At that moment, she uttered a fierce cry, her fingers knotting in the bedlinens as she strained to expel the baby. When he sprang to examine her, he saw to his relief the crowning of the head. He encouraged her to focus all of her strength into bringing their child into the world. She did so with great fortitude, and within moments he held a slippery, squalling baby.

" 'Tis a boy," Alex muttered, half dazed with elation.

The next moments passed in a blur. His actions automatic, Alex tied the cord and delivered the afterbirth, then washed up while Flora wrapped the baby in a blanket and brought him to his mother. Helen cuddled the infant in her arms and laughed with joy. "Oh Alex, we've a son. Isn't he beautiful?"

Alex sat down beside her. "Aye," he whispered.

He could trust himself to say no more. Reaching out, he touched the boy's still-damp black hair. He'd always found red-faced, squalling newborns rather ugly. But this one made his eyes burn with fierce, protective ardor.

Helen's radiant smile enveloped him. Seeing her cradling his son, Alex felt giddy, love-daft. Impelled by a powerful impulse, he leaned forward and gently kissed her. For one sweet moment, their lips melded with tenderness and hope.

He knew then that it was too late to fight his feelings for her. He wanted the three of them to be a family. His life-his son's life-would be incomplete without Helen.

But he didn't know how to hold her.

Chapter Ten

"I haven't been to Scotland since Justin and I wed at Gretna Green," Isabel said. "Oh, it's such a lovely place."

Sitting on the porch steps, Helen shared a smile with her half sister. The mountainous vista enhanced the delight of enjoying Isabel's company again. With the sun glinting on her loosely upswept copper hair, Isabel looked too young to be the new Duchess of Lynwood. "I'm glad you and Papa came to visit," Helen said fervently. "I've missed you both ever so much."

"And I wouldn't have missed meeting your husband and little Ian for the world," Isabel declared. "I've never seen a man dote so on a baby."

It was true, Helen knew. In the past weeks, Alex had proven himself a fine father, never hesitating to change a nappie or rock Ian to sleep. Now if only he would pay half so much attention to her. Deliberately, Helen deflected the conversation away from Alex. "Speaking of doting," she said, "Papa certainly dotes on his grandchildren."

She shaded her eyes to watch Lord Hathaway standing beneath the old oak tree, pushing Isabel's four-year-old daughter in the swing while Isabel's son toddled after the dog. The trill of childish laughter floated across the park. They had been here for a few days, having come six weeks after baby Ian's birth. Justin was due to arrive tomorrow after tending to estate business. And Helen would see Justin and Isabel hug with the tenderness she herself longed for from her own husband.

She felt the soft touch of Isabel's hand on her arm. "Helen? I don't mean to pry, but is everything all right between you and Alex?"

One glance into those sympathetic sherry-brown eyes cracked the dam around Helen's emotions. She spilled out the story of how Alex resented their forced marriage, glossing over the details of who had seduced whom. "We can't truly be a family until he loves me," she concluded with a sigh.

"Oh, but he does! I've seen the way he looks at you. As if he were a starving man and you were a feast."

Helen doubted that. Her throat ached as she remembered their tender kiss after Ian's birth. Other than that brief closeness, Alex had remained aloof. Sometimes he vanished for the entire day, as if he needed time alone.

She turned her gaze to the distant loch, and the deep blue reminded her of his eyes. "You must be mistaken. If he truly loved me, he would want to…" Reluctant to reveal their lack of intimacy, she bit her lip.

"He hasn't shared your bed for a while," Isabel guessed. "Do you know, Justin had a peculiar notion after our first was born. He swore he wouldn't subject me to the rigors of childbirth again. So I had to seduce him."

She didn't know that Helen had already seduced Alex. Twice. "I wish it were so simple."

"It is simple. A man likes to pretend he has a strong will. But he can't resist a determined woman-especially not the woman he loves."

"Och, there ye are, m'lady," said a voice from behind them. Smiling broadly, Flora held out a basket. "Perhaps 'twas forward of me, but I packed a feast of the laird's favorites. I ken ye two need some time alone."

"A picnic!" Isabel exclaimed. Her eyes sparkling, she shooed Helen up from the step. "What a perfect idea. Papa and I shall watch Ian for the afternoon. While you take your husband on a picnic."


