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“The midwife suggested it, but the doctor and I disagreed.” She grinned. “Dr. MacTavish and Mrs. Peters had quite the set-to about it. I was forced to intervene.”
“Good. It’s a barbaric custom, tying the wee mites up like a parcel.”
She studied him. “You must know quite a bit about babies, having all those younger brothers. I keep forgetting that.”
“Especially Kade,” he said, turning back to the cradle. “After our mother died, I spent a lot of time with him.”
With the exception of Nick, who’d been forced to take charge of things, the entire family had fallen apart in the aftermath. Their father had been too wrenched with grief to even look at his newborn son. But as wrecked as he’d been too, Royal had known his mother had loved Kade with all her heart. She’d even told Royal to take care of his brother, just before she’d died. It had been his last promise to her, a solemn vow that was nothing like the silly promises rambunctious boys made to their mothers, ones meant to be broken.
“I even snuck in and slept by Kade’s cradle,” he said, smiling at the memory at how foolish he’d been. “Needless to say, the nursemaids had something to say about that.”
“You know, despite your bests efforts to convince the world otherwise, you’re really a very nice man.”
He threw her a glance of mock astonishment. “Perhaps I should get the doctor back in here? I’m sure you’re suffering from a fever.”
She narrowed her gaze. “To quote your grandfather, bugger you.”
“Tsk, tsk. Such language in front of a baby.”
A chuckle was her only reply.
He gazed down at the slumbering infant and couldn’t hold back a smile. She was a pretty little lass and looking at her made the world seem like a better place. Carefully, he reached in and touched her wee fist.
“Have you given her a name yet?”
When silence met his query, he turned to look at Ainsley, who was staring down at her lap.
Royal frowned. “What’s wrong?”
“I . . . I haven’t named her yet,” she said, finally meeting his gaze.
“Why not?”
“I didn’t think I had the right. After all, I’m not going to raise her. What if the people who take her hate the name?”
“Then they can change it,” he said. “But she’syourdaughter, and she’ll always be your daughter. You have the right to give her a name.”
“No, I don’t,” she said in a quiet voice that held legions of sorrow.
“Ainsley,” he said, taking a step forward.
She blew out a breath, as if annoyed with herself. “There’s no need to fuss, Royal. I’m perfectly f . . . fine.”
That little wobble in her voice all but killed him. “Oh, my sweet lass,” he said, starting for the bed.
She held up a hand. “Would you please bring her to me? I’m sure she must be hungry.”
Her abrupt tone brought him up short. Ainsley hated feeling vulnerable, and the glint in her eyes signaled a clear warning. But as much as Royal knew anything, he knew she needed comforting at the moment.
She forestalled him by shaking her head. “Please, Royal. I just want my baby, for as long as I can have her.”
He turned back to the cradle. He’d sacrifice anything for Ainsley—walk through the torments of hell to love her. But she didn’t want him. And what she did want—or need—he could never give her.
Staring blindly down at the infant, he wrestled himself under control. This wasn’t about him. It would never be about him, when it came to Ainsley. All he could do, as her aunt suggested, was be her friend. That would have to be enough.
“Royal?” Her voice was tentative. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” he said, throwing a smile over his shoulder. “Just trying to remember how to do this.”
