Ten Months Later
Gaul
“By the goddess, Gaul, say something.” Morwyn shook her head and then laughed before she once again returned her attention to the tiny scrap cradled in her arms.
Bren glanced at Gwyn, who sat on his hip with one arm hooked around his neck. She also appeared transfixed.
“I fear words fail me.” Gingerly he sat beside Morwyn on the bed, once again gazing at the bundle she cradled so tenderly. His son.
“Because you’re awed by my cleverness in birthing such a perfect babe.”
“Yes.”
Morwyn looked up at him, sweaty hair streaking her face, remnants of the severity of her labor etched around her eyes. Faint scars from Trogus’ dagger traced her nose, and her forehead was forever marked with the claw of the sacred raven.
She was beautiful. Brave. And his.
“He is perfect,” she whispered. “Because he’s yours.”
A year ago, he had nothing but a blood pledge to his king and bittersweet memories to keep him alive. Now he had everything. A wife whose strength of will would never ceased to astound him, a daughter he adored and a newborn son.
Was this was why the gods had kept him alive?
He tugged Gwyn’s braid. “What do you think of your brother, princess?”
She reached out one tentative hand and he angled her over the babe, so she could trace her finger over his dark thatch of hair. “Soft.” Her tone was reverential. She glanced up at Morwyn and her plump lower lip trembled. “Safe.”
One arm around Gwyn, he slid his other around his wife and she melted against him. So deceptively soft and fragile a man could be forgiven for thinking she needed protecting.
But she was a warrior, a Druid of ancient stock. As willing and able as he to defend herself and their family against the enemy.
Yet she was and would forever be his vulnerability.
He’d have it no other way. She had dragged him back from the precipice, demanded that he open his eyes and his heart, and in return she had given him a new world.
Beloved.
