Alistair had faced flames and smoke with steadier nerves than the ones unraveling him now. Pacing the hallway outside Evelyn’s chamber, his boots stuck against the carpeted stone floor in restless, uneven rhythms. Every cry, every exclamation that sounded beyond the closed door drove into his ribs like a blade twisting deeper with every sound. The castle had never felt so suffocatingly small nor so impossibly vast at the very same time. He wanted to throw open the door and storm inside, to drop to his knees beside Evelyn and grip her hands tightly in an attempt to take the pain from her. At the very same time, he wanted to run out to the stables and ride his horse furiously about the grounds so that this uncertainty, this fear, would be driven from him.

“Come, Alistair.” Angus appeared from the shadows in the corner of the hallway. “Come and have a drink to steady yourself. You are doing nothing here but boring a path into the carpet, and we shall leave the door wide so you can hear everything.”

Alistair shook his head, letting nothing more than a grunt escape him, only for his uncle to grasp his arm and near drag him away, back toward the smaller, quiet parlor that Evelyn had used in the afternoons, when she had grown wearied. Within it sat Clara, perched on the edge of a chair by the window, her hands clasped tightly together in her lap. Caldwell remained beside her, following after her when she rose to greet them.

“There is no news as yet,” Angus said, reassuringly as Alistair began his pacing all over again, albeit with shorter strides given the smaller room. “Here, Alistair. Have a whisky.”

About to refuse, Alistair caught the glint in Angus’ eye and paused long enough to take the glass from him, throwing back the measure in one gulp. The heat and the smoke passed straight into his lungs, sending fire across his chest as he set the glass down, taking a few moments to calm himself.

“What if there is something wrong?” Clara looked up at her husband, having only just sat back down again. “Oh, Augustus, why is it happening now? We thought she had another month and—”

“And babies are inclined to keep their own schedules,” came the quiet reply, his gaze flicking toward the door and then to Alistair, unable to keep the tension from his expression despite his reassuring words to his wife. “The midwife is experienced, and Mrs. Thornton is so determined, I am quite sure she shall simply order the baby to arrive just as it ought!” He smiled, but it was not as bright as usual. “There is nothing to worry about, my love. We must only wait.”

Alistair attempted something resembling a smile only for a loud cry to tear from Evelyn’s chamber and rattle down the hallway toward him. It carried such a sound of pain that his stomach clenched violently, his hands curling into fists. He was about to step out toward the hallway, back to stand sentry outside Evelyn’s room, only for Angus to sidestep him, coming to stand directly in his path.

“It will do you no good,” his uncle said firmly, jaw set. “I understand your distress, truly, but you must wait. Laboring is a great difficulty, nephew, whereas all that is required of you is patience.” His lips quirked for a moment. “Your father was the very same as you are now, when your mother was birthing you. And on both occasions, I appear to be the one demanding that you remain steady.”

Alistair swallowed hard, lowering his head. He had heard Evelyn cry before, had heard her weep quietly, had heard fear, grief or anger break her voice—but this was different. The sound left him almost raw with helplessness, for there was nothing he could do but wait as the woman he loved suffered great pain and trial. And he could not even go to her.

“Papa?”

The sound of Edward’s tiny voice broke through Alistair’s own upset, seeing the boy standing in the doorway, his hands clutching a wooden dragon against his chest. His eyes were wide, his face pale in the candlelight, and his chin wobbled.

“Edward?” Alistair moved quickly, scooping the boy up in his arms and gesturing for Angus to close the door. “You are meant to be abed.”

“I was asleep,” Edward said, slowly, looking at each and every person in the room, “but I had a terrible dream. There was a dragon roaring and then…”

And then you heard your mother screaming, Alistair wanted to say but wisely refrained. “But you are very good at defeating dragons,” he told Edward, trying to smile despite his own upset. “I know you can do the very same now.”

“Did you know that Scotland once had a dreadfully fearsome dragon that lived near to the castle?” Angus arched an eyebrow as Alistair sat down, keeping Edward on his lap. “It was so terrifying, that only the bravest men dared approach it—but none of them ever had the courage to fight it—save for Hector.”

Edward sat forward on Alistair’s knee. “Hector?”

“Hector.” Angus nodded. “Shall I tell you the story?”

What followed was a greatly exaggerated tale about Hector, the Highland warrior, fighting an impossible battle against impossible odds, only to come out victorious.

“And then,” Angus finished, spreading his arms out wide in the most dramatic fashion, “he grasped the dragon by the tail and flung it straight into the sea, where it sank to the bottom and was never seen again.”

Edward tilted his head, frowning. “Hector threw a whole dragon into the sea?”

Angus nodded. “The largest dragon Scotland has ever seen.”

With a scrunch of his nose, Edward shook his head. “I do not think that can be true.”

Looking affronted, Angus placed one hand upon his heart. “I tell you the story only as I was told it,” he said, a twinkle in his eye as Edward giggled. “Shall I tell you another story? About the second largest dragon Scotland has ever seen?” He held out one hand to Edward, who quickly scrambled off Alistair’s lap. “But I shall tell you once you are back in your bed, so that you can hide under the blanket if you are afraid.”

