Page 2 of The Highlander’s Mysterious Bride (Charmed by the Sassenachs #2)

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Amelia glanced up from the book she had been leafing through, and a furrow appeared in her brow. Mary could feel her sister staring in her direction, but she kept her focus on the page in front of her, pretending as though she’d hardly noticed.

“Are you alright?”

Finally, Mary lifted her head, smiling at her sister. Amelia’s hand was resting protectively on her swollen belly, as it often did these days. Mary could scarcely remember a time when her eldest sister hadn’t been carrying around the enormous bulge under her dress, though the child was due any day now.

“Of course I am,” Mary replied, rising to her feet and making her way over to her. “Are you?”

“Yes, I—oh, my feet hurt…” she complained, slipping one of them out of the shoe she’d been wearing and pulling it awkwardly into her lap to massage the sole for a moment. Mary furrowed her brow sympathetically, and Amelia shook her head.

“I suppose I must look like a beached whale to you,” she joked, and Mary frowned at once.

“You look absolutely beautiful, Amelia. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you as radiant as you are now.”

Amelia chuckled.

“I’m not certain I believe you,” she replied. “But I appreciate your sweet words, Mary.”

“Here, let me,” Mary murmured, brushing her hand aside and tending to her sore, swollen feet. It seemed as though every part of her sister had been aching recently, as she entered the last days of her pregnancy—everyone had been fussing around her, rushing this way and that as they tried to make sure she was taken care of. At any moment, the process could begin to bring the new member of the family into the world, and Mary smiled at the thought.

“Are you looking forward to meeting her?” Amelia asked, as though sensing what was on her sister’s mind. Mary glanced up at her, eyebrows raised.

“You’re still sure it’s going to be a girl?”

“I just know it,” Amelia replied, stroking her bump lovingly. “Of course, I’ll adore them no matter what they come out as. But I think it will be a little girl, a little daughter. A little niece for you and Lily!”

Mary pressed her thumbs into the arches of Amelia’s feet as she pondered it.

“I can scarcely imagine Lily as an aunt,” she confessed, “She seems too wild for it…”

“I think it’ll do the girl good to have some balance,” Amelia replied firmly. “A little wildness from Lily, and then some more… grounded teachings from you.”

Though Mary knew that her sister meant it only in the kindest way possible, her heart sunk slightly when she heard that. It was the truth, of course. Lily had always been the wildest out of the three of them, especially in this last year or so, as she had come into her womanhood at last. She seemed distinctly aware of how much power her newfound status had given her, power that Mary could rarely see in herself—perhaps because she knew that her father would be using her womanhood to buy himself some new land soon enough, if he got the chance…

“What are you so consumed by?” Amelia asked, drawing her from her reverie. Mary shook her head quickly, and painted a smile on her face so her sister would not see the truth of what was going on inside her head. She had not spoken to Amelia about her father’s plans for her, knowing that it would cause her sister no end of stress. As long as she was with child, Mary had sworn to herself not to speak of what was going on with her family—she felt as though it would have laid too much pressure at her feet. Amelia had always felt responsible for Lily and Mary, and, though she would be a mother soon herself, Mary was sure it wouldn’t have vanished so quickly.

“I’m just thinking about the baby,” she replied as she straightened up. “How much I’m looking forward to meeting them?—"

“Her,” Amelia corrected Mary. But then, all at once, her face twisted into a mask of pain, and she gripped her lower belly. Mary sprang to her feet.

“What’s happening? Is it the baby?”

“I don’t rightly know,” Amelia replied with a grimace. Mary’s eyes widened when she saw a puddle of wetness staining her sister’s dress. Amelia gasped, and Mary rushed for the door.

“I’ll get the midwife!” she exclaimed. “And Arran! You wait here, Amelia, I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

She raced downstairs, taking them two at a time, until she arrived, near breathless, in the main entrance hall to the Keep. She realized, as she stood there, that she had little idea of where she was meant to be going, but much to her relief, Mairead, one of the housemaids, rounded the corner. When she saw the look on Mary’s face, she stopped dead in her tracks.

“Is it the lady?” she demanded. “Has it begun?”

Mary nodded.

“I think so…”

“Come with me, lass,” Mairead ordered her, grabbing her arm and pulling her down the corridor. “We’ll gather some clean cloth. I’ll send one of the boys to fetch Arran.”

What came next was such a rush, Mary could scarcely make sense of it. She rushed after Mairead and Donna, the midwife, carrying a stack of clean cloth in one hand and a bucket of warm water in the other. By the time they reached the study, Amelia was on all fours, her cheeks red, puffing in pain.

“Where’s Arran?” she demanded as they helped her to her feet.

“I’m here, my love,” Arran called, darting towards his wife and slipping his arms around her to support her. “Where to, Donna?”

“The bedroom. Are the sheets clean?”

“I’ll go ahead and check,” Mary offered, and she took off down the corridor to make sure everything was ready for her sister to bring her child into the world. Her heart was pounding with excitement, but she was a little fearful for Amelia, too. Though her eldest sister had always seemed utterly sure of herself, she was not as invincible as she made herself out to be, and Mary was not foolish enough to believe that nothing ever went amiss.

Once Mary had straightened up the sheets and laid out the water and towels, Amelia appeared in the doorway to the room, flanked by Arran and Mairead. Donna was leading her to breathe in a certain way, and it seemed to be going some distance to helping her manage the pain. They laid her down on the bed, and Amelia held out her hand for Mary.

“Hold my hand, please! Oh…”

She let out a loud whimper of pain, and squeezed Mary’s hand so tight Mary nearly cried out in agony herself. But she bit it back, reminding herself of how important this was, focusing on her sister.

