Greylen held her stare, then finally grumbled under his breath, “On when you would tell us you’re with child.”

“Ahhh.” Her mouth dropped open. She could tell they were holding laughter back and it took her a good full minute before she regained her control. “Greylen, can I speak with you for a moment?” she asked sweetly.

He rolled his eyes. “Like I’d fall for that again?”

“But it’s important,” she pressed. “It’s about the baby.”

“I’ve a busy day,” he stated emphatically. “I’ve not time for games, wife.”

“Oh, very well.” She sighed. Then she left the room.

“You, my friend, are in trouble,” Duncan said, clasping Greylen’s shoulders as he stood behind him.

“Nay, she left easily enough,” Greylen reasoned. Then realized she left too easily. He kept waiting for her to come back, but when she didn’t, he assumed he escaped her wrath, for now. He couldn’t hide his thoughts from his men. “She’ll seek her revenge, but later.”

Later, however, wasn’t long. They were still in the study when Isabelle came in and handed Greylen a missive. “One of the border patrols just delivered this, Greylen,” she said, handing it to him. “He said ’twas important.”

Greylen took the missive and opened it immediately, hoping ’twas information on Gavin. The seal was illegible but when he spread the parchment, he recognized the script. Clever wench. He knew he shouldn’t read it, he couldn’t help himself.

Greylen,

I just wanted to tell you how much this baby means to me.

His heart warmed at her words and he continued.

I also wanted you to know when our baby was conceived. It was the day of the storm, the day you stayed in the study with your men, the day I waited for you in the tub by the fire…

The room was suddenly crowded. He stepped into the hall, leaning against the wall beside the door. His body rock-hard as he read, in explicit detail, the events of that day.

I stood as you entered our chamber, drops of water running down my body. Do you remember how you took each one from me, Greylen? You dried me with your mouth and made me wet again with your hands and your tongue and your body.

His hands fisted on the page as he walked to the steps, his eyes never veering from the script as he took the stairs.

You laid me on the floor, and…

Holy mother of God, she was descriptive.

You wouldn’t stop, Greylen, not till I lay as a rag doll before you. You were very pleased with yourself. Do you remember?

Aye he did, ’twas in fact hard to walk at present.