“I am not ever afraid,” Edward said stoutly, making Alistair smile as Angus led the boy out again. “One day, I shall fight dragons.”

Alistair let out a slow breath, surprised to find that he, too, was somewhat calmer after Angus’ story. Rising, he moved toward the window and stared out at the darkened grounds where moonlight silvered the hills beyond the loch. He recalled the first time Evelyn had stepped out of the carriage and into the castle, frightened but strong and determined not to break beneath the weight of her circumstances. Another cry echoed from the chamber, and Alistair dropped his head, his hands curled tightly against the windowsill.

“Alistair.”

He glanced back toward Caldwell.

“Evelyn is strong,” the doctor said, gently. “You need not be afraid.”

Nodding, his own pulse hammering through him, Alistair closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. “I know,” he said hoarsely. “She has already endured so much. I do not wish her to endure more.”

“She will bear all manner of things for love,” Clara said, softly. “She told me so herself. With the child to come, she knew full well that there would be all manner of pain and suffering—but that great joy would come from it. Just as it did from your own battle for love, Alistair.”

Clara’s words brought Alistair more comfort than he had expected. It was if the weight on his shoulders softened, lightened just a fraction—enough for him to breathe a little more easily. Glancing back at her, he offered a small smile. “I thank you, Clara. That has helped me more than you know.”

Hours seemed to stretch endlessly after that, minutes taking up far longer than they should. At times, servants hurried through the corridors with clean linens, with water and sometimes with food. Angus, Alistair was informed by a maid, had fallen asleep beside Edward, who was still holding his dragon tightly in one hand. Clara was resting her head against Augustus’ arm with exhaustion, her eyes closed and shadows deep underneath. Caldwell had his head back against the cushions, his eyes open but fixed to the ceiling.

Alistair, for his part, could not sit still. He was either at the window or the door, peeking out into the hallway as if something might have changed within the short period of time he had been absent from it. Just when he thought the waiting might finally drive him to the brink of insanity, one final, long cry rose from the chamber, only to stop short.

And then, another sound followed it.

A baby’s cry, small but fervent and making Alistair’s heart slam hard into his chest.

He staggered forward, his hands gripping the doorframe as he fought to breathe steadily, his relief melting into his limbs and leaving him weak. Clara and Caldwell were behind him in an instant as Alistair fought to regain himself, standing as tall as he could and slowly, delicately lifting one hand from the doorframe.

“Your Grace.” The midwife came out of the room and strode toward him, her face lined with exhaustion but with triumph in her eyes. With a cloth in one hand, she dabbed at her brow and then smiled broadly as she bobbed a quick curtsy. “Might I congratulate you on the birth of your daughter.”

Alistair’s knees almost gave way. “A daughter?”

The midwife nodded and patted his arm in a motherly fashion. “A daughter—and a robust child at that, judging by the noise she is making at present.” Chuckling, she smiled as Alistair fought to take in a steadying breath, hardly daring to believe that he had been so inordinately blessed. “Mother and child are both well.” Her voice softened. “Your wife is asking to see you.”

He did not remember walking across the hallway nor pushing the door open. One moment he was standing, frozen in place beside the midwife, the next he was in Evelyn’s chamber, his heart pounding painfully as warmth and candlelight wrapped around him.

“Alistair.” Evelyn lay against the pillows, her few damp tendrils clinging to her temples and exhaustion written across her face. “I have longed to see you.”

Alistair’s throat constricted as he came closer to her, a slight tremble in his frame. “You have never looked more beautiful,” he whispered, the breath stolen from his lungs as he looked down at his wife and kissed her forehead gently, only to let his gaze rest on the smallest creature he had ever seen resting in his wife’s arms. For a long moment, he could only look, his eyes and heart fixed and frozen as he gazed down at his daughter.

“Should you like to meet your daughter?” Evelyn whispered, a flickering amusement faint through her exhaustion. “Or shall you simply stare down at her in that manner?”

Emotion rose so fiercely, he could not speak. Cautiously, almost reverently, he lowered himself carefully onto the bed and waited as Evelyn guided the tiny bundle into his arms. Alistair felt as if he was unworthy of holding such a beautiful creature, his breath hitching as she lay, warm and secure in his arms. Wrapped tightly in soft blankets with tufts of dark hair already visible atop her tiny head, her face scrunched indignantly for a moment at being taken from Evelyn, only for her to yawn as one tiny fist uncurled briefly against his chest. Alistair stared down at her in complete wonder, something inside him breaking open—not with pain but with a fullness so profound, it nearly undid him entirely.

“She is beautiful,” he whispered, barely able to take his eyes from his child. “How I have ever come to deserve such a gift, I cannot imagine.”

Evelyn touched his arm, her eyes shining. “I was hoping you might agree to my choice of name.”

He waited.

“Isobel,” she said simply. “I think her name should be Isobel.”

A sudden stab went straight through his heart, and he had to close his eyes against the rush of emotion. Tears burned behind his eyes, his throat aching as he battled to regain his composure. When he finally had the strength to open them again, he could only nod, his vision blurring as he gazed back at Eleanor.