“Is there anything else I can do?” she asked Mairead and Donna, as Arran moved to the head of the bed, kissing his wife on the temple and holding her other hand tight. Donna had Amelia’s dress pushed back, and she grimaced.

“She’s near ready to push already,” she muttered. “Amelia, can you hear me? Push! Push, lass!”

Mary was not sure how long it lasted for, the pushing part of it. Amelia cried out with each one, but she breathed through the pain. Arran encouraged her, and Mary just held on to her hand, wishing there were more she could do, but knowing well the most she could manage was staying at her sister’s side through this momentous event.

Then, all at once, a sound cut through the tense air in the room; the sound of a baby’s cry. Amelia half-laughed, gasping in shock, and turned to Arran.

“A boy!” Donna exclaimed. “A lovely wee boy. Here, Arran, come here and cut the cord with me.”

A boy? Mary glanced at Amelia, hoping that she would not be disappointed by the revelation, but Amelia just laughed again.

“A boy,” she breathed. “Oh, a boy…”

Arran pulled the child into his arms. Though it was still red and slick with blood, the crying had stilled for a moment, as if he knew that he was being held by his father.

“What did you decide on for a boy?” Mary asked her sister softly, as she gazed at the little child.

“Robert,” she replied, as Arran came to hand Amelia their son.

“Robert,” she whispered again, as she looked down at him. She reached out her finger to touch him in the center of his forehead, and giggled, as though she could hardly believe he was real. Mary leaned over to see him as Mairead and Donna prepared some clean cloths to wipe him down with, this little child who was her nephew, and Amelia looked up at her sister.

“Isn’t he perfect?”

“He’s perfect,” Mary agreed. It seemed almost impossible, that he could have come to life so quickly, but here he was, sitting before them, as though it were the most natural thing in the world for him to have emerged from her womb to make himself known, once and for all.

“My heir,” Arran murmured as he joined them at the head of the bed, peering down at his son with wonderment in his eyes. He kissed Amelia’s sweat-stained forehead as Mairead took the boy to clean him up. Even now, Mary could see the love in his eyes, the adoration he felt for this newborn. Though she’d never gone into great detail about it, Amelia had told her something of the struggles he’d had with his own family, and she supposed this must have meant even more to him as a result.

“We should celebrate,” he announced after a pause. Amelia stared up at him.

“I’m not sure I’m up to do much other than lie with the little one,” she replied. “But yes, you should celebrate. I want everyone to know about our little boy!”

Mary had scarcely seen Arran so animated in all the time she had known him. As he made his way downstairs, he seemed to almost levitate with every step. He called for his close friend Gregory when they reached the main hall, and he appeared a moment later, his eyes wide.

“I heard Amelia was in labor,” he blurted out, trying to catch his breath.

“Aye, she was!” Arran replied, slapping his friend on the shoulder. “And now I have a bairn. A boy, an heir!”

“Aye, you do!” Gregory agreed, shaking his head in delight. “I cannae believe you beat me to a son, Arran.”

“Ye’ll have to hurry to catch up now I’ve started,” Arran fired back. Gregory flashed him a grin.

“Aye, I’ll get to it just as soon as I can.”

Gregory laughed with delight, and, soon enough, they had rung the bells in the Keep and the surrounding villages to call in all the townsfolk to celebrate. Over the next hour or so, the news spread through the land, starting with the villages closest, and soon reaching out to the towns that surrounded them, that there was an heir born to Arran and Amelia. People began to arrive at the Keep in small groups—a handful here, one or two making their way on horseback there—and soon, there were at least a hundred people filling out the great hall. Several of them had brought instruments, and, in no time, the place was filled with music.

“Oh, I’ll have to get to cooking something,” Mairead fretted to Mary. “Could you check on yer sister? Make sure there’s nothing she needs?”

“Of course,” Mary assured her.

Mary went upstairs to check on Amelia again, only to find her slumbering peacefully, her newborn in a small crib beside the bed. Mary stole a glance down at her nephew, now sleeping serenely where he was swaddled in cloth. She planted a gentle kiss against his impossibly small head, and then slipped downstairs again to join the gathering that was fast filling up the Keep.

Arran was already lively with excitement, telling anyone that he could find that he had a son—an heir, no less. It seemed as though he’d not be happy until everyone in the land knew of his newborn, and Mary couldn’t help but smile, seeing his joy. Her sister deserved someone like him, someone who’d share in the thrill of this as deeply as he did.

As she moved through the crowd, she tried to fight that feeling of loneliness that often arose when she wasn’t around her sister. Usually, she had Amelia to accompany her at these kinds of events, but her dear sister needed all the rest she could get after what she had just done. She could not blame her for leaving her alone, even if Mary herself knew nobody in this place.

She made her way to the large table at the end of the hall, which was already laden with food—most of it, it seemed, offerings from townsfolk who were glad to share in the happy tidings of a new heir. She poured herself a generous flagon of ale, and took a long sip, as she cast her gaze back to the crowd.

That, of course, was when she saw him.

At first, she blinked, thinking for a moment that she must have imagined him. After all this time, all those months, all those nights that she had spent tossing and turning and wondering if he even remembered her, it was almost as though the sheer intensity of her thought must have brought him to her, some mirage from her stress-addled mind.

Yet, after she blinked, he was still there.

The man she had seen that night. The man she had tried to forget. His blue eyes blazing into her, his dark hair reaching in curls to his sharp jaw, the rough cloak still wrapped around his shoulders, as though he could not imagine looking at anyone else at all. The room was full of people, but he was looking only at her.

And she was only looking at him. Her heart thudded in her chest, and she tore her gaze away from him.

Because staring at him seemed dangerous, in ways she couldn’t even imagine.