She was laughing outright as the door opened and a six-year-old and a smirking Robena stepped in to see him cupping his wife’s breasts.
“Excuse me,” Robena quipped with a smirk, not looking at all embarrassed. “Want us to go out and come back in again? Try yelling possessive shite a bit louder, I dinnae think everyone down in the great hall heard ye.”
The flush was creeping up Wynda’s neck as he shifted his hold to her hips, trying to look casual.
Wren, on the other hand, looked sickened. “Is this part of the kissing? I ken ye said kissing was normal, but ye’d better no’ be making me a baby sister.”
She’d been speaking much more lately, but Pherson was poleaxed by that speech.
“What?”
His daughter waved dismissively as she marched toward the bed. “Auntie Nichola told me bairns come from kissing, although she wouldnae tell me how.” Thank fook. “I dinnae want to have to share.”
Chuckling, Wynda pulled away from him, heading toward the bed. “Aye, little one, kissing can lead to bairns. None of us are ready for one yet, and please understand when we are, ‘twill no’ be yer decision, but one yer father and I make together.”
‘Twas the most analytical way of thinking about a bairn’s creation. Pherson smiled, loving the way his new wife’s mind worked.
As Robena began to brush out her hair, looking ready to settle in for the night herself, Wynda tucked Wren beneath the covers. “Goodnight, little one. I love ye.”
The lassie caught her hand. “Wind?”
“Aye, love?”
Wren’s expression was serious. “Can I call ye Mam?”
Blinking, Wynda cleared her throat, then again, before she bent down to kiss Wren’s forehead. “Aye, daughter,” she said in a choked voice. “I’d like that.”
“Good,” their lassie declared as she shut her eyes.
“Would ye like a song?”
Wren yawned. “No’ if ye’re going to sing it. Auntie Robbie can.”
He could tell Wynda was trying not to laugh. “Sleep sweet, love.”
“Goodnight, Mam. Goodnight, Da.”
“Goodnight, little bird,” he murmured, telling himself he was not tearing up. ‘Twas just dusty in here.
Wynda stood and met Robena’s embrace.
“I’m happy for ye,” her sister said, beaming. “And I told ye love wasnae logical!”
“Ye told me nae such thing!” But Wynda hugged her again. “I’ll admit this is a strange and delightfully erratic emotion.”
“Aye, emotions often are. And falling in love can be…inconvenient.”
He saw his wife peer at her sister.
“I hope ye’re no’ hurt that the MacBains are leaving tomorrow?” Wynda prodded. “Ye’ve been strangely quiet.”
“Just thinking.” Robena shrugged, and even Pherson, who didn’t know her well, wasn’t convinced of her nonchalance. “And aye—I mean, nay, I’m no’ hurt Kester’s trying to abandon me. I have plans.”
Wynda’s eyes narrowed. “Plans. Should I be worried?”
“Nay, in fact, if ye could convince Da and Mother no’ to worry, I’d appreciate—och, who am I kidding? They’ll likely no’ notice…” She trailed off as she turned back to the little table with the looking glass propped in front of it.
Wynda glanced once at Pherson, and when he shrugged, she turned to her sister. “Can I assume we’ll no’ be hearing the Piper of Oliphant Castle for a while?”