“What if I’m no good at being a parent?” I asked uncertainly. “You’ve been a father—you know what to do.”
“You’re going to be a wonderful mother” was his prompt response. “All that children need is love, a grown-up to take responsibility for them, and a soft place to land.” Matthew moved our clasped hands over my belly in a gentle caress. “We’ll tackle the first two together. The last will be up to you. How are you feeling?”
“A bit tired and queasy, physically. Emotionally, I don’t know where to begin.” I drew a shaky breath. “Is it normal to be frightened and fierce and tender all at once?”
“Yes—and thrilled and anxious and sick with dread, too,” he said softly.
“I know it’s ridiculous, but I keep worrying that my magic might hurt the baby, even though thousands of witches give birth every year.” But they aren’t married to vampires.
“This isn’t a normal conception,” Matthew said, reading my mind. “Still, I don’t think you need to concern yourself.” A shadow moved through his eyes. I could practically see him adding one more worry to his list.
“I don’t want to tell anyone. Not yet.” I thought of the room next door. “Can your life include one more secret—at least for a little while?”
“Of course,” Matthew said promptly. “Your pregnancy won’t show for months. But Fran?oise and Pierre will know soon from your scent, if they don’t already, and so will Hancock and Gallowglass. Happily, vampires don’t usually ask personal questions.”
I laughed softly. “It figures that I’ll be the one to give the secret away. You can’t possibly be any more protective, so no one is going to guess what we’re hiding based on your behavior.”
“Don’t be too sure of that,” he said, smiling broadly. Matthew flexed his fingers over mine. It was a distinctly protective gesture.
“If you keep touching me that way, people are going to figure it out pretty quickly,” I agreed drily, running my fingers along his shoulder. He shivered, and I smiled. “You’re not supposed to shiver when you feel something warm.”
“That’s not why I’m shivering.” Matthew stood, blocking out the light from the candles.
My heart caught at the sight of him. He smiled, hearing the slight irregularity, and drew me toward the bed. We shed our clothes, tossing them to the floor, where they lay in two white pools that caught the silvery light from the windows.
Matthew’s touches were feather-light while he tracked the minute changes already taking place in my body. He lingered over each centimeter of tender flesh, but his cool attention increased the ache rather than soothing it. Every kiss was as knotted and complex as our feelings about sharing a child. At the same time, the words he whispered in the darkness encouraged me to focus solely on him. When I could bear waiting no longer, Matthew seated himself within me, his movements unhurried and gentle, like his kiss.
I arched my back in an effort to increase the contact between us, and Matthew stilled. With my spine bowed, he was poised at the entrance to my womb. And in that brief, forever moment, father, mother, and child were as close as any three creatures could be.
“My whole heart, my whole life,” he promised, moving within me.
I cried out, and Matthew held me close until the trembling stopped. He then kissed his way down the length of my body, starting with my witch’s third eye and continuing on to my lips, throat, breastbone, solar plexus, navel, and, at last, my abdomen.
He stared down at me, shook his head, and gave me a boyish grin. “We made a child,” he said, dumbfounded.
“We did,” I agreed with an answering smile.
Matthew slid his shoulders between my thighs, pushing them wide. With one arm wrapped around my knee, and the other twined around the opposite hip so his hand could rest on the pulse there, he lowered his head onto my belly as though it were a pillow and let out a contented sigh. Utterly quiet, he listened for the soft whooshing of the blood that now sustained our child. When he heard it, he tilted his head so our eyes met. He smiled, bright and true, and returned to his vigil.
In the candlelit darkness of Christmas morning, I felt the quiet power that came from sharing our love with another creature. No longer a solitary meteor moving through space and time, I was now part of a complicated planetary system. I needed to learn how to keep my own center of gravity while being pulled this way and that by bodies larger and more powerful than I was. Otherwise Matthew, the de Clermonts, our child—and the Congregation—might pull me off course.
My time with my mother had been too short, but in seven years she had taught me plenty. I remembered her unconditional love, the hugs that seemed to encompass days, and how she was always right where I needed her to be. It was as Matthew said: Children needed love, a reliable source of comfort, and an adult willing to take responsibility for them.
It was time to stop treating our sojourn here as an advanced seminar in Shakespeare’s England and recognize it instead as my last, best chance to figure out who I was, so that I could help my child understand his place in the world.
But first I needed to find a witch.