“Isobel,” Evelyn said, again as the child opened its tiny fist once more, grasping his finger and sending another wave of emotion crashing over him. “Our daughter.”

Alistair still could not speak, the joy so profound, it was robbing him of the ability to even think clearly. He simply sat for some time, his arms wrapped around his daughter as Evelyn leaned her head back against the pillows and slept, a soft, gentle smile on her face even as she fell to slumber. He did not know how long he sat there for, how many hours passed, for to him they felt like mere minutes, only seconds that had passed.

And then the daylight began to filter through Evelyn’s curtains.

The midwife returned, Evelyn roused and soon both Clara and Caldwell were in the room, ready to meet their niece. Clara’s eyes were filled with joyous tears as she embraced her sister as best she could, promising that she would write to their parents that very morning. Caldwell, still holding baby Isobel, was watching Clara with a hope in his eyes that Alistair could well understand, fully believing that soon, both Caldwell and Clara would have a family of their own.

“Papa?”

Alistair turned his head, smiling at Edward who came slowly into the bed chamber, clutching Angus’ hand tightly, one finger in his mouth. “My dear son,” he said, bending low as Edward put both arms around his neck, clearly needing a little reassurance. “You are awake.”

“Mama?” Edward frowned. “You are still abed. I thought you would be coming down to the dining room to break your fast, just as we always do.”

Alistair laughed softly and took Edward toward her. “I think your mother will need to rest for some days, so you must be gentle and quiet,” he said kindly. “You must do your best to allow her that.”

Edward, gently deposited on the bed beside Evelyn, hugged her fiercely, clearly having fully misinterpreted what Alistair had said about gentleness. “I shall be ever so careful, Mama.”

“That is good,” Evelyn replied, kissing her son’s cheek. “Now, should you like to meet your sister?”

Scrunching up his nose, Edward hesitated, then nodded. Hiding a smile, Alistair rose to his feet and collected his daughter from Caldwell’s arms before bringing her back to the bed and sitting down beside Edward. Angus drew close, his eyes damp though he said nothing. Edward pushed himself up on his knees as Alistair sat down again, his expression suddenly solemn as he peered at the baby.

“Is that her?” he asked, and Alistair nodded. “That is my sister.”

“Yes, it is,” Alistair answered, looking up at Angus as he spoke. “Her name is Isobel.”

Angus let out a small, half crumpled sound and pulled out a handkerchief from his pocket, pressing it to his eyes. Alistair, his own emotions still high, put one arm around Edward as he held Isobel in the other, feeling a sense of love so profound, it practically burned into every bone of his body.

“I shall teach her all about dragons,” Edward said decisively, making everyone in the room laugh. “Even though she is a girl, I think she will be an excellent warrior, so long as I am the one to teach her.”

“I suspect she shall be,” Evelyn replied, one hand reaching out to rub her son’s back. “She is certainly very fortunate to have a brother like you.” Her gaze drifted around the room. “As am I, to have such a family as this.”

Alistair, lifting his hand from Edward’s shoulder for a moment, reached out to catch Evelyn’s fingers before settling them again on his son’s back. As the morning sun broke through the window in all its glory, Alistair let his eyes travel to each and every person in the room. Clara was leaning against Caldwell, her face turned toward his, a smile of love on her lips as he gazed back at her. Angus was still dabbing at his eyes with the handkerchief, a smile hiding beneath his tears of joy. Edward was studying his sister with careful eyes, baby Isobel still sleeping peacefully in his arms—and Evelyn, his own, darling Evelyn, was leaning back against the pillows with a beautiful, gentle smile on her lips.

A few years ago, he had believed himself condemned to life filled with nothing but grief and regret, smoke and ash always surrounding him, no matter where he turned. He had been trapped in the moment of Isobel’s passing, had set aside any hope of a better, happier future. Now, his son leaned comfortably against him, his daughter slept in his arms, and the woman he adored watched them with love shining in her tired eyes.

Evelyn pressed his fingers gently. “What are you thinking of, my love?” she asked, her words only for him. “You look lost in thought.”

As Edward slid off the bed and ran to Angus, Alistair leaned closer to Evelyn, moving as gently as he could so that he would not wake the sleeping Isobel. “I am thinking of you,” he said honestly. “I did not ever believe that I would have something as wonderful as this.” He looked around the room again. “A family. A love so profound, I cannot ever grasp the heights nor the depths of it.”

Evelyn’s eyes softened into tenderness, her thumb running lightly across the back of his hand. “You have it all now, Alistair,” she whispered softly. “The past is forgotten, the east wing restored. No shadows hold you back any longer.”

He swallowed. “No, they shall not.”

“And I shall never stop loving you,” she finished, her eyes closing but her words strong. “We have a wonderful future awaiting us.”

“It is all because of you,” he responded as the baby in his arms stirred gently. “I love you with all of my heart, Evelyn.” Lifting her hand again, he pressed a kiss to the very tips of her fingers. “And I always shall.”