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“I can take care of Ualan by myself,” he said without looking away from Rogene.

Her heart beat in her throat.

“I suppose ye can,” Mairead said. “Ye’re so good with him. Better than his own da sometimes. Ye’ll be a wonderful father one day.”

Father to Paul Mackenzie, Rogene thought.

Mairead threw her hands in the air. “All right, then, I will go to get my dress altered in peace. Ye call for me if ye need something, aye?”

“Aye.”

She disappeared back through the doorway, and Angus walked with the babbling baby to the fireplace. There was a large, wooden cradle, where he set Ualan, arranging him among the pillows and linens. The boy grabbed a clay rattle shaped like a pig and began shaking it, his eyes widening and his smile broadening from the clanking he was making.

“Aye,” Angus cooed. “Good lad.”

Rogene came to sit on the bench by his side. It was warmer here, by the fireplace, but she was acutely aware of Angus’s strong body, as though he was the source of the heat. He was leaning over the cradle, and Ualan stopped shaking the rattle and reached to Angus’s face with his little hand. He grabbed his uncle by the nose and squeezed. He probably had sharp fingernails because Angus grimaced, his nose reddening.

“Strong lad,” he said, slowly twisting out of the grasp.

The baby squealed in delight as Angus escaped him, and went on with his business of shaking his toy, filling the room with loud, echoey clanking. Watching Angus massage his nose with an exaggerated frown, Rogene giggled.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

“Didna think the lad had nails like wee daggers.”

He caught Ualan’s hand and looked at his nails. They were long, though some of them were broken and had sharp edges. Glancing at the boy, Rogene noticed small scratches around his eyes and nose. He was probably hurting himself.

“Ye dinna give yer mother a chance to get rid of those, dinna ye, lad?” Angus said. “Lady Rogene, can ye please distract him? I’ll take care of this.”

Rogene frowned. She didn’t remember any baby nail clippers in the Middle Ages, and scissors were too rough for such small fingers. “Distract him? How?”

He chuckled in his beard. “Sing to him, make faces, I dinna ken. Arenae women supposed to ken what to do with babies?”

Uneasiness churned in her stomach.

What if he hurt the boy? What if the child screamed? Did Angus know what he was doing?

“Come on, Lady Rogene!” he urged as Ualan was trying to free his little hand from Angus’s giant fist with whiny grunts.

“What are you going to do?” she said doubtfully.

“Why does every woman think I’m going to eat the baby?” he growled. “I’m going to bite his nails off, of course. How else do ye expect me to shorten them?”

She blinked. She was in the Middle Ages, she reminded herself. She looked at his lips and at the tiny pink fingers of Ualan. Could this giant be so gentle he was ready to give a baby a manicure without hurting him?

And if so, what else was his mouth capable of?

Heat rushed through her core and she felt her cheeks and neck burn.

“Um…” she said, looking down and wiping her suddenly sweaty palms on her knees. “Yes, of course.”

Baby books… In the twenty-first century, she’d pick a colorful baby book. The only book she had here was the Bible. She took it and found a big icon made with golden-and-red inks and showed it to Ualan.

“Here, Ualan, see, this is…”

The boy’s mouth fell open as he studied the picture with wide eyes, completely forgetting about Angus. Using the boy’s distraction, and with a concentrated look, Angus took Ualan’s fingers in his mouth. This was both disgusting and cute.

“Um…Virgin Mary with our Lord Jesus Christ,” she said as she watched Angus with horror.