Half an hour later, Helen stepped into Alex's office. In her damp palm she clutched the basket of food. She didn't quite understand how Flora had come to appear at the right moment, but it all seemed part of the magic of hope. In a flurry, Helen had fed Ian and then put him down for his nap before changing into a rose-pink gown, cut low over her newly maternal bosom. All the while she had trembled to imagine Alex caressing her. Perhaps Isabel was right. If they found pleasure in each other's arms again, perhaps intimacy could mend the terrible rift in their marriage.

He sat writing at his desk, the window open to the balmy August day. As she approached, he looked up sharply and her heart sank. In his rough features she could see no sign of unrequited love. Instead, his dark brows were lowered as if he resented being disturbed.

She would not let him drive her away. Not today. "We're going on a picnic," she said firmly. "Just you and I."

He stared, his eyes enigmatic. She braced herself for a refusal, but he merely said, "On one condition. That I choose the place."

"Agreed." So long as it’s secluded, she added to herself.

He rose from the desk and took the covered basket from her. Without another word, he opened the door and ushered her out into the sunshine.

His easy compliance surprised Helen as he led the way up a gentle slope fragrant with heather. Bees buzzed the pinkish-lavender blooms alongside the dirt path. As the hill grew steeper, Alex dropped back and cupped her elbow, helping her over the rocky, upland trail.

"Where are we going?" she asked.

He shot her a cryptic glance. "You'll see soon."

She took another look, and recognition excited her. The last time she'd been this way, snow had covered the great boulders, and the trees had worn their autumn grandeur. Already, she could see the crumbling gray stones through the trees up ahead.

The castle.

Nestled against a sheer rock cliff, the ancestral home of the MacBruts looked majestic in the sunlight, like an ancient warrior standing straight and tall. The square keep loomed beyond the twin towers. Something sweet and wistful stirred in her breast. Here, Alex had made her a woman. Here, they had conceived their son.

She expected Alex to set down the picnic basket in the meadow outside the stone walls. But he steered her through the open gate and toward the keep with its dismal aura of neglect. Helen slowed her steps. She wanted a new beginning, uncluttered by the past.

"We should have our picnic out on the grass," she protested.

"This willna take long. I've something to show you."

In the sunlight, his features had the rough splendor of an unpolished gemstone. Helen sensed a grim determination in him as they entered the castle. His fingers felt tense and stiff on her arm.

Their footsteps echoed through the vast chamber. Even in the midst of a summer day, the great hall was dim and cool. No cheery fire lit the huge hearth, and she found herself edging closer to Alex's warmth.

To her surprise, he slid his arm around her waist and let his hand rest on her hip. The breath faltered in her throat. She glanced up at him, wondering if his embrace was a thoughtless gesture. But his gaze was focused beyond her.

They stopped before a long table of gleaming oak. The polished silver candelabra glinted in the sunlight that streamed from the high windows. At one end, two fine china plates with crystal goblets were set as if for an intimate dinner.

Helen blinked at what had once been the cobwebbed banquet table. "Someone's cleaned it," she said in amazement.

Alex set down the picnic basket. " 'Twas me."

"You?”

He nodded, his eyes serious. "My father preserved the place because he was brokenhearted. Then I did so too to remind myself of my mother's cruelty. But I didna want Ian to carry on that legacy."

Helen hardly knew what to think. Was it possible Alex had changed? That he would cease to judge her by the mistakes of another woman?

He went on. " 'Twas I who told Flora to pack us a picnic. I wanted to show you what I'd done here." On that astonishing statement, he took Helen's arm and guided her up the winding stone stairs.

In the laird's bedchamber, too, much had been altered. A new mirror replaced the age-spotted one over the dressing table. Lemon-yellow silk draped the four-poster bed with its collection of plump feather pillows. The musty odor of neglect had been replaced by a fresh, flowery fragrance.

"Roses," she murmured. "You've refurbished this room, too. Why?"

"Surely you shouldna have to ask."

He gazed at her as if begging to be spared an explanation. But Helen had suffered too many lonely nights to forgive him so easily. Walking to the bedpost, she leaned against it for support. "I do have to ask. Tell me."

He glanced around as if the walls held the right words. After a long moment, he looked at her, his expression twisted with raw anguish. "I did it for you, Helen. To show you that the past doesna rule me anymore. To convince you to stay with me."