wanted to snort, but it was true. They were kin by marriage. “Can she…help?” He swallowed for the hundredth time that morning.
He offered another brusque nod. “She’s better than any midwife. She’s wit’ her now, an’ my sister has brought bairns inta tha world a ‘fore. She’s there as well.”
Relief made breath come easier, but only just. Terror threatened to paralyze him. Hugh locked his spine on Dubh’s back, but couldn’t convince his fingers to loosen their hold on the reins or stop shaking. “I canna lose Juliette.”
“I heard ye. She needs ta hear ye, MacDonald.”
“Take me ta her.”
I need her more than I need my next breath.
The man stared as if he could read his mind, then turned the white horse and headed back down the road he’d entered just moments before.
Hugh couldn’t speak, so he sucked in frigid breath. The cold seizing his lungs was cleansing in a way, but it didn’t lift his fears. His wife could still perish. The bairn could live or die, and heir or not, he didn’t want the child without Juliette.
Silence dominated as they rode past the gates, and into the inner bailey of Dunvegan castle. His voice was still gone, and all he could do was nod thanks to the lad who took Dubh toward the stables.
He followed Duncan MacLeod inside, their boots the only sound echoing up the stairwell and down the long corridor. He should acknowledge the man for withholding conversation.
Hugh looked around; nothing had changed in the year since he’d been inside the place. He’d even stayed in a guestroom when he’d brought a Fae halfling to the MacLeods for justice after she’d kidnapped Duncan’s son. The lad, Lachlan, had to be three years old now, and was his nephew by marriage.
They turned a corner, and outside the very room Juliette had agreed to marry him, men were gathered. The laird, Alex, and the tall towheaded Fae man who was kin to the laird’s wife. Even the old laird, Iain, was there.
“Ah, tha’ was fast.” Alex MacLeod pushed off the wall and extended his hand to Hugh.
“He was alreada almos’ here,” Duncan said.
Hugh muddled his way through greetings with all the men, but his stomach was in knots. He didn’t give a shite about these men or polite talk.
Juliette.
He was antsy, couldn’t stand still.
“She’s in there with our lasses. All is well,” the Fae man said.
“‘Tis right for a man ta be nervous. Ye remember well when yer lad was born, Xander, do ye no’?” Iain said.
The man nodded, a smile teasing the corners of his mouth.
“Well, lad, go ta yer lass,” the older man whispered. “A ‘fore tha womenfolk chase us all down ta tha hall.”
Four sets of eyes stared him down, as if questioning his resolve.
Hugh’s heart tripped and his stomach wobbled. He whirled. Traced the outline of the closed door, as if a canyon separated him from it.
“MacDonald,” Duncan said.
He shot a glance over his shoulder, but didn’t turn around.
The MacLeod twins stood closer to each other than to Xander and Iain. They regarded him with expressions as identical as they were, but he didn’t care. He needed to get to his wife.
“Remember wha’ I said.” Duncan lifted his chin until their eyes locked.
Hugh didn’t speak. Couldn’t.
“Tell tha’ lass what she means ta ye. Before she bares yer bairn. Or Clan MacLeod will be raisin’ tha MacDonald heir.”
Someone snorted, but he didn’t retort.
Hugh didn’t have the energy to wipe the smirk off his brother-by-marriage’s face, either. He wanted to murmur that Juliette knew loved her, but if she believed that, she never would’ve left him, would she?
He closed his eyes for a spilt-second. Made his feet move forward and pushed the door open.
His Juliette had asked for him.
Too bad he needed her more than she needed him. His wife was stronger than he’d ever be.
Chapter Seven
It hurt.
More than Claire or Alana had prep
ped her for, and more than Jules had imagined. Hugh was a big man, and she suspected his baby was bigger than average, too. Maybe their child would rip her in half on the way out.
That’s what it feels like.
The door opened as soon as another contraction hit, but her eyes locked onto her husband’s and she tried not to let the pain take over.
He’s here.
Tears blurred her vision, and it wasn’t because of the raging agony rolling over her middle. She wanted to reach for him, and she would. As soon as she could breathe again.
Duncan hadn’t left that long ago—maybe a half hour, not even enough time to get to Armadale at top speed.
