I growled, wrapping my arm around her waist. The rustle of her skirts sounded loud over the murmur of the audience. “Tell me…. Otherwise, I’ll have to use more forceful means the moment we’re in private.”
She licked her lips. “Promise?”
I rolled my eyes. “You’re really going to drive me mad, huh? Fine, the moment I’ve blown out those bloody candles on whatever cake you bought—”
“I’m pregnant.”
My mouth fell open.
Everything paused.
I couldn’t move, speak, think.
Pregnant?
Fuck, she’s…pregnant.
My mind scrambled, trying to make sense of the word. My heart bucked, squeezing every drop of oxygen from my lungs.
Nila chuckled at my lack of intellect. Her fingers looped with mine, pressing against her belly. “Pregnant, Kite. As in…I’m going to have your child.”
My legs gave out.
I crashed to my knees on the stage in front of thousands of fucking people.
Tears shot to my eyes as I stared at her flat belly. The skirts and petticoats of her smoky gown hid any flutter or growth, but my heart sprang with knowledge. “You’re—you’re…” I couldn’t finish.
The crowd went silent as I wrapped my arms around her legs and hugged her close. I kissed her stomach. I swore on everything I owned that I’d do whatever it took to be worthy of this new gift.
Pregnant.
She’s pregnant.
I glanced up, drinking in her glowing face. “Ho—how?”
She curved over me, her eyes darting between me at her feet and the crowd. “Get up, they’re all watching.”
“I don’t care. They can see what true love looks like. I’m not ashamed to worship you, especially after you tell me something as life changing as this.” Pulling her down to me, she kneeled in her dress, eye to eye.
“How? I thought—”
She shook her head, smiling wide. “The contraceptive you gave me before the Third Debt wore off months ago. I meant to tell you I wasn’t on birth control, but then I thought…we have everything we could ever need. We won over seemingly impossible odds. Why wait? We’re young but wise. We’ve proven we know what’s right and wrong.”
Her hand cupped my cheek, shaking a little but so damn strong. “I want to have your children, Jethro. I hope you don’t mind I made the decision for both of us.”
“Mind? Why the fuck would I mind?” I crushed her to me, crumpling her feathers and rhinestones, messing up her elaborate hair with kisses. “This—it’s more than I could ever ask for.” Cupping her face, I kissed her deep.
I poured my heart and thankfulness down her throat. “How—how long?”
She sighed, holding onto my wrists. “I’m not sure. A few weeks…possibly a month or so.”
A stupid grin spread my face. “Do you know what it is yet?”
A girl.
Please, let it be a girl. Just like Nila.
A child I didn't have to worry about facing such horrendous debts. A firstborn daughter who would survive and not be made to pay for historic crimes.
She shrugged. “I don’t know. But whatever it is, I know you’ll love it and me, and we’ll fill Hawksridge with the sounds of laughter.”
I couldn’t stop myself.
Clambering to my feet, I swooped her into my arms. The train of her dress rippled over my arm as I stood in the centre of the stage with so much fucking pride I could fly.
Glaring into the ever-invasive cameras, I announced, “My wife is pregnant.”
The theatre erupted into applause.
I didn’t care.
All I cared about was getting somewhere private so Nila and I could have our own celebration.
Turning my back on the world, fading out the claps and happy conversations, I kissed my wife. “I love you. I love you so fucking much.”
Nila laid her head on my heart, making me wondrously complete. “I know.”
Three Years Later…
“GOOD NIGHT, GOOD NIGHT, DON’T let the bed bugs bite.”
The squeal echoed merrily around the room as Jethro blew raspberries on the belly of our child. Our firstborn. Part Weaver, part Hawk.
The past few years had gone by so fast. We became a true family—working together, loving together, learning and evolving and laughing.
My pregnancy had been easy. Thanks to my fitness from running, I remained supple and able to work until the day I delivered. Jethro would often find me in the Weaver quarters, sewing and sketching with my belly ballooning as the days stretched on.
