Twelfth Night Betrothal

Epilogue

“Born on Christmas Eve, a year to the day after we met.”

Flynn looked at the baby cradled in his arms and smiled. His daughter was so small, yet so perfect, the image of her mother. What had he done to deserve such happiness? He leaned in to kiss Heather, who looked pale but radiant on the bed. After a long labor, she had managed to get a few hours’ sleep earlier that morning.

“A girl…” she breathed. “Are you not too disa—”

He stopped her with another kiss. “Don’t you dare talk to me about disappointment when I am the happiest man in the world. I have a healthy baby in my arms and a beautiful wife in my bed. What else could I possibly want?”

To his relief, Heather smiled. “Candied ginger?”

He smiled right back. The delicacy had become a firm favorite of his in the last few months. “I will be sure to have an assortment of candied and dried fruit brought up to the room before the end of the day. We will eat it together, with little Alice sleeping between us while we devour the most perfect Christmas meal I’ve ever had.”

Heather lay back on the bed with a contented sigh. “Last Christmas you gave me the gift of pleasure. This year you gave me the most precious child a woman could have. I cannot imagine what you will dream up for next Christmas.”

Flynn made a grimace. Indeed. He had set the expectations rather high. “Neither do I. All I know is that we will spend it together, as a family.”

He would be here for his children. Alice and her siblings would be loved and supported, not ignored, like he had been by his father. They would know they could count on him, no matter what.

“I love you, old crone.”

“I love you too, Wicked Wexford.”

He kissed his wife, a tender kiss, the kind he rarely gave her. Usually, as soon as their lips touched, his body caught fire. But today he was holding a newborn child in his arms and Heather was recovering from an exhausting labor. If ever there was a time to be reasonable, this was it.

“Now. Please tell me you are you well enough to see Will? He is desperate to see the babe, and even Alistair will not be able to hold him back much longer.”

Her friend had become even more protective of her since she had fallen pregnant, and Heather had often joked that if he didn’t start behaving more sensibly people would start wondering if he was not the father of her unborn child. The infuriating man had only waved the comments away, saying, “Let them think what they want. I care not.”

But Flynn did care. He would not have anyone doubting the paternity of this baby made in love. Still, it was impossible to be mad at the man. He owed him the best week of his life. Even if he would have met Heather eventually and fallen in love with her, quite without the Lord of Misrule, they wouldn’t have had the most magical courtship imaginable, complete with jaunts on lakes, rides over frozen landscapes—and wild geese nipping at their heels.

Heather settled herself more comfortably in the bed. “Let him in,” she said with a smile. “I know he will want to meet his goddaughter.”

A moment later the door burst open and a voice boomed, “Merry Christmas to you all!”