Still smiling, she met Cam’s eyes, and something sweet passed between them. They were helping Sorcha through this together.
Sorcha moaned, and Ceana returned her focus to the tiny head. This time, Sorcha succeeded, and the small, damp round face appeared. Gently, Ceana adjusted the head to align with the body. “The head’s out,” she said on a breath. “One more push, Sorcha. You’re doing it!”
With its mother screaming out her lungs, the babe slid out with the next push. Ceana gathered the tiny new human in her arms, quickly wrapping a blanket around the little body and working to clear out its breathing passages.
Cam was speaking in low, excited tones to Sorcha, but Ceana was too focused on the babe to hear his words. Finally, the infant took a shuddering breath and released a reedy wail. Sorcha’s voice emerged from the haze.
“What is it, Ceana? Tell me.”
“What’s that?”
“A lad or a lass?”
Ceana’s frown deepened. “Oh . . . I don’t know.” Carefully, she opened the blanket, then smiled up at the two expectant faces. “A lad, Sorcha. A braw, healthy baby boy.”
She cut the cord and then placed the squalling infant into Sorcha’s arms. Sorcha stared down at him in awe. “He looks just like Alan.”
“But he has your coloring,” Cam murmured.
Ceana listened to them murmur over the babe, counting his little fingers and toes and making certain he was perfect. She cleaned up and administered a tincture of shepherd’s purse and vervain to Sorcha to promote healing and slow the bleeding. Half an hour later, all was serene in her cottage. She glanced at Cam to find his eyes glowing as he stared down at mother and child, and happiness swelled within her. He’d probably never thought to witness such an event. To most, having a man present at a woman’s labor and delivery bordered on blasphemy, but Ceana thought it appropriate. Why not? Men did this to women, so they should be allowed to see what a woman went through to bring a child into the world.
She was far too radical in her philosophies—but then, she always had been. She trod carefully through life, acutely aware that people would believe she was a witch in truth if she allowed her authentic self to show. At least tonight she had good reason for allowing a man into a world reserved for women. With Moira and the midwife nowhere to be found, she’d needed his help. Of course, she could have managed without it, but no one had to know that.
She leaned against the wall and crossed her arms, watching them. Cam glanced up at her. “You look tired.”
She shook her head. “Not at all.” In fact, the opposite was true. Easy births always infused her with energy. She felt like she could stride outside and take flight, run all the way to Glenfinnan. Or even Inverness.
Cam’s smile widened, and a look of understanding flared in his eyes. “Nor am I.”
“But you look it too.”
“
I
am tired,” Sorcha said on a yawn.
Ceana’s heart clenched at his tender expression when his gaze moved to Sorcha. “You should be. You worked hard. And look at what you’ve done.”
“Aye, look.” Sorcha looked down at her dozing infant. “And I survived it.”
“Of course you did.”
She gave a shaky laugh. “I wasn’t certain I would.”
“Here, I’ll take him.” Cam removed the bundle from Sorcha’s arms. There was something very sweet in seeing a man as tall and masculine as Cam handling a tiny newborn babe with such delicacy.
Just then, the door crashed open.
“Sorcha!” Alan rushed to the bedside. “God. Margaret said the baby was coming. I’ve sent a servant to the village to collect Moira and the midwife.”
“Oh, Alan, what took you so long?” Sorcha asked.
He cradled Sorcha’s hand in his own. “Margaret hurt her ankle and didn’t get to the house till late, and I’d already had half the Glen searching for you. I was on my way home from Glenfinnan when they found me, and by that time it was near midnight. I came as soon as I could, love.” He pressed the back of her hand to his forehead and lowered his voice. “Are you well? Are you in pain?”
She smiled up at him. “Not anymore.”
“No?” Alan cast a questioning glance at Ceana, and in turn she gestured at the tiny bundle in Cam’s arms.
Cam rose and moved to the end of the bed. “Alan. Your son.”
“My . . . ?” Alan’s blue eyes flitted wildly from Sorcha to Cam. “My son?” he whispered. “There’s . . . It’s . . . There’s already a baby?”
“Aye, Alan. Our son,” Sorcha murmured.
“He’s sleeping,” Cam warned, a protective note in his voice. “Be gentle.”
Alan took the lad, a trifle more awkwardly than Cam had, and stared down at the sleeping face of his son, his eyes watering. His mouth moved, but he seemed at a loss for words.
“Isn’t he beautiful?” Sorcha said.
“Aye.” Alan looked up at his wife. “Beautiful second only to you, my love.”
“I know it is tradition to name our first son after your father, but I thought . . . I thought we might call him James.”
“Aye,” Alan rasped, his eyes shining. “For your brother. James it is.”
Cam and Ceana slipped outside to allow the three some time alone. Ceana clasped her hands behind her back. The success of the birth combined with the joy on both her friends’ faces made her heart swell with an aching sort of happiness.
Tilting her head up, she looked at the cloudless sky, at the glittering wash of stars overhead.
Cam slipped his arm around her. “I am in awe of your skill. You were wonderful.”
She leaned into him, content to have this time with him, content with the companionable way they touched. Agonizing over her attraction to him could come later. Now she meant to revel in the beauty of the night, in the welcome warmth of the man standing beside her. Who’d not balked at a woman in the throes of labor, but had held her hand and soothed her throughout.
That took a special kind of man.
“Thank you,” she murmured. “For everything.” She looked up at him. “How is your shoulder?”
“Good as new. Almost,” he added sheepishly.
She snuggled closer to him. “It’s cold out here. How can you be so warm?”
“It’s . . .” He shrugged. “It’s what happened in there. I’ve never imagined I’d see anything like that. It’s like battle, but with a joyful outcome instead of a deadly one.”
