Page 262 of Wicked Highland Heroes

He paused in slipping the mail shirt over his head. “Is being an earl’s wife so important? Or is it that you want your son to have the title?”

She snapped her head up and met his gaze. “I come from a proud line of Highlander’s. I do no’ need your title—neither does our child.”

He pulled the mail shirt over his head. “Then why are you so insistent?”

“Because it is so obviously true.”

“The likeness between Lady Taresa and my sister—”

“Is too coincidental to be coincidence,” she cut in.

He sat on the bench and began pulling on a boot. “I remember my mother only vaguely. I was five when she died.”

Talbot paused in putting on his boot. He was five when his father told him she had died. But if she died when he was twelve as Lady Taresa said... Why would his father lie? If Lady Peigi was Talbot’s mother, why not simply marry her after Dayton’s mother died? A chill coiled in his belly at the vision of Dayton’s tirade when he grew old enough to understand that his father’s wife—Dayton’s stepmother—was Talbot’s mother.

His father couldn’t bring Talbot’s mother home.

Neither could he marry Lady Kelsi Emory while keeping a long-time mistress Talbot realized with a flash of insight that he recognized as truth. Lady Kelsi tolerated her husband’s bastard children, but she wouldn’t tolerate her husband having—loving—another woman. Talbot’s father told him that his mother had died giving birth to Lilas. Did he tell his new wife the same lie? Talbot finished pulling on the boot. Would his father truly dishonor a high-born lady in such a manner? Would he take a woman’s children from her? And lie to all those he loves?

“Write to your father.” Rhoslyn’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “Mayhap he will admit the truth.”

“I have written, but do not get your hopes up.” He grabbed the other boot, pulled it on, then stood. “He prizes honor above all.” The words came out of his mouth an automatic reaction.

“Honor has a way of disappearing when a man wants a woman,” Rhoslyn said.

Talbot’s chest tightened.

“You, a bastard, can say your father is always honorable when it comes to women?” she said.

Talbot imagined Rhoslyn as a maiden of fifteen and wondered what he would have done had he met her before she married Alec Harper. He would have married her. No, he wouldn’t have. Her grandfather wouldn’t have allowed Talbot within a hundred feet of her. Just as Talbot’s father wouldn’t have been allowed near Lady Peigi. Just as Talbot hadn’t allowed his men near Andreana.

In truth, a king’s decree was all that had stopped Seward from killing Talbot when he married Rhoslyn.

* * *

When Rhoslyn woke two days later, her stomach roiled. She made a dash for the jakes, reaching it just in time to fall to her knees and wretch into the basin. Warm fingers on her shoulder caused her to jump and she jerked her head up to see St. Claire kneeling beside her.

“Go away,” she croaked.

He was sure to avoid her bed after seeing her like this. Her first few months while pregnant with Dougal she had slept half the time in her own bed for fear of waking up in need of a jakes. Alec had been solicitous, but she’d known he was relieved not to witness her bent over the jakes for half a day.

“Drink this.” St. Claire lifted a cup to her lips and tilted it up.

Cool water met her lips and she took a large sip, then pushed the cup away. She swished the water around in her mouth, then spat it into the pot.

“Take more,” he urged, and wrapped her fingers around the cup.

Rhoslyn drank slowly, allowing the water to soothe her throat and belly. When she finished, he pulled her to her feet. He was dressed, she noted, and the morning sun was bright in the room.

“I overslept,” she said. “Why did ye no’ wake me.”

“Why wake you?” he replied. “If you are tired, you should rest.”

“I am not ill,” she said, though the way her stomach tilted to one side, she wasn’t so certain.

“Perhaps you should rest more,” he said.

Rhoslyn shook her head. “This will pass.” Though with Dougal she had suffered months of nausea.