Epilogue #2
“Aye, now I have ye. And Eloise. And soon, this little one.” His hand settled over her belly, feeling their child move beneath his palm.
She turned in his arms, looping hers around his neck. “I love you. Have I told you that today?”
“Only twice.” His lips curved. “I’m feelin’ neglected.”
“Poor neglected laird.” She kissed him softly. “However will you survive?”
“I have some ideas.” His hands slid down her back, cupping her hips and pulling her closer, or as close as her belly would allow. “Though they all involve gettin’ ye into that bed.”
“Do they?” She walked backward, drawing him with her. “How scandalous.”
“Oh, believe me, I intend to be as scandalous as possible.”
“Is it scandalous to want you this much?” She settled onto the bed, reaching for him. “Even now, when I’m round as a barrel and clumsy as a newborn foal?”
“Ye’re beautiful.” He knelt beside the bed, pressing kisses to her belly. “Radiant. Perfect.”
“I’m swollen and uncomfortable and, oh,” Her breath caught as his hands skimmed up her thighs, pushing her chemise higher. “Declan.”
“Let me love ye, lass.” His grey eyes were dark with desire and tenderness in equal measure. “Let me show ye how perfect ye are to me.”
He worshipped her body with hands and mouth, careful of her belly but thorough in his devotion. When he finally moved over her, bracing his weight on his arms to avoid pressing on the baby, she pulled him down for a kiss that tasted of love and promise.
“I need ye,” he murmured against her lips. “Need to be inside ye. Need to feel ye surround me.”
“Yes.” She arched as he entered her, the angle slightly different now but no less perfect. The new position allowed him deeper, and she gasped at the sensation, her hands gripping his shoulders as her body adjusted to accommodate him. “Always yes.”
He moved slowly at first, each thrust deliberate and measured, his eyes never leaving hers.
The firelight painted gold across his skin, highlighting the play of muscles in his arms and chest as he braced himself above her.
Francesca felt the delicious friction building, the heat coiling low in her belly as their bodies found their rhythm.
His hand slid down her thigh, lifting her leg higher around his waist, and the shift made her cry out softly. He paused, concern flickering across his features.
“Dinnae stop,” she breathed, pulling him closer. “Please, dinnae stop.”
They moved together slowly, carefully, savoring each sensation. His hand found hers, their fingers threading together as pleasure built between them like a tide.
“I love ye,” he said, his voice rough with emotion. “God, Francesca, I love ye more than I kent it was possible to love anyone.”
“I love you too.” She gasped as he hit that perfect spot. “So much. Forever.”
“Forever,” he echoed, and they fell together, crying out their release in unison.
Afterward, he settled beside her, pulling her against his chest with her back to his front. His hand splayed protectively over her belly, feeling their child’s movements.
“What do ye think?” he asked quietly. “Boy or girl?”
“Does it matter?”
“Nae even a little.” He pressed a kiss to her shoulder. “As long as both of ye are healthy, I daenae care if it’s a lad or a lass.”
“It’s a boy,” she said with sudden certainty. “I can feel it. A strong, stubborn boy just like his father.”
“Heaven help us if he inherits me stubbornness and yer determination. We’ll never have a moment’s peace.”
“No,” she agreed, smiling in the darkness. “But we’ll love him anyway. Just like we love Eloise.”
“Just like we love Eloise.”
They lay in comfortable silence, listening to the castle settle around them.
Somewhere down the corridor, Eloise was probably reading to her animals.
In the village below, MacGhee clan members were settling in for the night.
And here, in this chamber, a family was building something precious—not from blood or duty but from choice and love.
“Declan?” Francesca said sleepily.
“Aye, lass?”
“She’s getting that dog, isn’t she?”
His chest rumbled with silent laughter. “Aye. She is.”
“I knew it.”
“Ye’re nae angry?”
“No.” She pressed back against him, feeling safe and loved and home. “I think our family could use a dog. To complete the menagerie.”
“A menagerie.” He sighed dramatically. “What have I become?”
“A father. A husband. The heart of this family.” She turned in his arms to face him. “The man who makes every day brighter just by existing in it.”
“Ye’re gettin’ sentimental again.”
“I blame the baby. All these emotions are exhausting.”
“Then sleep.” He kissed her forehead. “I’ll keep watch.”
“You always do,” she whispered, already drifting toward sleep. “You always keep us safe.”
And as she slept in his arms, their child moving gently between them, Declan Blain—fearsome Highland laird, devoted husband, loving father—allowed himself a moment of pure gratitude.
He’d fought so hard against this. Against loving, against caring, against letting anyone close enough to hurt him. But now, surrounded by the evidence of all he’d feared to want, he understood the truth.
Love wasn’t weakness. Love was everything. And he had more of it than he’d ever dreamed possible.
The End?