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For a moment Adrian blinked, and it had to be the whiskey that brought the tears to his eyes. “Whose idea was that?” he said gruffly.
“Oh, Melisande’s. Benedick wasn’t going to come up with a name—he was that certain he’d be burying her and the little one. ”
“And they’re healthy?”
“Listen for yourself,” Miranda said, holding the door open, and a loud, lusty wail came down the hall.
Benedick lifted his head, suddenly, astonishingly sober despite all the Scots whiskey he’d ingested. Miranda smiled at him. “Come along, my brave one. Your wife and son want to see you. ”
