by C. A. Szarek
Hugh’s hand shook as he extended it to do something he’d never done. He caressed her distended stomach, then rested his hand against the place where their child grew. The heat of his palm seeped into her chemise.
She tried to smile through her tears, but more came. Finally, finally, she felt the connection to him and their baby at the same time.
His eyes widened as their daughter moved. “Tha…bairn?”
“She’s moving around in there, but you might feel contractions, too. I think it’s time. Can you get the girls? I need to push, and another pain is coming.” She tilted her head back into the pillows and groaned. Gritted her teeth and latched onto Hugh’s hand. The need to push overwhelmed.
“She?” His voice held wonder.
Jules half-snorted, half-laughed through the discomfort. “Of course you’d focus on that.” When she looked at her husband, he wore a charming smirk. “Yes, the baby’s a girl. Alana told me.”
His Adam’s apple moved up and down. “A lass.”
“Aye.” She used his word. “Is that okay?”
The awe in his eyes made her heart miss a beat. It was genuine and endearing, and damn, she needed that, too.
“Only if she looks like ye.”
She sniffled and smiled. “God, I love you. Get Alana or you’re going to have to deliver your daughter.”
He kissed her, hard and fast, then scrambled to his feet. A shudder wracked his frame, but at least he didn’t look like a ghost this time.
Chapter Eight
Seeing his Juliette in so much pain petrified him as much as the fear she’d die on him. And he couldn’t help her.
Hugh would never admit it aloud, but he’d not stopped to think of the child she’d carried over the course of her pregnancy. As he’d told her, he’d not thought to want it, because he didn’t want to lose her. But…touching her stomach, feeling the life inside her move against his fingertips made him swallow hard. Made his heart thump.
He was going to be a father.
Today.
My bairn.
Instant love descended over him. As much for the child as for her mother.
Her.
He was to have a lassie.
If she was like his Juliette, Jesus help me. Hugh chuckled to himself, imagining a miniature version of his wife hollering and shaking her tiny finger at him.
Mab would be pleased, too.
“Wha’ are ye laughin’ abou’? Though ‘tis better than broodin’.” Duncan MacLeod wore a grin again, and this time it didn’t irritate him.
“My wife says ‘tis time. She asks for the lasses.”
The three women, who were standing in the corridor next to their husbands, perked to attention and started chattering. They hurried past him, back into the guestroom, and he whirled to follow.
“Where’re ye goin’?” Alex MacLeod asked, his voice amused.
Hugh thumbed over his shoulder. “Juliette needs me by her side.”
The MacLeods exchanged looks.
Iain laughed and shook his head. “I’m goin’ down ta tha hall.”
“Aw, Da, ye need no’ be in yer cups,” Duncan said. He ran his hand through his long dark hair and smirked.
“Tha’s what men are supposed ta do when bairns are a’ comin’.”
Alex laughed and shook his head. His hair swayed, but it was shorter than Duncan’s, only falling right above his shoulders.
The Fae man cocked his head to one side, his expression amused, too.
Hugh ignored them all and returned to his wife, but he had to smile. Maybe MacLeods weren’t so bad after all.
His mirth was wiped away at the first look at Juliette.
Her gorgeous face was flushed red and sweat beaded her brow. Her wavy honey locks had been bound, but the look of agony on her countenance was what stilled his heart. She hurt, and he could do nothing about it.
The laird’s wife was at the end of the bed, between her legs, and the dark-haired MacLeod lass was at her side. The women conversed.
His sister-by-marriage sat next to Juliette, and leaned over to wipe her face with what looked to be a wet cloth.
“Hugh,” Juliette breathed. “Can you come hold my hand?”
“Aye, mò bhilis.” He hurried his step, and didn’t miss her sister’s glare in his direction. He didn’t question if Claire MacLeod didn’t want him in the room, or was angry at him for another reason. Hugh just wanted to get to his Juliette. He sat in a chair that’d been dragged to the bedside.
“My laird,” his sister-by-marriage said, but her voice was too hard to consider her words a polite greeting.
