Chapter 27

Twenty-Seven

The something Elspeth needed to show her wasn't a cauldron at all—and now that she stood gazing upon the marvel, she understood why her sister had dragged her away so hastily and insistently…

Two small babes lay swaddled in a crib, both fast asleep. One had the look of their mother, with pale coppery hair. The other had hair so fair that it could have been spun silver. Both their cheeks were round and high with color as they lay sleeping near a brazier. The woman who'd been tending them moved away to give her mistress privacy, and Rosalynde's heart swelled with joy as she gazed down at the sleeping pair. "Yours?" she asked with wonder.

"Born on the Solstice… whilst in Scotia. They came early, though it did not seem so. I was quite ready to be done."

It was clear by the look in her sister's eyes that she was content—more content than Rosalynde had ever imagined.

"We went to celebrate the Yule with my husband's family, and, that night, I went into labor. This was two months ago."

"Twins," Rosalynde said with wonder, as she studied the babes, shocked that both had come from her sister's womb. Instinctively, she put a hand to her own belly… Twins were a Pendragon blessing—or curse, so their mother would have them believe, for she, herself bore two sets of twin girls: Arwyn and Rosalynde, of course, but before them, she had carried another set. Only one of those girls lived. That babe was Rhiannon.

"Such beautiful girls," Rosalynde whispered.

Elspeth burst into laughter. She put a finger to her lips, stifling her mirth. "Never say such a thing in their father's presence. He would cut out your tongue!"

Rosalynde tilted her sister a questioning look. "They are not girls?" The blessing was nearly always girls.

Elspeth shook her head, grinning behind her finger. "Boys, to my husband's delight—and, you my dear, should have seen his father when those lads arrived. Sweet Goddess save me! Never in my life did I hear such a whoop and holler in a house."

Rosalynde giggled. "Well, I suppose it would be a matter of pride to father boys—and not one, but two." She reached down to touch the air before the redhead's nose, afraid to disturb either one. They were sleeping so blissfully, without a care in the world.

"Broc and Lachlan," Elspeth provided. "The fair one is named for a beloved uncle—a man called Broc Ceannfhionn. Alas, though I did not meet this man whilst in Chreagach Mhor, I have been promised a visit."

With a look of perfect rapture on her face, she reached down to smooth her hand across the sleeping babe's cheek. "The name, I am told, means Broc the Blonde… and he should be so fortunate if he receives the blessings of his namesake." Elspeth turned to face Rosalynde. "He is lord of Dunloppe."

"I don't know Dunloppe," said Rosalynde, but it didn't matter. Whilst she stood, gazing down at her sweet nephews, she felt in her heart that all things would end as they should end. No matter how much terror lived in this world, the Goddess would not bring such perfect little beings into this realm without hope—sweet fates, she was an aunt and Elspeth a mother!

In the midst of so much heartache and peril, there was still so much joy to be found!

Both babes were so astonishingly beautiful, and whilst the red-haired child's face so much resembled his mother's, the other one… the fairest child… seemed to glow. His countenance was precisely how Rosalynde always imagined the radiance of Taliesin to be. The babe's skin was iridescent, his nose perfect, his lips so rosy in color, his brows tipped with a gold so pale… She stared at the boys, comparing them, as it would be natural to do. After all, she herself was a twin, and she knew how different twins could grow to be… and yet, how much alike. At the instant, she missed Arwyn more than words alone could say.

"He looks to be the image of Emrys," Elspeth said.

"Emrys?"

"Our uncle, who died before Rhi was born. I never met him, though Grandmamau described him just so."

"Emrys," Rosalynde said again, whispering the name as she tried harder to remember. But, alas, there was no memory for her to draw upon, because her grandmamau had been long dead by the time Rose and Arwyn were born—murdered by Huntsmen, though she mustn't think of that right now… not now, when the man she loved carried the same serpentine sword as those men who'd arrested Morgan Pendragon and sentenced her to death… not when she had hopes to bear his children, even knowing what he was…

Alas, that was something she had yet to tell Elspeth, and she dreaded the moment, because, so much as she could never keep such a thing from her sister, she also knew how much Elspeth had loved their grandmamau. It was bound to color her feelings about Giles.

Giles!

Peering up at the window to gauge the time, she realized with a start that they had left Giles waiting so long. She should return to him now, introduce him to Elspeth. She wanted desperately for them to know each other, before she dared to tell Elspeth what he was.

Her heart longed for him, even now—even as she wallowed in the joy of her reunion with her sister.

Her sister hadn't any notion of the turmoil that raged in Rosalynde's heart. "It occurred to me, Rose… according to Grandmamau, Emrys was a dewine," she said, her voice soft and sweet as she petted her boys in turn. "Evidently, not only did Emrys look like the prophet Taliesin, he was blessed with his dewine gifts as well."

There were very few dewine males in the world—very, very few. Normally, these gifts were passed to girls, and even then—as was the case with Arwyn, sometimes the gift was not strong. However, when a dewine male was born, it was prodigious… Suddenly, noting the boy's shimmer, Rosalynde blinked, as she looked up to ask, "Elspeth… do you think…"

Elspeth smiled radiantly, though she still didn't look at Rose. At the moment, her eyes were for her boys alone. "That he has our gifts?"

Rosalynde nodded, and her sister shrugged, unconcerned one way or another. "Only time will tell," she said, and then reached across the crib to cup Lachlan's sweet cheek, her violet-blue eyes radiant with love. "Every time I think of our mother," she said, with no enmity at all, "I turn my eyes to my babes, and they give me such faith. After all, how could there not be hope for all when I know the miracle of my sweet boys?"

They were, indeed… two sleeping miracles, and Rosalynde might have been content enough to stand and stare at her nephews for hours longer… but she heard a horn blast, and a stab of fear entered her heart.

Elspeth started, her eyes widening, and she said breathlessly, "Malcom!"