Page 65 of So Close To Heaven
“She’s perfect, right?” She asked Claire. “You counted her toes? Her fingers?”
“Everything,” Claire confirmed. “Your little mini-me is precious, Ivy.”
“Thank you, Claire,” Ivy said softly, leaning her head against her friend’s. “Thank you for being here.”
The door creaked, and Alaric stepped inside, Claire having given the all-clear to Evir a minute ago, when Ruth had finishedstitching Ivy and she’d been changed into a fresh gown, just as Claire had laid the babe in her mother’s arms.
For a heartbeat he did not move, only stood on the threshold, as though unsure if he should enter. His face was pale—paler than Ivy’s, she suspected.
“Here,” Claire offered, vacating the spot next to Ivy.
He crossed the room slowly, almost reverently, until he reached her bedside. His gaze was first for Ivy, trained on her as to ascertain for himself that she was all right.
Ivy smiled brilliantly at him. “Hi.”
“Ivy,” he breathed, sinking down to his knees, which put him nearly eye to eye with Ivy. His hand came to the one stretched extended to him, rough thumb brushing over her knuckles, and then he bent and kissed her. Not hurried, not desperate—just full of joy and release, as though that kiss was the first breath he’d taken in hours.
“This is Lily,” she said to him, beaming with pride and love.
He leaned close, gaze fixed on the tiny features, the scrunched pink face, the damp wisps of dark hair. His breath caught audibly. His eyes shimmered with wonder, with tears he did not bother to hide.
“She’s... she’s flawless,” he whispered, voice rough. His great hand hovered, hesitant, before brushing one careful finger against the baby’s small fist. Lily twitched in response, curling her hand around his finger, and he let out a broken laugh. “God help me, Ivy, she’s nae my own bluid, yet I’ve never been prouder in all my days.”
Ivy’s throat tightened, tears slipping down her temples. “But can she be, Alaric? Can she be yours? Ours?”
He nodded fiercely, too choked up to speak.
Claire added her two cents from the background. “She might as well, already has him twisted around her fingers.”
Chapter Eighteen
The keep was quiet but for the thin wail echoing up the stairwell. Alaric paused at the foot of the stairs, listening, and then bounded up them, not wanting the babe to wake her mother. It had taken immense powers of persuasion—his, Claire’s, the midwife’s—to finally get Ivy to take some rest during the day.
He eased the door open with care, mindful of the spot halfway where it always creaked. Slipping through before it could give him away, he caught himself wondering why he bothered. If Ivy hadn’t stirred at the child’s strident wail, she certainly wouldn’t wake for the faint groan of a door hinge.
He crossed the room and looked down at the squirming, red-faced bundle, her fists flailing as though she meant to fight her way out of her swaddling and cradle.
“Whisht now, lass,” he muttered, though his voice held no real conviction. He cast a glance toward the bed where Ivy lay in heavy sleep, finally surrendered after days of stubborn refusal.
Awkwardly, gingerly, he lifted the infant from her cradle. Lily was warm and impossibly small against the size of his hands, her cries rising like a war horn. He held her stiff-armed at first, away from him, unsure what part of her was most fragile. “God’s wounds, ye’ve a voice on ye,” he muttered, wincing at the pitch.
He carried her down the stairs, boots thudding softly on the worn stone. The noise came with him, piercing as any blade. By the time he stepped into the hall, his ears rang with it.
Claire was just coming from the corridor, carrying a piece of wadded linen in her hand. Alaric caught the quick twitch at the corner of her mouth, likely amused by how awkwardly he held the bairn. He had some idea of how he must look. One would think Ivy had birthed ten bairns with how at ease she instantly was with her babe in her arms.
“Dinna laugh,” he warned darkly, though he had the sense that made it harder for her to obey.
She bit the inside of her cheek, eyes dancing. “I wasn’t going to,” she said far too innocently. Then, with a nod toward Lily, “I was just on my way up with something that might help. She doesn’t need to feed for another hour at least. A rag dipped in sugar water—works like a charm. Though we don’t want to make a habit of it, it’s not good for her teeth.”
“Her teeth?” Alaric questioned, alarmed.The bairn had teeth already?
“When they come,” Claire clarified, another grin bit back.
Alaric frowned, shifting the babe who screeched all the louder for it. “Should we nae hire a wet nurse, then? To spare Ivy this—”
“No.” Claire cut him off without hesitation, shaking her head. “Ivy will never go for that. I guarantee you.”
He lifted a brow, unwilling to yield so quickly. “It’s a common enough thing. Why nae?”