She wouldn’t remind him that on occasion, the outcome of childbirth was just as deadly as battle could be. She didn’t want to think about that now. The truth was, this had been beautiful. Everything about it, except perhaps the sheer surprise of it, had been ideal.
“You’re right.” She sighed.
He stared up at the sky. “It’s late.”
“It’ll be dawn in a few hours.”
“Sorcha can’t be moved tonight.”
“No,” she agreed.
“She has no more need of you, does she?”
“No,” Ceana said. “She’ll be well. She should be up and about tomorrow, with perhaps a bit of soreness.”
“And Moira is on her way here.”
“Aye.” Though it certainly wasn’t necessary for the midwife or Moira to come for medical reasons, she knew they would want to see Sorcha and verify that for themselves.
“You can’t sleep here, then. Your cottage will be too crowded.”
She shrugged. “I’ll survive without sleep for one night. I’ll wait to sleep until they have gone tomorrow.”
“No.” His gaze remained transfixed on the dark, shadowy trees of the forest beyond the clearing.
She raised a brow but said nothing.
“No,” he repeated, his voice quiet but deadly serious. “You will come with me.”
“That’s—”
Before she could say another word, he turned and disappeared into her cottage, leaving Ceana gaping after him. Just as she picked up her skirts to follow him, he emerged. Striding up to her, he grasped her hand, tearing it from the wool of her dress and clasping it in his own.
“Come.”
“Wh—”
His expression implacable, he tugged—no,
dragged
—her a few feet to where his horse stood, grasped her waist, and lifted her onto the saddle.
“Cam, what are you—”
He mounted behind her, clamping one strong arm around her waist, effectively pinning her against him. “Taking you away.”
“But—”
“Hush.”
It wasn’t until they were out of sight of her cottage that it occurred to Ceana that she was so bemused, she’d forgotten to argue. She should fight him, should object to the way he assumed he could throw her onto his horse and take her away from her home and her patient.
Then again, she realized with no small measure of panic, she had no desire to fight him.
She wanted to be stolen away, and she wanted Cam to be the one to steal her.
More than an hour later, Ceana sat rigidly, internally waging the battle of her life. They’d passed through the darkened village of Glenfinnan and rounded the tip of the loch almost half an hour ago. Cam hadn’t spoken at all, and he sat in still, stony silence, but he kept his arm braced around her, locking her against the warm prison of his chest.
Stay with him. Be with him.
Run, fight, get away!
Be happy again, if only for a brief time . . .
Demand he halt; demand he set you free! Before it is too late!
What demon possessed her? Why couldn’t she force herself to open her mouth and command him to return at once to her cottage? She knew that was the right thing to do. The honorable thing.
And yet . . . she couldn’t. She didn’t.
Cam kept the horse at a trot, and she was thankful the moon was so bright; otherwise this would truly be reckless. As it was, she grasped onto the horse’s mane for dear life, though with Cam’s solid arm around her middle, she hadn’t come near to falling from the animal.
They descended a gentle slope, and through the trees a structure came into view. Just beyond the building, the loch shimmered in the moonlight.
Ceana closed her eyes.
A remote shelter. They’d be alone . . . together.
She was doomed.
Nevertheless, the wild part of her took over, whooping in glee and trampling the sensible part of her into the dust.
The trees parted to reveal a pretty cottage about four times as big as her own home, yet to someone of Cam’s status a cozy, intimate place.
Cam stopped the horse and dismounted, then reached up to pluck her from the horse’s back. He hooked a hand behind her knees, lifted her into his arms, and, holding her tightly against his hard body, strode to the cottage.
He kicked in the door. It banged against the inside wall, but he paid it no heed. She stared up at him, shocked beyond words. He stared down at her, dark intent in his eyes, and she knew he thought of nothing else but her. At this moment, she was his world.
This was what she’d secretly craved. The wicked part of her wanted him to fight for her. To take her. To make her his, damn the consequences.
He walked through an arched doorway, entering a bedroom dominated by a large curtained bed. He walked to the bed and lowered her to her feet just beside it. Then he paused, his hands gripping her shoulders, and stared at her.
She looked up into his face. Slowly, she raised her hand and grazed his lip with her fingertip. Something flared in his eyes, and he caught her wrist in his hand, pressing her fingers hard against his lips.
He opened his mouth, took a finger inside, and sucked. An erotic spasm shot through her, and she struggled to hold herself still.
“What are we—”
He pulled back from her finger with a small pop and then cupped her cheek, his fingers tight over her skin.
“Shh,” he rasped.
The look in his eyes shattered her defenses and then crumbled them until they drifted away like dandelions on the wind.
She closed her eyes. God forgive her.
“I want you,” she whispered, against all wisdom, contrary to her better sense. It was the truth. She wanted him like she’d never wanted another man. This enigma of a man whom everyone despised but who cared so deeply for those who depended on him. Who’d sat beside a laboring woman for hours tonight just to offer her comfort.
Ceana didn’t just want him. She
ached
for him. The ache had grown in every moment that had passed since their kiss in her cottage. That kiss seemed like a lifetime ago.
She slipped her arms around his waist. He was so hard, so tight. Muscles rippled beneath her hands. And here she’d believed men of his class were always men of leisure, soft as dumplings. How wrong she’d been.
“Ceana.”
With that word, his lips crashed onto hers. All at once, the pent-up need she’d been holding so tightly inside exploded. She yanked his shirt from his breeches as he pulled at the crisscrossed ties of her dress. Within moments, their garments flew across the room. Cam kicked off his breeches and stockings, and he was naked. Fumbling with her garter, Ceana glanced up at him, and her breath caught.