December 27, 1195
Her eyes were shut and her husband snored beside her, his arm draped over the bulge of their child--but Dea couldn't sleep. She wasn't quite sure why. She'd risen early and spent much of her day in conference, and hadn't turned in until late. 'Late' had been some time ago now. Henry had been snoring away for hours now, long enough for Dea to confirm that yes, even his snores had a hint of a Scottish accent. By now, she was tired enough that she didn't care exactly how a snore could sound Scottish, but had no trouble accepting the fact that it could.Even that level of fatigue did not help in her pursuit of sleep.
Henry let out a particularly robust snore and rolled back toward his side of the bed, his arm leaving Dea's stomach and pulling the covers along with it. The baby nudged a foot against the wall of her womb--and to think, the kid had been so restful all day!
That about did it. Dea sat up and heaved herself off of the bed. She didn't feel much like getting a head-start on anything she'd earmarked for the morning, but some pacing about the room couldn't have been the worst idea just then.
At nearly full term, the walk from her study to the dining hall was enough to make her eyes droop.Nearly full term. How had that happened so quickly? She hadn't thought she'd find so agreeable a match as Henry so quickly after she'd started her search, nor had she thought she'd be pregnant only a month or so after her wedding. An heir had been the motivation for her marriage, but heirs could take time; she supposed she'd expected to have to be patient.
Maybe her acceptance of that fact had relaxed her, allowed her to conceive more quickly? Still, she wasn't relaxed now. Only a few more weeks until she was a mother, and she'd scarcely had time to prepare. She wasn't ready.
But was anyone, really? Perhaps her mother had been, her gentle and loving mother who from all accounts had been maternal since meeting her first cloth doll? Or perhaps not--it had been her father's children she'd had to brace herself for, after all. But Dea couldn't guess that. She hadn't known her mother before she'd become her mother.She'd known her Uncle Sparron before he'd become a father. He'd been a nervous wreck, even for him, until the day Prior had been born. And then some odd days after. So many years of thinking a child would never come, and then... Prior. Adorable, miraculous Prior. Uncle Sparron had spent several months muttering in amazement that such a tiny baby could survive his large, clumsy hands. Uncle Sparron, who would end up becoming the best father out of all the men Dea knew.
Uncle Sparron might have been better-prepared for fatherhood than he'd thought, though.
He'd been the closest thing to a father Dea had ever had.
The baby kicked again--with such careless motion that it had to have been a boy.
A yawn finally creeping up her throat, Dea smiled to herself and calmed the baby with a firm rub. "Your name is Sparron."NEXT CHAPTER:
