Page 96 of The Wolf Laird's Obsession
“Morag said all of that, didnae she?”
“Aye.” Elspeth nodded solemnly, her grey eyes wide and serious. “She said it very loudly. Da told her to stop shoutin’, but she said she would shout if she wanted to because she had been waitin’ for this day for years and she wouldnae let him ruin it with his growlin’.”
Sorcha laughed, and the sound of it surprised her. It was light and easy, nothing like the careful, measured laughter she had used in those first weeks at MacLaren Castle, when every word she spoke felt like a performance and every smile felt like a mask.
“Yer da does a lot of growlin’,” Sorcha said.
“He does.” Elspeth leaned her head against Sorcha’s shoulder, and her small hand came to rest on Sorcha’s belly, pressing gently. “Is the baby awake?”
“I think so. I felt a kick this morning. A very strong one.”
“Like Da?”
“Exactly like Da.”
Elspeth’s face broke into a grin, before she pressed her cheek against Sorcha’s belly and spoke in a loud whisper, “Hello, baby. I am yer sister. Me name is Lady Elspeth MacLaren, and I am very important. When ye come out, I will teach ye everythin’ ye need to ken. I will teach ye about Mr. Turtle and about the pond and about how to hide from Morag when she wants ye to take a bath.”
Sorcha smoothed her hand over Elspeth’s tangled curls and felt something swell in her chest, something warm and full and almost painful in its sweetness.
This is me family. These are me people. This is where I belong.
“I cannae believe ye are lettin’ her call ye Ma already.”
Sorcha looked up.
Rowan stood in the doorway, with his arms crossed over his chest and his shoulder leaning against the frame. His dark hair was loose around his face, still damp from working in the fields, and his shirt was untucked and streaked with dirt.
He looked nothing like the fearsome Laird who had ridden into Sinclair Castle on that grey morning, demanding his bride.
He looked like home.
“She started it,” Sorcha said. “I had nothin’ to do with it.”
“I am sure ye didnae.” Rowan pushed off the doorframe and crossed the room, his boots soft on the stone floor. He stopped beside the chair and looked down at them, his grey eyes flicking from Sorcha’s face to Elspeth’s tangled curls to the small wooden horse in Sorcha’s lap. “What is that?”
“A toy. For the baby.”
“Ye are makin’ toys already? The baby isnae even born yet.”
“I am prepared.” Sorcha lifted her chin, pretending to be offended. “Unlike some people, who wait until the last moment to do everything.”
Rowan’s mouth twitched. “I am very prepared.”
“Ye forgot about our wedding night. Twice.”
“I didnae forget about it. I was… delayed.”
“By a fire, I ken. Ye tell me that every time I mention it.”
“Because it is true.”
Sorcha laughed again, and Rowan’s eyes softened in that way they had been softening more and more over the past months, the way that still made her heart skip a beat and her breath catch.
“Da.” Elspeth pulled away from Sorcha’s belly and looked up at her father with her most serious expression. “Sorcha says the baby kicked this morning. I felt it. It was very strong. Like ye.”
Rowan raised his eyebrows. “Like me?”
“Aye. Very strong and very handsome.”
