He finally took her meaning, scrambling from the floor with Tristan in his arms, holding him so tight that his son had to pinch him to break him from his stupor. “But ’tis not time,” he cried, clutching the lad again.

“I’d say you’re wrong,” she returned with a sigh and shrug. “But I’d prefer not to argue.”

“What should we do?”

She actually laughed. “I think we should have this baby. Take Tristan to Anna, Greylen. And help me upstairs, please.”

“But she can help.” Was that his voice?

“We don’t need her, Greylen. And Tristan will sit with no one else.”

Tristan was deposited in Anna’s arms minutes later. Then Greylen took his wife’s shaking hand in his own and led her upstairs.

Her labor wasn’t long, and her spirits were very high. Except for the times when her contractions let loose.

“Let me fetch Anna. Please, Gwen,” he pleaded for the hundredth time.

“She’ll come when he’s asleep, Greylen.”

“Your daughter picked a fine time to come.”

“What makes you think this babe is a girl?”

He gave her the look. The one that informed her of her daftness. “Only a girl, and more to the point, only your daughter could have a will such as this. You women will ruin me.”

“Take back your insult,” she demanded, “or I swear, you’ll never get me with child again.”

“Get you with child again? Are you serious?” Good God she was! “Gwen—wife, you think I would get you with child again?” He gave her the look again. “Not only do I sit between your legs…your attributes plain for the world to see. You have the temper of a wild boar, the mouth of a sailor, and have I mentioned—you have the body of a gangly boy…with a melon in your belly.”

She had laughed at his teasing. Then she had screamed as another contraction came and his heart sank to the floor. God bless her, though, she was right. This babe came easily and by the time Anna had entered their chamber, he was holding his precious daughter in his hands, crying just as he had the first time.

He was so lost in thought as he remembered that day three years ago, he didn’t see his daughter approach. But he felt her tiny hand on his cheek before he turned to look at her.

“Papa,” she called in the sweetest voice he’d ever heard.

He smiled and gathered her in his arms. She placed her precious hands on his face, rubbing the whiskers that darkened his features. “Aye, angel?” he asked softly.

“Dance with Mama.”

“Dance with your mama,” he repeated. The children loved to watch them dance, though, they always giggled and covered their eyes as they peeked through their tiny hands.

“Aye, Papa,” she said. “Come dance with Mama.”