“Not now, Claire,” Juliette gritted out.
Her grip on his hand was tight, her nails digging into his skin, but it was nothing less than he deserved.
“Now is a perfect time.” Claire turned her ire on him, full force, wearing a scowl the size of Scotland.
Hugh gave him her attention, seeing his wife in her pretty face. “Aye, my lady?” Maybe being courteous would help.
“If you hurt my sister again, I’ll storm to Armadale myself to kick you in the—”
“Claire!” Juliette exclaimed. “I’m…a little…busy. Yell at him…later. I need him.”
He bit his tongue on the chuckle at the look Claire wore for having been cut off, lest she be offended. She’d been about to threaten his bollocks.
His sister-by-marriage stormed to the hearth, and Hugh looked at his wife. His heart thumped. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to her temple. “She isna wrong, mò bhilis. I’m sorry I hurt ye. ‘Twas ne’er my intention.”
“I’m not completely over it, but I will be. Thank you for being here with me.” Her big green eyes were wide and misty, but some of her expression was due to physical pain.
Hugh didn’t like that he could do nothing about her birthing pains, or the truth of her words, but he understood. He’d have to earn her trust again, and he’d do everything he could to help her heal, and prove he loved her—and their lassie.
He did want his child, and he’d wasted months. He couldn’t get the time back, but he could be there for them from now on.
“Jules, with the next pain, bear down.” The Fae princess patted his Juliette’s bent knee and leaned in, pushing the material of her chemise higher, down her thighs, where it pooled in her lap.
The protest that she was uncovered died on his tongue. ‘Twas foolish. He was the only man in the room, and the lasses needed to bare her to do their work—bring his daughter into the world.
Hugh’s heart was full, and he smiled.
“Hey, don’t sit there with a stupid grin on your face!” Juliette bit at him. “Help me.”
He squared his shoulders and schooled his expression, fast. Did she have reason to be angry at him? He’d apologized—and meant every word.
Her sister had gone to the other side of the bed, and snorted. “Don’t tell me you’re gonna start screaming, ‘you did this to me!’ at the poor guy, Jules. You got him in the room. That’s an accomplishment.”
Juliette glared at them both.
The MacLeod lass—he thought her name was Janet—looked as if she was hiding a smile.
The laird MacLeod’s wife was all seriousness as she regarded them. She looked down, as if she was checking something, then at his wife. “‘Tis time, push, Jules.”
Juliette nodded and a look of determination crossed her beautiful face. She swallowed, and Hugh gripped her hand tighter, helping her the way she’d asked him to.
With every scream or moan, he winced, and still his daughter was not outside his wife’s body. The more time that passed, the more panic started to encroach, but Hugh tried to suck in air and tell himself everything was fine.
The Fae princess didn’t look alarmed; she kept encouraging Juliette, as were the other two lasses. Her sister kept wiping her face, and Janet breathed with her, which seemed to help lessen her pain.
His wife didn’t look as if she was fading—other than appearing fatigued the longer
she had to push. She braced herself on his forearm, and her sister’s, her face crimson with exertion.
After another shout and a push that seemed to be ineffective, Juliette collapsed against the pillows behind her. She panted, and tears rolled down her cheeks. “I can’t do it,” she whimpered.
Hugh’s heart skipped and his stomach clenched.
“You kinda have to,” Claire said, patting her brow with the scrap of linen.
Juliette’s emerald eyes locked onto him. “Hugh—”
He leaned in, cupped her face and thumbed her tears away. “Yer a strong lass. Tha strongest I’ve e’er met. I love ye.”
The women in the room fell silent, but he didn’t care. He’d help his sweet wife anyway he could, and if telling her how he felt would do it, he’d sing his love in front of every last MacLeod.
More tears were born, and he wiped them away. His gaze was still fused with his Juliette’s, and one corner of her mouth lifted.
She gave a slight nod and grabbed his wrists. “Will you help me?”
Hugh nodded. “Anaway I can, mò bhilis.”
Seconds passed, and the lasses let him have an almost private moment with his wife, but all too soon, the princess cleared her throat.
