Page 87 of My Warrior
But he couldn’t let her distract him again. He had building to supervise. The new floor had to be…
She pushed herself up onto an elbow. One coy pink nipple peeped innocently out from beneath the fur coverlet.
He cleared his throat. There were important matters waiting. It was imperative that…
She ran her tongue quickly over her lips. And Holden’s good intentions fled quicker than a baker caught with short loaves.
Twice more she drained him of his strength and all sense, until he lay limp as seaweed on the sand.
“Laird Gavin,” Holden murmured wearily, “are you quite finished with me?”
She giggled low, cuddling into the crook of his arm. “There’s one more favor I’d ask of you, Lord Holden.”
“Ask,” he sighed, “and it’s yours.”
She grinned and drew a circle on his chest with her finger. “Could spare a carpenter to build a special piece of me?”
“What do you require?” he asked, closing his eyes to soak up the wonderful warmth of her body. “A wooden chest? A cupboard? A pedestal to set me upon?”
“Vain oaf.” She took a playful swat at him. “Nay, a cradle.”
“A cradle? But why…”
The breath froze inside him. It seemed the whole world ground to a wrenching halt, and the room suddenly darkened, as if a black cloud covered the sun. Her words and his thoughts hung in the air, like lethal arrows caught in midflight, and for a blessed space of time, he was unable to make sense of what he’d heard. His eyes fixed on the ceiling, but saw nothing.
And then the earth stirred, slowly resuming its turn, only now his breath felt oddly altered, dense, unrecognizable, as if he’d somehow crossed into a foreign clime where the air was thicker, perhaps poisoned. His heart beat like a leaden tambour, and his throat was too clogged to speak.
Surely she wasn’t… He swallowed hard, afraid to look at her, afraid he’d find what he feared most in her eyes.
“Holden?”
“A cradle,” he repeated.
“Mm-hmm.” Cambria grinned wide. Sometimes men could be so blind. “Don’t you want to know why?”
“You’re…”
“I’m with child, Holden.” Just saying it aloud made her feel aglow with happiness.
But Holden offered no reply. He only stiffened against her.
“Holden?” Sudden misgiving threatened to sour her joy. “Did you hear me?”
“You’re with child.” His voice was gruff, cold, distant. What was wrong with him?
“Holden, is something…?” A moment ago, she’d floated on angels’ wings. Now she was Icarus, careening toward the earth. “You know… you know the child is yours?”
“Oh, aye,” he said, his tone as bitter as rue. “It was I who did the deed.”
Tears welled in her eyes, and she bit her lip to still its tremor. “Aren’t you pleased?” she whispered.
He disengaged himself from her then, sparing her not a glance, and got up from the bed, the bed where they had made love only moments before. He dressed with careless haste.
Her heart crumbled like a sapped castle wall. “Do you not…love me?”
He rounded on her, his eyes fierce with pain and rage and something else she couldn’t name. “Love you? I love you more than life itself! More than…” His voice broke, and with a curse, he stormed from the room.
Stunned and hurt and utterly bewildered, she clapped a hand over her mouth, muffling the sobs that racked her body, sobs that refused to subside until it was far past morning and Holden was far past forgiveness.