He never told me to stop. He supported whatever I wanted to do. He held my hand when I walked the estate and commandeered the kitchen at all hours to concoct my ridiculous cravings.
He absolutely doted on me, and I fell deeper into love with him. I hadn’t known there were so many layers to love. Sweet and sparkling then lusty and desiring, evolving into bone-deep and endless as the years slipped by. And the longer we lived together, the more we became soul-mates in every sense of the word.
He knew my thoughts without me verbalising.
I knew his concerns without him having to speak. We became in-tune with body language and heart-code…listening with more than just ears.
The further I progressed in my pregnancy, the more my father visited. His fear for my health grew until I resembled a blimp, soothing the scars of our past. He begged for the right to help decorate the nursery and almost singlehandedly bought London out of every nappy, cuddly toy, and cute baby clothes.
My twin was less impressed. He ribbed me constantly of the weight I’d gained—taunting me like a brother was allowed. On the nights he came to visit, he’d pat his washboard stomach and poke my humongous one, laughing good-naturedly. He even joked he’d buy me a few lessons with a personal trainer once I’d popped to get back into shape.
Jethro had not been happy. His eyes flashed with jealousy as Vaughn played up the angle of some beefed-up jock helping me stretch and train.
The night had ended with drinks for the boys and giggles for me.
I’d never been so contented.
And the day I’d given birth had once again changed my life. I’d been terrified—not that I told Jethro. My heart bucked and the fear of dying in labour stole all enjoyment of bringing life into the world.
But Jethro had been my prince, keeping me anchored, rubbing my back when vertigo struck and driving me calmly to the private hospital we’d arranged for the delivery.
The birth hadn’t gone perfectly. I’d been in labour for twenty-four hours. The baby had turned the night before and faced the wrong way. An emergency caesarean had to take place after Jethro roared for the doctors to take away my pain.
For every one of my contractions, Jethro felt it. He sweated beside me. He trembled in sympathy. He almost threw up when the agony threatened to rip me apart.
But when the first screams of our child shredded the operating theatre, Jethro had slammed to his knees. His shoulders quaked in silent sobs as he let himself feel another conscience for the first time.
Not mine.
Not the doctors and nurses.
Our baby.
His.
Our son.
The moment the doctor cleaned up the newborn and swaddled him in Jethro’s arms, he’d irrevocably changed. He became more than lord and master of Hawksridge. He became more than lover and friend.
He became a father. A protector. A single piece in a jigsaw of never-ending history. The look on his face when he stared into the eyes of his heir fisted my heart until I couldn’t breathe.
It’d been the singular most awe-inspiring moment of my life.
And I’d done it to him.
We’d done it together.
We’d created the squalling new life wriggling in his embrace.
He’d found his peace.
His centre.
Our son cooed as I brushed his bronze-black curls off his cherub cheeks. To begin with, I’d b
een terrified of making a mistake—of being the worst mother imaginable. But once I returned home to the Hall, the cooks and cleaners all came to welcome their new inhabitant; granting snippets of their own experiences, and filling me with courage I could do this. I could raise this little person. I could teach him how to be moral and kind and wise. I’d been able to break the Debt Inheritance. I could raise a baby boy, no problem.
Jethro touched my hand from the other side of the cot, looping his pinkie with mine. Our son wriggled in his bed, grabbing our joint fingers and squeezing them tight.
My heart glowed as Jethro strained across the crib, kissing me softly. “I love what we’ve created.”
I smiled. “I’m rather glad about that.”
The chubby fingers around ours pinched, demanding more attention. “Okay, okay, demanding little thing.” Jethro let me go, bending over to kiss his son one last time. “It’s time to go to bed.”
“No!”
“Yes.”
The little boy shook his head, loving his favourite game.
I stood quietly, watching son and father interact. The name we’d chosen couldn’t be more apt.
Kestrel.
Kestrel ‘William’ Hawk after Jethro’s original ancestor and closest brother.
