Page 64 of His Duchess to Remember

“Yes, you did,” she replied, tears beading on her eyelashes. “Yes, yes, you did, my darling boy. Your father said you would. I have not left your side, my dear one.”

Malcolm’s heart twinged again, his mind playing tricks. “Careful, lass. Ye might squeeze all of the air out of him.”

Simon chuckled at that, his little arms attempting to squeeze his mother in return.

Hearing that humor, knowing Simon would be alright, some part of Malcolm willed him to put his arms around them both, his wife and his son, and hold onto them tightly. Yet, there was another part of him that kept him where he was, just an observer, not part of the small, happy family before him.

“How long has he been awake?” Octavia asked, as she released her grip on her son and smoothed fever-damp strands of hair out of his face.

Malcolm shrugged. “Nae long.”

“Why did you not wake me?”

“Ye looked peaceful,” he replied, meaning it.

There was something almost heavenly about Octavia when she slept, all of the weight and worries of the day abandoning her. It was hard to describe, but it was a facet of her that he had not forgotten from the days of their short honeymoon.

At Highcastle, before leaving to his own bedchamber, he had stayed at her side and watched her for a while, drinking in her serenity as if it could somehow be borrowed. He would admire her radiant skin, her content expression, her full, pink lips, and the way her hair draped across the pillows like silk. He would gaze at her and, on occasion, imagine what it might be like to wake up beside her instead of slipping out of the room before she awoke.

It was only when he began imagining what it might be like to wake up beside her every morning that he had stopped those observations, for that was where danger lay.

“Will you fetch the doctor?” Octavia asked.

Malcolm bowed his head in a nod, for this too was dangerous territory. “Aye, I’ll get him now. And what do ye say to some chicken soup, laddie? To bring back yer strength?”

Simon nodded eagerly. “Yes, please.”

“I’ll nae be long.” Malcolm got up and went to the door, pausing before he crossed the threshold to take one last look.

Octavia was holding Simon again, her mouth moving in a whisper that Malcolm could not hear. The absolute joy and relief upon her face moved him in ways he could not trust and could not permit, even if he shared the feeling. He could not be a part of this little family. Nothing good could come of it, for what he loved, he lost.

He had no heart to give to either of them; it had been frozen long ago. And he would not ruin what his wife and son had created here when he could not promise that he would be the husband and father that they deserved.

Chest tight, he walked out. A rehearsal for the inevitable departure for Scotland that would separate them again, for good this time.

By the afternoon, Simon was asking if he might go outside for some fresh air. Naturally, Octavia had been against it, afraid that he might overexert himself and become ill again, but after some encouragement from Doctor Stanforth and Malcolm, she had finally relented.

“We are not to walk for long,” she said to her son, “and if you feel yourself getting tired or you start to feel too hot again, you must tell me.”

Simon rolled his eyes. “Yes, Mama.”

She had never known relief like it, when she had woken up to find her son with his eyes open, and her husband holding the boy’s hand. But she would not be able to truly relax until Simon was running around, laughing and playing like usual, and they were still some way off that.

“Why don’t ye ride on my shoulders for a while?” Malcolm offered, with a wink to his son.

Simon brightened and nodded effusively.

Seeming more like himself than he had since the game of lawn bowls ended, Malcolm swept the boy up and set him on his shoulders. Octavia could not help but smile, her heart full, her concerns about her husband ebbing. Maybe, just like Simon’s fever, whatever had been troubling Malcolm had broken at the same time, and now they could continue to…

To what? What is it that I want?

She did not have the answers, not truly, but she hoped that they might continue to build upon the foundation of whatever had begun when he came to Huntfield. Not that she was expecting a grand romance or any romance at all, but she was starting to believe that it would not be so bad to have Malcolm around. Permanently.

Five years ago, she would have balked at the idea, but this was not the Malcolm Gale of five years ago. Things had changed. He had changed, and perhaps that warranted a change from her, too.

“Ride, horsey!” Simon cried, giggling.

Malcolm shook his head, an almost shy expression falling across his face as a bark of a laugh escaped his lips. “I would, but yer mother wouldn’t like it if I ran off with ye through the gardens. Ye’re nae at yer full strength again yet.”