How?
Did that mean he’d already been here? Had he come on his own?
Jules was too afraid to hope, so she pushed the questions away.
Hugh took one look at her and blanched. His skin was as white as the ground outside, or her bedding. His large fists were at his sides, opening and closing, and his Adam’s apple bobbed—like three times. He looked like he hadn’t slept in weeks, with big bags under his eyes, and the fuzz on his face was way more than a five o’clock shadow. His hair was stringy, and he looked thinner, like he’d lost a few pounds.
“Oh, Jesus,” Claire muttered.
“Claire,” Jules admonished.
Her sister shrugged. “What? You’re the one in pain, and he looks like he’s gonna friggin’ pass out.” She rolled her eyes.
Jules smirked. She wasn’t wrong.
Her man was frozen at the end of the bed, but he was still looking at her.
She couldn’t look away from him.
“Sit down, before you fall over,” Claire suggested. “My laird,” she said, but her voice betrayed it for the afterthought it was.
Alana patted Jules’ knee and pulled her nightgown back into place. “Things are progressing as they should. It willna be long now.” The princess looked at Hugh and inclined her head. “Nice to see you again, my laird.”
Janet piled clean cloths next to the bed, and also greeted Hugh politely.
Her husband didn’t look away from Jules as he muttered a greeting to both women.
She smiled and sniffled as a tear rolled down her cheek.
Alana tugged on Claire’s hand.
Janet placed a basin of hot water on the hearth and stood, but it was all in the periphery.
Jules couldn’t look away from the man she loved.
“Let’s give them a moment; we have some time.” The princess’ voice sounded far away, but then the door shut with a soft thud, and the three women were gone.
“Are you gonna come over here?” she asked, but her voice was a croak. She swiped at her wet cheeks.
“I doona know.”
“You don’t know?” Jules put her knuckles to the bed and pushed herself higher against the pillows at her back.
He cleared his throat and averted his gaze, but only for a second. “Are ye well?”
She smirked again, then bit her bottom lip. “Ummm, I’m having a baby. It hurts.”
That seemed to jolt him into coming to her, but he loomed above, staring. Nerves rolled off him and made her shudder.
“Hugh—”
“I canna lose ye, Juliette.”
She blinked.
“I canna lose ye, Juliette.” The repetition was harder, a demand.
Her heart skipped. “Hugh,” she whispered, and reached for him. His wrist was clammy beneath her fingertips, instead of the normal all-encompassing warmth.
His dark eyes found hers and the emotion there made her breathing ragged.
Jules didn’t hurt at the moment, but her contractions were coming fast and intense. It wouldn’t be long before she had another, and she wasn’t sure her husband could handle it. She’d find it difficult to be strong for both of them.
“I canna lose ye, Juliette,” Hugh said again. This time he brought his fist up and brandished it, but his voice was thick with emotion.
She almost lost it. She sniffled and more tears were born. “You’re not going to lose me.”
He looked away again, like he didn’t—or couldn’t—believe her.
“Sit down, Hugh.” She shifted closer to the middle of the big bed, her lower back twinging as she moved. She gritted her teeth. Another pain was only seconds away. Jules inhaled and closed her eyes, then blew out the air, tightening her grip on the sheet beneath her.
“Juliette?”
Finding her husband’s midnight orbs helped so much, even though he’d paled again.
“Hold…hold…my hand,” she begged, and he scrambled to do so, prying her fingers from the linen as the borrowed bed creaked with his added weight.
Hugh kissed her knuckles and held on, which was what she needed more than anything. “I love ye, Juliette. I love ye, mò bhilis.” He said it over and over, and by the time the pain faded, she was crying so hard she couldn’t see him.
“I love you, too,” she whimpered.
He put his big hands on her shoulders, begging for her gaze to meet his. “I…need ta hold ye, can I hold ye?”
Jules bit her bottom lip; she was seconds from ugly-snot bawling. She nodded and buried her face against his neck. She crushed her eyes on her stupid tears, just taking him in. He smelled the same. Sandalwood and leather, mixed with winter and horse. Familiar. Mine.
His arms were tentative around her, and she couldn’t muster the energy to snuggle closer. Their baby was demanding her attention again, and she moaned. She wanted to grab her middle. And push.
