Song of the Highlands: The Cambels (The Medieval Highlanders) (59 page)

She felt his chin move off her pate, so she
knew he was looking down at her now. She tipped her head and
returned the look. “Aye. I do,” she answered with a giddy
smile.

He gave a snort that turned into a belly
laugh and she used his chest as leverage when she raised up. “What?
What makes you laugh so?”

“Our daughter. I could see that she was not
utterly assured that all was well within our bridal chamber, but
she had not the daring to put her nose too far into my and your
affairs.”

Gwynlyan smiled as well, but nibbled her
lip, too. “I do hope she isn’t fretting even now about it. She
needs her rest.”

Gwynlyan made to rise, but Morgunn brought
her back down to him with a strong grip about her waist.

“Nay, ‘tis not long now until sunrise. We
can see her then. For, if she sleeps, then we will awaken her, and
if she does not, she will grow even more suspicious if you go to
her and declare all is well, when we told her that already
before.”

“Aye,” Gwynlyan said on a sigh, and settled
more comfortably once again into her husband’s side.

They lay there in companionable silence for
quite a time more, until finally, and blissfully, they, too, found
their rest.

* * *

Gwynlyan bit her lip in concentration as she
carefully made the final flourish to her signature. After her
capture by Alaric, she’d not been given the means by which to
write, so her skill had grown weak with disuse, but in the past
five moons since her renewal of vows to Morgunn, and their
subsequent return to their holding,
Aerariae secturae
, she’d
exchanged several letters with her daughter and the skill had
slowly begun to return, become easier.

A hand landed on her shoulder and she
started, but calmed when she heard the dulcet murmur of Morgunn
close to her cheek.

“Another letter to Morgana, is it?”

“Aye,” Gwynlyan replied, carefully setting
the quill down away from the vellum she’d been scribing upon and
turning her head up to meet her husband’s eye. “Their son’s well
whelped, our daughter is hale, and she craves a visit from us.”

“And by what name will my grandson go
by?”

“Robert the Younger—Morgana insisted.”

Morgunn lifted a brow at her, giving her a
sardonic smile. “Knowing my daughter as I do now, this surprises me
not.”

Gwynlyan smiled, though she too lifted her
brow. “You held no such loathing in doing near the same with the
naming of our daughter, I will remind.”

He tweaked her nose, dropped a quick kiss on
her lips, then, making her eyes want to cross, said close to her
face, “Aye, but mine holds more dignity, my love.”

She grinned and rolled her eyes as she
looked down again at her letter. “Aye, and I’m sure Robert would
say much the same of his in any comparison to yours.” Shaking her
head with a sigh, she continued, “You know you like him well, why
can you not admit it?”

She’d expected a witty rejoinder and instead
received a small pause, a thoughtful reply.

“Because he is the man that took my place in
my daughter’s esteem.”

This made Gwynlyan swing around and stare at
him. “Morgunn! Your daughter adores you. What an odd thing to
say.”

His brows furrowed and the corners of his
mouth turned down. “Aye, but not in the same worshipful way she did
as a lass.” His voice had a tinge of bitterness in it when he said,
“Nay, that she reserves for her husband now.”

Gwynlyan reached out and took hold of
Morgunn’s hand. “Do you not think that is as it should be, my
love?”

He looked down at the floor, shrugged, and
said with a bit of a pout. “Mayhap.”

“You would not have liked it had I not
transferred my worshipful regard of my own father to you, my
husband, once we wed. I know you would not have.”

“Aye, but you are my wife. She is my
daughter. ‘Tis different.”

Gwynlyan sighed. “And as such, ‘tis natural
to feel the loss, I suppose. I’ll say naught more of it. However, I
will at least get that confession from you that you like well your
daughter’s husband.”

‘Twas Morgunn’s turn to roll his eyes. He
heaved a heavy sigh, but finally said, “Aye, I like him well. I
confess, ‘tis hard not to do so.”

Gwynlyan grinned up at him and he returned
it, giving her hand a squeeze as well.

“How are you feeling this morn?” he asked
her.

By habit, her hand went to her rounding
belly. “Fit. Well. Joyous. Content. Eager. Well.”

“You already said
well
.”

“Aye, but ‘twas worth repeating.”

He glanced at the letter she’d written,
tipping his head at it. “And did you at last tell her the reason
you’ve been delaying a journey there these past few moons?”

Gwynlyan gave him a giddy smile. “Aye, I
did. Now that her babe is born, and now that I’ve carried this
one”—she glanced down at her belly—“until past its quickening, I
feel more ease in doing so. Tho’ I do still worry what her feeling
will be to having a new brother or sister when she, herself, is old
enough to bear.”

“Knowing my Morgana, she will plan a feast
and dance a reel. She will be as pleased about our babe as we are,
fret no more on that score, my love.” He leaned down and kissed her
again. As he broke the kiss, he said, “Mayhap she will visit us
instead. For, I would like to meet this grandson of mine, this
Robert
the Younger.
” Bringing her to her feet, he continued,
“Leave that for now, let us walk in the glen, enjoy the sun, enjoy
the flowers,
enjoy
each other.

A shiver of anticipation traveled through
her. “Aye, let’s.”

* * * * *

Song of the Highlands

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DON’T MISS THE FIRST
THREE BOOKS IN THE MEDIEVAL HIGHLANDERS SERIES:

THE HIGHLANDS TRILOGY: The Macleans

Highland Vengeance

Book One

Highland Grace

Book Two

Highland Magic

Book Three

MORE BOOKS BY K.E. SAXON

Sensual Contemporary Romance

Love Is The
Drug

A Stranger’s Kiss
(novella)

A
Heart Is A Home: Christmas in Texas (novella)

Sensual Romantic Comedy/Fantasy Romance

Diamonds and
Toads: A Modern Fairy Tale

K.E. Saxon is a third-generation Texan and
has been a lover of romance fiction since her first (sneaked) read
of her older sister's copy of
The Flame and the Flower
by
Kathleen E. Woodiwiss. She has two cats, a 26-year-old cockatiel,
and a funny, supportive husband. When she isn't in her writer's
cave writing, you can find her puttering in her organic vegetable
garden or in her kitchen trying out a new recipe. An animal (and
bug) lover since before she could speak, she made pets of all kinds
of critters when she was a kid growing up. Her mother even swears
that she made a pet of a cockroach one time (but K.E. doesn't
believe her). She likes to write humorous, sexy romances.

* * * *