“You’re looking much better than the last time I saw you, Astley.”
“The last time you saw me I was clothed. All the ladies prefer me naked.”
“Astley!” Caillen exclaimed.
Máira merely laughed, yet despite her gaiety, it was blatantly false. He glanced at Caillen to see if she was aware of the tension in Máira’s brow and the flat expression of her eyes that spoke of a sadness he understood too well. Caillen was busy pulling clean clothing out of his closet as if she planned to dress him. Not bloody likely. To make matters worse, Máira was standing near the door looking a bit peaked as she brought her hand to her stomach.
“Are you well, Miss Máira?”
Her hand went back to her side, fear making her movements stiff. “I’m fine. Why do you ask?”
“Because you look a bit green around the gills, as if you might cast up your accounts.”
Máira’s eyes widened and she bit her lower lip, an expression he had seen many times throughout years of revelry and too much spirits. She was definitely trying to avoid losing her breakfast.
Simon looked toward Caillen. “You do recognize the signs, don’t you?”
Caillen looked toward her sister. “Signs of what?”
Simon grabbed the empty wash basin on his nightstand and held it out to Máira, who rushed forward and grabbed it. Within seconds she was retching and Caillen was racing to her side, instead of his. He grabbed the linen from his nightstand and passed it to Caillen who exchanged it for the basin when her sister was done. Caillen didn’t, however, touch her sister in comfort.
“Sit down, Máira, before you fall down,” he ordered in a gentle tone. She was in no condition to argue.
“I don’t think she should be in here. I don’t want you to have a relapse.”
“It’s not contagious,” he advised her.
“You don’t know that, Astley.” Caillen argued, because if anyone would, she would.
“Is it contagious, love?” he asked.
Máira’s eyes welled with tears as she shook her head back and forth with a solemnity that nearly broke his heart for her, and himself. Bloody hell. For the first time since he met Caillen she was willing to converse with him. Yet now, not only did he have to push her away for her own safety, he had to go and do the one thing that would ruin any chance of winning her heart in the future.
“I would get down on one knee if I could, Máira, but as we all know that is impossible at the moment. So Máira, love, would you do me the honour of becoming my countess?”
Caillen’s gaze shot to his. “Your what?”
“No, Astley. I won’t do that to you,” Máira whispered as the tears spilled over.
“Don’t answer now. Give it some thought. With me you will be safe, our child will be safe, and no one will speak ill of our babe.”
“Your what?” Caillen’s eyes were as large as saucer’s, her bow-shaped mouth dropped open in disbelief as she looked between the two of them.
“Máira is going to have my child.”
“Your child?” Anger began to slip into her countenance. Her eyes narrowed, her lips pursed and he was thankful she had set the basin in the hall, otherwise he was certain he’d be wearing Máira’s breakfast.
“When exactly did you seduce my sister?”
“He didn’t,” Máira insisted, the tears continuing to spill down her cheeks.
“I did, on the ship on our way back from France. She helped rescue me from the French, and I couldn’t resist her. Close the door, Caillen.”
“‘To make such means for her as thou has done and leave her on such slight conditions,’” Caillen spat.
“Yes, I have the same qualities of Shakespeare’s Turio inThe Two Gentlemen of Verona.” He acknowledged.
“You seduced my sister while sporting a broken leg, a dislocated shoulder, broken ribs and broken finger on top of being ill?”