“Let’s try somethin’,” she said.
“Anathin’,” he said.
“Laird MacDonald, get behind her, hold her and help her bear down. We’ll get your lass out.”
As they were making the necessary adjustments—Hugh moving, and Claire tossing pillows out of the way—Juliette kissed his cheek and whispered, “Thank you.”
He’d never been fond of showing emotions, but his wife would reduce him to a sobbing ball if he couldn’t control himself. Hugh nodded, because his voice caught in throat. He reclined hard into the headboard behind him, and the carved wood bit into his shoulders. The jolt of discomfort was nothing compared to what she was feeling, but it grounded him, and he gently put his arms around her.
Juliette was soaked with sweat, and wet his leine, but he couldn’t care less. He was going to help her birth their child. Not many men could say they’d done the same.
She moaned as another pain came over her, and he could feel it ripple over her belly under his fingertips. His wife put her head back on his shoulder and clenched her jaw. Her brows were drawn tight, and Hugh leaned forward slightly, helping her bear down, as the laird’s wife had instructed. Gradually, not forcing anything that could hurt her.
“Here’s her head.” The princess grinned.
“Jules, you got this, push her out!” her sister said.
Juliette called his name when she started to push on her own, and he just held on, helping her use him as a lever. She gave a yell that was reminiscent of a battle cry, and then collapsed against him.
At the same time, a bairn’s wail hit his ears, and Hugh’s insides jumped. He wanted to look up when all three lasses made exclamations, but Juliette was staring at him, and he couldn’t look away.
She closed her eyes and smiled. More tears ran down her cheeks. “Thank you, Hugh,” she chanted over and over, and his chest expanded as if it would burst.
He leaned down and pressed a tender kiss to her lips. Hugh wanted more, but it wasn’t the time, despite the need for more of her taste. When he’d kissed her earlier, he’d had trouble stopping. Had only done so because of her birthing pains. It’d been too long since his mouth had slanted over hers.
Serves you right.
He’d exiled himself, the wretched fool he was.
“Your lass is big and healthy!” the princess announced.
“Oh, she’s so pretty, big sis!” Claire MacLeod grinned at the swaddled bundle in her arms.
The bairn had quieted, but wiggled a little. Seeing the outline of the blanket move made Hugh feel better. His daughter was well, like his wife.
“I wanna see my baby,” Juliette said, but her voice faded in and out, much like her expression, and her body was lax against his.
Alarm rose from his gut and latched on. “Juliette?”
Everyone paused. The lasses had caught the panic in his voice.
His wife smiled and patted his bearded cheek. “Relax, Hugh. I’m fine. Just exhausted. Having a baby is hard. Shave this.” She tugged on the hair until it smarted. “I’m glad it’s soft, but it hides your beautiful face.”
One of the lasses snickered, and heat rose up the back of his neck. He could do nothing but study his sweet Juliette’s countenance to make sure she really was fine, and besides, it might help dispel some of his embarrassment. She’d called him beautiful—with an audience. He dared not look up at any of the MacLeod women.
Claire brought their daughter to the bedside, and one glance melted into Hugh locking eyes on the tiny form.
His breath vanished. The wee lassie had a complexion of creamy—healthy—perfection, rosebud mouth and her mother’s pert little nose. Her eyes opened and closed, as if she was offended, and it made him smile. Her crown of dark hair was visible even as she was wrapped in a soft ivory blanket, and he didn’t give a damn that his vision blurred.
He’d never seen anything so gorgeous in all his two and thirty years. Hugh’s hand shook as he raised it to caress her tiny head. “I’m yer da,” he whispered. He was almost afraid to touch her. She looked fragile. Helpless. But his fingers moved as if compelled. Her hair felt like silk.
Juliette squeezed his other hand and flashed a watery smile. “I want to hold her.”
“As soon as Alana’s done with you.” Her sister smiled softly, and gestured toward the end of the bed.
The princess nodded and they took care of the afterbirth, then Hugh helped her and Janet freshen his wife up and dress her in a new chemise. He held her in his arms as they changed the bedding as well.