“Juliette.” Hugh’s voice had a frantic edge when he pulled back, and his eyes were wide.
“I’m okay, Hugh. Promise. Having a baby hurts.”
“I canna lose ye.” He shook his head, making his hair fly around his face. “I canna—”
“Hugh.” She made his name as sharp as she could muster. “I’m not going to die. And neither is your baby.”
He sat taller and swallowed again, but he didn’t break their physical contact.
Jules wouldn’t say his first wife’s name aloud—he always winced—but she didn’t believe she’d share Brenna’s fate. She’d never been afraid of that, despite knowing she’d have a baby in 1676, with no pain meds or monitors. Or doctors.
Evidently Hugh had been worried about that for months.
Shit.
Everything clicked into place. He’d pulled away. Treated her like crap…because he was afraid she’d die in childbirth like his first wife?
Why hadn’t he just told her that?
“You’re a huge jerk!” she blurted. “You almost ruined everything!”
Hugh reared back like she’d slapped him. He licked his lips, but didn’t say anything.
“All this time…you were afraid you’d lose me?”
He flattened his mouth and nodded, but it was the barest thing, like he had trouble admitting it. Which was totally Hugh. Highlanders couldn’t show weakness.
“You pushed me away, treated me like a leper. Made me think…” Her voice broke and she had to force a breath to speak. Had to get this out. Needed him to answer truthfully, too. “Do you want this baby, Hugh?” Tears rolled down her cheeks, but she avoided her husband’s hands when he tried to cup her face.
He blinked and exhaled. Still didn’t say a word.
Her heart stuttered. “Answer me, Hugh MacDonald.”
Hugh averted the dark eyes she loved so much again. “I…” The word cracked, so he inhaled and tried again. “I was afraid ta wan’ tha bairn.”
Jules closed her own, and shook from the pain of an impending contraction, as well as what her husband had just admitted. “Hugh. Oh, Hugh.”
His mouth crashed down on hers, and even though the timing was off, she kissed him back, savoring his taste. It’d been too long since he’d kissed her. Touched her, held her.
She needed him. Needed his strength and his love, if she was going to deliver his baby safely.
The beard tickling her face was new. The hair was soft, no
t rough, and made her kiss him harder. Their tongues melded, danced, and fought each other for control, but pain dominated her attention and she gasped against his mouth, breaking their lip-lock.
“Oh, God.” Jules rocked, and rested both hands on her seizing stomach. She could see the contraction actually rippling across her belly.
“Juliette. Juliette.” Hugh had gone pallid again, despite kiss-swollen lips. “I doona know wha’ ta do.”
She blew out air, concentrating on making the agony recede. “I’ll be…fine. It’ll pass.” She released a few more puffs, and looked into her husband’s eyes.
His Adam’s apple jumped.
“You don’t have to stay when it’s time. I know that’s not how it’s done in this century.”
“Wha’ do ye wan’ me ta do?”
Jules’ heart skipped. “You’d stay with me?” she whispered. She wanted to tell him so many things, but maybe now wasn’t the time.
The hurt wasn’t gone entirely. He’d ruined her pregnancy, in a way. She’d been so alone. Hadn’t been able to share any of the joys with him. The excitement of carrying his baby. First movements. Her stomach growing and the mixed emotions that’d come with that. Jitters of first time parenthood, especially in a time when the genders weren’t exactly equal.
Alana telling her the baby was a girl. She could tell him that, now, but if he showed disappointment that she wasn’t giving him a son, it would crush her all over again.
Hugh nodded, and her breath caught when his dark eyes went misty.
“Only if you want to.”
“Do ye need me, mò bhilis?”
A hot tear rolled down her cheek, and Jules studied him. He thumbed it away, and the one that followed, then leaned in to press his lips to the spot. She smiled. “I always need you, Hugh. Always.”
The smile he flashed was tender and made her lose it all over again.
“I need ye, too, lass. Tha gaol agam ort.” The Gaelic words for I love you rolled off his tongue and were melt-worthy, but she needed more than that.
“I need you to need our baby, too,” she confessed. Couldn’t look at him as she awaited his answer.
