THE PERFECT TEN (Boxed Set)

into Tom Silverstein’s eyes as he looked upon his ebony-headed son sucking and gurgling at Margaret’s full breast. ‘Twas the loveliest, most heart-warming thing he’d ever witnessed.
    His perfect son, just five days old, had already taken over the household. Everything turned topsy-turvy on his slightest whim. But how long would his self-determination last?
    Despite Margaret’s coaxing, Tom had yet to garner the courage to reread the laird of Blackstone’s diary, to look for changes, for Isaac’s predictions.
    Too, he still worried about Beth, regardless of his wife’s assessment of her tenacious spirit. Fifteenth century Scotland had been a brutal place, where pestilence, constant squabbling between chieftains and religious fervor made everyone’s life a misery. Assuming she had survived her arrival, how was she faring under those circumstances? Could she survive long enough to fulfill the prophecy?
    He’d tried but couldn’t squelch the deep-seated fear that all he’d been led to believe, to hope for, would prove to be only lore. That nothing would come to pass, nothing would ever change.
    “Tom? Are you all right, love?”
    He smiled and took his sleeping son from his exhausted wife’s arms. “Aye. Is there anything I can do to help ye get ready?” Today their son would be officially welcomed into their temple, named, and circumcised.
    His wife’s lovely china blue eyes had sunk deep into darkened sockets since his son had set himself to feeding every two hours around the clock, but she smiled and shook her head. “All but yours truly is ready. Can ye keep an eye on him while I change?”
    “My pleasure.”
    As he rocked his son, Tom tried to put away his worry. He wanted nothing to overshadow the joy he should be feeling on this blessed event of his son’s naming, yet worry he did, and he picked up the diary. With a shaking hand he then put it down. “Nay, I canna look. Not on this day.” 
     
     
     

Chapter 25
     
    The moment Beth keened and collapsed to his chest, Duncan halted the mind games he’d been playing for restraint and exploded deep within the warm confines of his wife’s lithe body.
    Holding her close, he inhaled the fresh scent of her hair as it veiled his face. He grinned. His ladywife would no doubt deny it with her dying breath, but the poor wee thing was verra easy to arouse.
    He only had to hold her close and stroke the side of her breast, nibble at the junction of her neck and shoulder, or kiss her softly while playing small circles on her lower back to capture her interest, to make her groan.
    That’s all he need do, but then he did have to catch her first, which was becoming a bit of a problem.
    He stroked her small, firm buttocks. “Did ye enjoy?”
    “Uh huh.” She nuzzled his neck.
    “Good, then can ye kindly explain why I’m having to chase ye to ground every time I want ye?”
    He felt rather than heard her laugh. She rose up onto her elbows and ran a hand through her hair to get it off her face. 
    The way she tipped her head as she did it sent his blood racing.
    “I’ve already explained I’m either already with child or not. And all the tupping in the world at this point will not change that.”
    Duncan snorted. He knew for a fact that some women took a good deal of attention to get with child. Others ye merely had to look at crossways and they were with get. Since he had no idea what kind of woman he had, he intended to be thorough. Verra.
    “Besides,”—she crawled off his chest and motioned for him to roll over so she could examine his shoulder—“you should be working the lists, and I should be in the kitchen.” Prodding his new flesh, she murmured, “You’re truly amazing. It’s almost completely healed. Is your shoulder stiff?”
    He flexed. “A wee bit.”
    She kissed his back. “You can roll back now.” She cuddled into his side. “What will you do should you lose the tournament?”
    “I’ll not.” Even the suggestion made his blood run cold.
    “Yes, I’ve no doubt. But, God forbid you should lose, what will you do for money—-coins?”
    He had hoped she’d not put the two together. “Then I will go to France for a short while.”
    “ France? ” She came up on her elbows to examine his face.
    “Aye, I will sell my arm to Louie.”
    She blanched lily white. “You’d become a mercenary again, after everything you’ve seen and done?”
    “‘Tis nay need to shout.” He brushed the hair from her lovely face.