Page 97 of The Wolf Laird's Obsession
“Did Sorcha tell ye to say that?”
“Nay.” Elspeth shook her head vigorously, her curls bouncing. “I thought of it meself. I am very clever.”
“Yearevery clever,” Rowan agreed. He reached down and scooped her off the chair, settling her on his hip like she weighed nothing at all. “And ye are also very heavy. What has Morag been feedin’ ye?”
“Cakes. She says I need to grow big and strong so I can protect the baby from wolves.”
“What wolves?”
“The ones in the stories. The ones that eat little children who daenae eat their porridge.”
Rowan looked at Sorcha over the top of Elspeth’s head, and his expression was caught somewhere between amusement and exasperation. “Morag has been tellin’ her stories again.”
“I heard.” Sorcha set her carving down and reached for the shawl draped over the back of the chair. “Somethin’ about a wolf and a little girl with a red cloak.”
“Aye. Elspeth has been havin’ nightmares.”
“I havenae been havin’ nightmares.” Elspeth crossed her arms and pouted. “I have been havin’ adventures. With wolves. And I always win because I am very brave and I have Mr. Turtle.”
“Mr. Turtle is very fierce,” Sorcha said.
“The fiercest.”
Rowan set Elspeth down and ruffled her hair. “Go find Morag. Tell her we will be down for supper soon.”
“But Da?—”
“Go.”
Elspeth heaved the heavy sigh of a child who was asked to do something terribly inconvenient and trudged toward the door, Mr. Turtle still clutched against her chest. She paused at the threshold and looked back at Sorcha.
“Ma?”
“Aye?”
“I love ye.” The words came out fast, almost shy, and then she was gone, her small feet pattering down the corridor before Sorcha could respond.
Sorcha pressed her hand to her chest, where her heart was beating too fast and too full.
“She has been sayin’ that a lot lately,” Rowan noted.
“I ken.”
“Does it bother ye?”
“Nay.” Sorcha looked up at him, tears stinging her eyes, but she did not blink them away. “It makes me happy. Happier than I ever thought I could be.”
Rowan held her gaze for a long moment, then he reached for her hand and gently pulled her to her feet. His arms came around her waist, careful of her belly, and he pressed his forehead against hers.
“Ye are cryin’,” he murmured.
“I am nae cryin’.”
“Ye are. I can feel the tears on me face.”
“That is the rain.”
“It’s nae rainin’.”
