“That could take a verra long time.”
“Years. Our whole life.”
“Then I shall make a promise to you, my bonny knight. Promise me your love for always, as I now promise ye mine.”
“For always and ’tis a promise easily made.”
“And easily kept,” she whispered against his mouth.
Epilogue
Yuletide—1445
“James, I really dinnae think your cousin Bega wishes to be sat upon,” Bethia said, biting back a smile as she lifted the giggling boy off his cursing cousin. Gisele’s delicate little girl certainly had a colorful way with words, she mused.
“Bethia, I think our wee lass is going to win this time,” Eric called.
Glancing at her husband, Bethia exchanged a look that was an equal mix of amusement and exasperation with Gisele and Maldie. Her daughter Sorcha had just begun to crawl and Gisele’s child Brett, although five months older, still crawled more than he walked. Nigel and Eric had taken to racing them against each other, some of the men even making bets. Bethia suspected it was not quite proper, but it kept the men and the older children entertained.
As she set James down and moved to sit next to Eric, ready to catch her daughter as she reached the end of her run, Bethia looked around the great hall. All of Eric’s family had gathered at Dubhlinn to help them celebrate their first Yuletide in their new home. There was Balfour and Maldie and their seven children, Nigel and Gisele and their four children, and even a few of Gisele’s French relations. Bowen and Peter were there with their wives and Bowen’s lively children. Wallace and Gisele’s cousins, Sir Guy and Sir David, sat together laughing at the antics of the children. Her parents were not there, but Bethia realized it no longer mattered. This was family, she thought and grasped her husband’s hand even as their sturdy little daughter reached them.
Eric laughed and hugged his daughter, then grinned at Nigel, whose son stood up and staggered the last few feet into his father’s open arms. “The lass is fast,” Eric said.
“She only bested my lad because he cannae decide which he wants to do: crawl or walk,” protested Nigel.
“Weel, we will have to race them when they are both steady on their feet.”
“Eric!” Bethia cried, laughing and catching her daughter when the little girl flung herself into her arms.
“I jest, my heart.”
She might have believed him if she had not caught the look he exchanged with Nigel. Bethia decided not to argue the matter now. Sorcha was making it known a little too clearly that she was hungry, and although almost weaned, she was hungry for her mother’s nourishment. Blushing slightly as Sorcha tugged on her bodice, Bethia quickly excused herself and hurried away to her bedchamber.
Once settled comfortably against the pillows on her bed, Bethia put her daughter to her breast and sighed with contentment. She had thought that her child would be a boy, as Gisele’s had been, but she was not in the least disappointed. Not even when she had seen that her child had her mismatched eyes. Little Sorcha was a charming mixture of both of her parents. She lovingly touched her daughter’s thick red-gold curls, studied the features that already held the promise of a lovely delicacy, and smiled. She and Eric made beautiful babies, she mused with a sense of pride.
“And what has ye smiling?” asked Eric as he entered their bedchamber, walked over to the bed, and sprawled at her side.
“I was just thinking that we make beautiful babies together,” she replied and met his grin with one of her own.
“Aye, that we do, my heart.” He ruffled his child’s silken curls and kissed Bethia on the cheek.
“Do ye ken, I really thought I was carrying a son as Gisele did.”
“Dinnae fret, lass. Ye will give me a son yet. And if all ye bear me is lasses, I willnae complain. I have more nephews than I can count and we have James to raise. Aye, and if the lasses are all as bonny as this wee one, I shall be run ragged keeping the rogues and lusty lads away from our door.”
Bethia set her daughter against her shoulder, rubbing her tiny back even as she leaned over and kissed Eric. Although she had been delighted to have a healthy child, regardless of the sex, she had at first worried that Eric would be disappointed that she had not given him a son. He had quickly dispelled that worry. His pride in and love for his little daughter was and continued to be obvious to all.
“What was that for?” he asked.
“Because I love ye and ye have given me a wondrous family.”
Eric laughed, for the noise from the great hall could be heard even in their room. “Mayhap too big a one.”
“Nay, ne’er that. ’Tis what I have e’er dreamed of,” she said softly, “when I allowed myself to see that something wasnae right with my own. And this Sorcha will ken the beauty of it. So will wee James.”
“Aye, my own, a family. Whate’er else we have or dinnae have, that much I can give you. Aye, a family and all the love ye could possibly need. I promise ye that.”
“As I promise ye, this bairn, wee James, and any other bairns we are blessed with.”
They kissed, but the sweet solemnity of the moment was abruptly shattered. Little Sorcha belched so loud Bethia jumped with surprise and felt her daughter’s tiny body rock with the force of it. Her daughter then sighed with contentment and giggled. Eric laughed as he stood up and took his daughter into his arms.
“Do ye ken,” he murmured as he started toward the door, “I think that was louder than any Nigel’s lad Brett has made. Hah! I bet my lassie can win at that too.”
“Eric!” Bethia cried and was redoing her gown even as she hurried after her laughing husband.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Hannah Howell is an award-winning author who lives with her family in Massachusetts. She is the author of nineteen Zebra historical romances and is currently working on a new Highland historical romance, HIGHLAND LOVER, which will be published in June 2006. Hannah loves hearing from readers and you may visit her website: www.hannahhowell.com. Or write to her c/o Zebra Books. Please include a self-addressed stamped envelope if you wish a response.
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