Jethro sighed dramatically. “If you don’t go to sleep, you won’t get to enjoy tomorrow.”
“Yes. Tomarrooww.”
I smothered my chuckle. Kes was beyond intelligent for his age. He’d learned to talk far earlier than normal, but his little accent cracked me up.
“No, if you don’t go to sleep, there is no tomorrow.” Jethro grinned, blowing another raspberry on Kes’s neck. “Know why?”
Kes frowned as if the question was incredibly important. “No.”
“Because if you don’t sleep, tomorrow can’t come because you’re still in today. That’s why we sleep, Kes. So today can pass and our dreams can conjure a new beginning. You don’t want to ruin that tradition, do you?” Tucking the sheets tighter around him, he smiled. “After all, Mummy and I will be in the future, living tomorrow while you’re stuck in the past living today. We’re going to go to sleep. That means you should, too.”
Kes suddenly froze, his inherited golden eyes latching onto me. “True?”
“Very true.” Pressing the button of his nose, I murmured, “Go to sleep, little one, so we can have a good day. We’ll go riding. Would you like that?”
He yawned wide, finally letting tiredness take him.
“Good boy.” Removing my hand from the cot, I moved quietly toward the door. Jethro remained, bending to give Kes another kiss. Patting his son’s tiny chest, he checked the nightlight was secure and the baby monitor switched on and synced to his phone.
The little boy who looked exactly like his namesake with cheeky golden eyes and floppy dark bronze hair snuggled in his covers, already falling into dreams as his father sneaked across the room to me.
“You do know he manipulates us to drag out as many minutes before bedtime as possible, right?”
I laughed quietly; stepping into the corridor of our wing, I left the door open a crack. “Did you sense that or just parenting 101?”
His arm snaked around my waist. “A bit of both. If we’re not careful, he’ll have us completely wrapped around his little finger.”
“Eh, I think that’s already happened.”
Leaving the nursery, we padded down the corridor of the bachelor wing. Not that it was the bachelor wing anymore. We’d transformed many of the rooms into playrooms, media rooms, and revamped the bedroom with soft whites and greys rather than overbearing brocade and maroon leather.
It’d been the only part of the house we’d renovated and removed the symbolism of Hawks on plasterwork and architraving. The rest of Hawksridge was a monument to architecture and history. It wouldn’t be right to tear apart something so rich and detailed.
The thought of heading to bed to do more than sleep crossed my mind.
After Kestrel’s birth, I’d returned to running. It wasn’t a chore. I ran for freedom, for peace. I ran because it was something I enjoyed. The baby weight came off, and I returned to designing gowns for my figure. The caesarean scar was just another mark on my body proving I’d lived a life and won. But unlike the many others scars I’d earned fighting an age-old debt, this one I wore proudly because it’d been given to me by the greatest gift I could imagine.
And soon, I would have another gift.
I had another secret.
A secret I’d managed to keep far longer than the first. Sneakily hiding my growing bump with excuses and masquerades. I’d kept my surprise hidden for two reasons. One, I wanted to see how long it would take Jethro to sense my news. I constantly expected him to suddenly drop the dishes or stop doing paperwork and announce what grew in my belly.
But ever since Kes had come into our lives, his condition had mellowed. He now had two of us who loved him unconditionally and didn’t walk a razor blade of hypersensitivity—he didn’t need to. All he needed to focus on was happy thoughts and contentment.
Before Kes was born, I’d catch him having a stressful day and try to soothe his condition by giving all the love I could share. I’d grant him sanctuary in our connection and hold him as long as he needed. Being in crowds was still too much for him. Dealing with company travel didn’t often happen as his need for silence hadn’t diminished.
At the start of our relationship, when he’d told me how much he would drain me, how much he would rely on my love for him, I hadn’t fully understood the ramifications of what I’d agreed to.
But now I did and it was the least I could do.
He’d given me so much. On a daily basis, he gave me more of himself than I could ever ask for, and to be able to help cure him after a long day dealing with people granted me power and connection.
