Son of the Morning

"He would want me to love again," Grace replied, brushing her hand lightly over the grass. As she would want the same for him. She couldn’t help the small spurt of jealousy she felt, ridiculous under the circumstances, but she would want him to be happy, and he had been more generous and openhearted than she was.

She laid the bouquet on the grave and touched the marker again. Since his death she had been able to see only one image of him, that horrible last one, but the words on the marker summoned another, happier memory, that of their wedding day. She saw him in her mind, nervous and excited, the way he repeatedly swallowed, the way his voice shook when he said his vows. When the ceremony was finished a wide grin broke across his face, and it was that grin she saw, relieved and happy all at once.

Tears dripped down her cheeks, and her mouth trembled. "Oh, Ford," she said, her voice shattered. "I miss you so much; and I love you, but I have to go now."

Harmony helped her to her feet and gently led her away. Grace stumbled; the grass was springy beneath her feet, and wet with early-morning dew. She stopped, tilting her head back. It was a beautiful day. She took a deep breath, inhaling all the fresh scents, and with swimming eyes looked at the wide expanse of blue sky.

"You look like you gonna pass out any minute now," Harmony said sternly. "You eat anything yet?"

"No, not yet." Grace gathered herself and smiled. It was wobbly, but it was a real smile. She ached, but she felt at peace. She hadn’t had vengeance, but Ford and Bryant had had justice, and it was enough.

"Did you even try to eat, or did you just start gagging?" "Gagging." Morning sickness had started three days ago, hitting her early and hard. Harmony had said the worse the morning sickness was, the less likely a woman was to miscarry; if that old wives’ tale was true, then Grace figured she could play ice hockey in her ninth month without any harm coming to the baby.

She touched her flat stomach. She was five weeks pregnant; she knew the exact date of conception. She would have the longest pregnancy in history, a baby conceived in 1322 and born in 1998. That was one for the record books.

At first it had seemed so unreal, that one night would result in a pregnancy, but when she remembered the night, she wondered how she couldn’t haveexpected to get pregnant.

She thought of what Niall had said, of wanting a normal life, a wife and babies. Perhaps a normal life would never be his, but she carried his child and he didn’t even know it. He had isolated himself, allowing himself nothing but the burden of his responsibility. Would he want his child; or would he turn away? He would want it, she thought. There was a great tenderness in him, and great passion. He had shown both of them to her. A man like that would adore his children. It would be criminal to keep such joy from him.

"Are you going back?" Harmony asked as they drove away from the cemetery.

"I think I have to. It may be a wasted trip, he may send me here again, but if he wants me I’ll stay."

"Man," Harmony breathed. "That must beluuuvvv . I mean, a womangivin ‘ up hot water and central heat,Chicago Hope and Sean Connery, pizza and enchiladas – a man better have somethin’ more to offer than a hot love stick, if you get my drift."

"I get it," Grace said, and found herself laughing. "He has a castle, too."

"Yeah, but it’s drafty. Better make that abig, hot love stick. I dunno about leaving Sean Connery, but at least you’re tradin’ him for another Scotsman, and one you can lay hands on at that. Must be something in the water up there, growin’ men like that. So, when you gonna do the deed?"

"As soon as I can get back toScotland , and Creag Dhu." "Reckon it’ll hurt the baby?"

Grace touched her stomach again, something she often did these days. "I’ve thought about that. I can’t think why it would. It’s low voltage, and the only effect I noticed was a little muscle soreness."

"Want me to go with you toScotland ?" "I’d like that. Have you thought aboutreally going with me?"

"No way. I’ll miss you, Gracie; you lead a damn interestin’ life. But no way in hell am I givin’ up my modem conveniences for no love stick, I don’t care how big it is."

Chapter 27

"HOLY CHRIST!" Grace heard the yelp, the sound muted, far away. She tried to think, tried to swallow, but not even her throat seemed to work. She drifted away into darkness for an unknown time, then slowly became aware of noise again, of being gently lifted and carried. Her limbs were heavy, useless. Her head lolled like a child’s.

She was placed on a bed, and she felt the softness under her. Her fingers moved, rubbing the cool linen beneath her. She managed to open her eyes a little, and a face swam before her, a strong-boned, frowning face with little braids of hair at his temples. A piercing joy spread through her.Niall. She didn’t know what would happen in the next ten minutes but for right now she could see him, touch him, and she was happy for the first time in – how long? Had she been happy when she was there before? She frowned slightly; this seemed very important. No, she decided, she hadn’t been happy the time before.

She had felt tom, frantic, captivated, and many other things she couldn’t quite name. Now, this moment, she was finally happy again.

"Lass?" He stroked her hair back from her face. "Can ye speak?"

The Scots accent was back, she noticed. That meant he was Niall the Scot now, not Niall the Guardian. Like Harmony, he varied accents with his mood, the effect of having seen too much and knowing too many languages. A small smile quivered on her lips.

"If ye can smile, ye can speak." The words were stem, but she heard a smile under them, and another, more serious note.