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Slowly, he pushed himself up, his dark eyes locking with hers. The intensity in his gaze stole her breath. There was no amusement now, no teasing. Only raw, naked need that made her heart ache with an emotion she was not ready to name.

“Ye’ll be the death of me, Sheona,” he whispered, his thumb gently wiping a smear of his cum from her cheek.

She smiled, a genuine smile that reached her eyes. He leaned in, pressing a soft, tender kiss against her lips. As his lips claimed hers again, Sheona knew with absolute certainty that their marriage would be far more than duty.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The heat of Brodie’s hand lingered on Sheona’s neck, the echoes of her own involuntary moan still humming in her ears.

She yanked herself backward out of his reach, her breathing coming in fast, shallow gasps. Her heel caught the edge of the sheepskin rug, but she caught herself against the arm of the oak chair, her chin snapping up, her eyes blazing with a mixture of raw mortification and defiance.

Brodie did not pursue her. He stood his ground, towering in the center of the solar, his dark eyes watching her every move with that quiet intensity. The subtle twist of satisfaction still lingered at the corner of his jaw.

Before either of them could utter another word, a sharp commotion echoed up the stone stairwell from the lower corridors. Heavy, frantic footsteps slapped against the flagstones. Shouted orders and high-pitched, anxious voices shattered the silence of the keep.

Sheona seized the distraction like a lifeline. She pulled herself upright, brushing down her wool skirts with trembling hands, and stepped past Brodie without meeting his gaze. She hurried toward the solar archway just as Angus came running back down the hallway, his small face flushed with excitement and confusion.

“What is happenin’?” Sheona asked, catching the boy gently by the shoulder as a young kitchen maid rushed past, her arms laden with steaming copper kettles and white linen cloths.

Sheona reached out, her hand clamping firmly around the kitchen maid’s trembling arm, forcing the girl to a sudden halt. “Stop a moment, lass. What has happened?”

“It’s Mairi, me lady!” the girl squeaked, her face pale and dotted with sweat. “She’s taken terribly ill in the lower chambers! The babe is comin’ early, and Elspeth rode out to the lower village two hours ago for the festival preparations! There’s nae a healer in the keep!”

A muffled, agonized scream tore through the stone floorboards from the chamber below, cutting through the corridor like a blade.

The kitchen maid looked ready to weep, the kettles sloshing hot water over her knuckles. “The scullery maids are in a panic, me lady. None of us ken what to do!”

In an instant, the lingering haze of flustered embarrassment lifted from Sheona’s mind. A calm, icy clarity settled over her blood—the familiar, steadying composure her mother had taught her during the long winters at MacFaris Keep, where every woman was expected to know the arc of life and death.

“Set those kettles down on the hall bench,” Sheona commanded, her voice dropping into a clear, firm tone that brooked no argument. “Fetch clean tallow candles, fresh lard, and sharp shears from the kitchen. Now!”

The maid blinked, startled by the absolute authority in Sheona’s voice, before nodding frantically and darting down the stairs.

Sheona turned back to find Brodie standing just behind her, his broad shoulders filling the hallway, his brow furrowed in dark concern.

“Stay here, Sheona,” Brodie rumbled, his voice hard. “Ye’ve barely recovered from the fever yerself. I’ll send a rider to fetch Elspeth.”

“The babe willnae wait, Brodie,” Sheona cut in smoothly, meeting his gaze with unyielding, steely resolve. “I have assisted me mother through three births in our glen. I ken what must be done.”

Without waiting for his permission, she hitched up her heavy skirts and strode down the spiral stone staircase toward the lower chambers.

The small room was stiflingly hot, lit only by a few sputtering candles. Mairi, a young maid with wild red hair, lay thrashing on a narrow rope bed, her face slick with tears and pain, her hands clutching the stained mattress ticking as another violent contraction wracked her belly. Two older kitchen staff hovered by the hearth, wringing their aprons in helpless distress.

“Out,” Sheona ordered as she crossed the threshold, rolling her wool sleeves up past her elbows. “Bring more dry linens and stand by the door. Daenae crowd the air.”

She knelt beside the bed, her skirts spreading across the damp rushes on the floor. She placed one broad, cool palm firmly against Mairi’s sweating forehead, her other hand taking the girl’s white-knuckled fist.

“Look at me, Mairi,” Sheona said, her voice dropping into a low, soothing rhythm that cut through the girl’s frantic sobs. “Look right at me. Ye are nae alone. Breathe through the pain, lass. Deeply now.”

For the next half-hour, time ceased to exist outside the small stone chamber.

Sheona worked with swift, practiced precision. She checked the babe’s position, wiped the young mother’s brow with damp cloths, and guided Mairi’s breathless pushes with calm, steady instructions. When the girl wept, declaring she had no strength left, Sheona held her shoulders firmly, her voice an unwavering anchor in the dark room.

“Ye have the strength of the Highlands in ye, Mairi,” Sheona urged fiercely, her eyes locking onto the weeping girl’s. “One more push. Give me yer babe now!”

With a final, raw cry that echoed off the stone walls, Mairi thrust forward. Sheona caught the slick, warm weight in her hands. Swiftly clearing the tiny mouth, she held her breath for a single, agonizing second until a sharp, loud, thin cry split the quiet chamber.

Relief swept through the room like a fresh breeze. Sheona quickly wrapped the small, squirming child in a soft wool blanket, wiping its tiny face and pale skin. Just as she lifted the bundle into her arms, the heavy oak door of the chamber swung wide open.