But our son.
Well…he was the true cure.
Jethro only had to hug Kes and the stress in his eyes would melt. The strain in his spine would vanish, and the need for simplistic silence came from holding the two-year-old in the tightest embrace.
Two years.
I couldn’t believe we’d had Kestrel Hawk II in our lives for two years.
My mind returned to my secret, subtly stroking the growing bump.
The other reason why I’d kept it from him was I wanted the moment to be special. I wanted to whisper in his ear and give him a treasured present after he’d given me so much.
Spinning my black diamond engagement ring, I remembered Kes’s first week at the Hall. Jethro had disappeared for a day, telling me to rest and all would be revealed upon his return.
I couldn’t believe it when he returned with a foal.
Tears had spilled as he clutched the halter of such a delicate little pony and pranced him proudly through the Hall to Kestrel’s nursery.
There, the adorable dapple grey colt stuck his nose through the bars of the cot, snuffling at the baby, building the first stone of an unshakable bond between horse and rider.
We’d agreed to call the foal Gus—labelling the colt with yet another name from the man who watched over us. It wasn’t for a few weeks until I found out the origins of where Gus had been sourced.
Jethro had returned to the breeder who’d given his brother Moth—creating yet another circle of fate, buying pedigree from excellent stock.
My heart overflowed; I came to stop in the corridor.
Jethro raised his eyebrow. “You okay?”
“I want to tell you something.”
He paused, his nostrils flaring. “Tell me what?”
“Not here. I want to go somewhere special. Just the two of us.”
He frowned. “You’re scaring me. Tell me.” His hands latched around my hips walking me backward to the wall. Pressing me against the fancy tapestries, his mouth latched on my throat. “Don’t make me torture you to learn what you’re hiding, wife.”
I melted as his tongue and hot wetness of his mouth sent needful flurri
es through my core. “Perhaps a swim? I could tell you in the hot springs?” My mind filled with happy moments, splashing with Kes in the hot water and making slow love to Jethro once our son was in bed. The springs beneath Hawksridge had become a regular part of our lives. And I happened to know Jasmine took Vaughn down there a number of times to not only ease her atrophied muscles but also to indulge in…other things.
His lips kissed their way over my neck to my mouth. Tilting his hips, a rapidly hardening erection nudged my lower belly.
I moaned, accepting his invite.
His breathing quickened as his tongue danced with mine. Kissing me slowly, savagely, sweetly. The Hall swam, and my leg itched to hook over his thigh, hitch up my skirt, and welcome his body into mine.
Planting his hand by my head, he held himself over me. His voice trembled with lust. “I won’t let you distract me. I want to know what you’re hiding, and if you want it to be somewhere special…I have a better idea.”
“Oh?”
Pushing off from the wall, he took my hand. “Yes. You want somewhere priceless. Let’s go for a walk on the grounds. The very land we own and safeguard for our son. That’s the most special I can think of.”
I couldn’t agree more.
Our fingers linked as we moved through the house, nodding at Black Diamond brothers and waving at Flaw as we crossed the foyer. It wasn’t late, about nine p.m., but the summer sky teased with dusk. The sun had gone, cooling the outside temperature, but my ankle-length skirt and gypsy blouse would keep me warm enough for a small excursion.
Our footsteps disturbed gravel and leaves as we left the Hall and meandered down the driveway.
Passing the orchard, my mouth watered remembering the juicy fruit we’d picked the day before. Jasmine did her best to teach me how to have a green thumb like her, but I wasn’t interested; not when I had baby clothes to sew.
It hadn’t escaped my notice the way Jasmine held little Kes. She wanted one. We’d had a late-night conversation once about her getting pregnant with Vaughn.
For a long time—too long—she hadn’t let Vaughn touch her. She couldn’t get over her fear that someone could love her, no matter how stupid such a notion was. They’d been together for over two years, and she’d confided it took her almost a year just to allow him to sleep with her.