His sister-by-marriage had disappeared into the corridor with his daughter, and Juliette complained that she’d not even been able to hold her yet. Claire returned shortly, with her husband on her heels, and looking down into Hugh’s bairn’s face over his wife’s shoulder.
“A wee lass,” the man said.
He frowned, even though there’d been no menace in the words or his tone of voice.
“What’re ye goin’ ta call her?” his brother-by-marriage asked.
Claire settled the infant into her mother’s arms, and Juliette stared down into their daughter’s face for a few moments before her eyes found Hugh’s. The smile she wore was tender and made his heart flutter.
“I thought we could name her Brenna,” she whispered.
He startled. His feet carried him to his wife’s side of their own accord and he had to swallow—twice. Hugh looked down at his perfect lassie, nestled against her mother’s breast. “Ye…ye…would want ta do tha’?”
She nodded.
His eyes blurred again, but he didn’t look away from Juliette’s emerald gaze. “I…” He had to clear his throat and try again. “Brenna would be honored.”
She beamed and sniffled, then looked down at the bairn. “Do you want to hold her?”
Hugh’s heart skipped. Of course he did. Yet, he hesitated. She was so new…so fragile. What if he broke her? She was a tiny thing compared to him. He didn’t know how to hold a wee bairn.
“I do.” Duncan swept to the bed and Juliette smiled as she handed the child over. “‘Tis only a wee lassie, nothin’ ta fear, a’tall.” Hugh’s brother-by-marriage handled his bairn as if he was a nursemaid, and not Alex MacLeod’s war chief. He looked comfortable. “Ye jus’ have ta make sure ya support her head.” He held the tiny lass against his chest, too close to MacLeod plaid for Hugh’s comfort.
The man flashed a grin he wanted to wipe off his face. It was one Juliette would’ve called, smart arsed.
“Give me my lassie!” he growled.
Duncan ignored him, staring down into the little face he himself wanted to get another look at. He let out a low whistle. “I’m relieved.”
“Abou’ what?” Hugh demanded.
His rival flashed anothe
r grin. “Tha lassie migh’ have yer hair, but she resembles her mother.”
He snarled, but the women within hearing—and the laird, who stood at the doorway—laughed. “Give. Me. My. Lassie.”
Unrepentant, Duncan beamed, but the man came to his side and gently transferred his daughter to his arms.
Hugh didn’t move. Had to remind himself to breathe. Definitely ignored the obvious amusement going around the room. He only had eyes for the bairn in his hands.
She weighed more than she appeared to, was a solid warmth against his chest. That made him feel better about holding her. Her face was angelic, and she’d fallen asleep, which made her seem even more perfect.
“Brenna,” he breathed. His gaze found his wife’s, and she was crying again.
He crossed the room to her, and sat gently on the edge of the bed beside her, doing his best not to disturb his sleeping daughter, or cause any lingering discomfort to his Juliette.
As he understood it, new bairns didn’t sleep much, so he could only hope his wee lass would remain so as long as possible, so his wife could also rest. They both needed to recover from the birth. Hell, he needed to recover from it, too.
His wife was a warrior. She was tougher than any many he knew, including himself. Were it up to men, there wouldn’t be bairns.
Hugh was barely aware that all the MacLeods had cleared out, leaving him alone with his lasses.
****
Jules watched her big strong Highlander practically melt when he took their daughter from her brother-in-law. Which in turn, melted her, making her cry for the millionth time. She’d become a huge, sappy baby.
She regretted that they didn’t have cameras. The look on Hugh’s face was incomparable. And beautiful, despite the face-fur that needed to go. She’d remember that look for the rest of her life.
“Juliette,” he practically purred her name. “Why’re ye cryin’, mò bhilis?” He caressed her face with shaky fingers, his huge palm holding the baby’s head to his chest.
“Seeing you with her. The way you’re looking at her. It’s all I ever wanted, Hugh.” She had to sniffle through her words, but she sucked in a breath and tried to get a hold of herself. “I was so afraid—”
