The Highlander's Bride (33 page)

“You are the father of a son
and
a daughter!” she finally exclaimed to both men, who seemed to not understand her announcement.

Visibly shaken, Conor asked, “Laurel?”

“She’s fine. Very, very tired and sleeping even now, but well, I assure you. It was hard, but she is so strong and stubborn that she outlasted the two bairns’ refusal to visit us in person.”

Conor closed his eyes and leaned back against the outer stone wall of the chapel. His family was safe, Laurel had given him twins, and—for the first time in months—he was reassured about the future. He had been so afraid for his wife for so long he was unaccustomed to feeling true happiness and hope.

MacInnes was not faring much better. He had sunk to his knees upon the news. He had lost his beloved daughter to childbirth and had been so afraid for Laurel, yet had been unable to give voice to his fear, knowing that Conor was leaning on him for faith, strength, and support.

Brighid did not know what to do. She had never seen her laird act so emotional. This man had nerves of steel and a will of iron. It was disconcerting to see his weaknesses unveiled. But, after watching his reaction to the happy news, she secretly hoped that her strong, undemonstrative Donald would be the same upon the birth of their first child. She smiled and ran back to the chambers to help with the babies.

Laurel had finally convinced Conor to let her leave her chambers and go into the great hall. The only requirement was that he carry her both down and back up the stairs. It was a small concession, especially since it had been less than three days since her two precious loves had entered into the world. But, as she explained to Conor, because of her necessary confinement to chambers the previous week, she would go mad if restricted to a single room any longer.

Conan and Clyde were the first ones to greet her when she arrived cradled in Conor’s strong, capable arms. When Conor brought her to her chair by the hearth, he seemed reluctant to let her go.

Finally settled in, Laurel held her beautiful black-haired boy as Conor embraced his daughter, whose head was graced with tufts of white gold. Conan was the first to start talking.

“Are you going to continue with
C
names? I know I tease Clyde, but there are still a lot of great
C
names left. How about Calum and Colleen?” offered the excited fourteen-year-old.

His brothers were no better. Craig and Crevan kept offering advice and only backed off when Conor threatened them with cleaning duty. Both babies slept through the entire lively debate.

That afternoon, when they were finally alone, Laurel smiled and asked again what Conor thought their names should be. Since the babies’ birth, both Laurel and Conor kept passing the responsibility back and forth.

“That is for you to decide, love. I give you full discretion to name our children. It is the least I can give you for all that you have given me.” It was his favorite defense for not giving her an answer. He stroked her cheek and then bent over and gave her a soft, lingering kiss on the lips.

“I love you, Conor McTiernay.”

“And I love you, Laurel McTiernay.”

She looked back down at her two miracles. “I like the idea your mother had of using the same letter to name all of her children. And I would love to honor her by continuing the tradition. However, I also want to honor my mother. She would be very proud and happy this day. But her name was Brenna.”

“Then why not use
B
names instead?” Conor offered as a compromise.

Laurel’s dazzling blue eyes danced and her smile broadened. Watching her, contentment and a sense of peace deeper than he had ever known filled him.

“Conor, I would like you to meet Braeden Conor and his sister, Brenna Gillian.”

As they cradled their children and each other, Conor and Laurel realized that they now had what they had always wanted. They had found, fought for, and produced their very own Scottish hearts.

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Copyright © 2007 by C. Michele Peach

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