“You love them.” The statement was bald, flat, brooking no argument.
Bertie’s gaze went to Sinclair, his light hair glinting in the lamplight, as blond as his sister’s. He was graceful for a large man, his kilt swaying enticingly as he danced.
“You’re right about that,” Bertie said. “I love them with all my might.”
Ian waited a long moment before he spoke again. “A few years ago, I would have asked how you knew you loved them. Now, I don’t have to.” His gaze went to Beth again, and Bertie saw his world adjust.
Bertie felt the same adjustment when she looked at Sinclair. Her world had been chaotic, sometimes frightening, but always uncertain. Sinclair was certainty, but not dullness. Never that.
Sinclair caught her eye as he spun Ainsley by the waist and joined the main circle again, and he grinned at her. It was a smile of gratitude and love, as well as one of sinful promise. They hadn’t had much time to be alone since they’d arrived, although late last night, Sinclair had entered Bertie’s bedroom and made swift and silent love to her. They’d had to be quiet, as the house around them was filled, but the heat of the encounter was still with her.
The dance ended. Ian immediately left the corner to find Beth. Sinclair led Ainsley back to her husband, who was deep in conversation with Elliot, and came for Bertie.
“There’s a Scottish tradition of the clan waiting outside the bedroom door for the groom to deflower his bride,” he said to her. “With much drinking and shouting to go with it.”
Bertie faltered. “Oh, dear.”
“I told my brothers and the clan Mackenzie they’d better not try it. So they’ll want to cheer us to our bedroom, unless we can get away before they notice.”
“Yes, let’s.” Bertie’s face burned. “Please.”
Sinclair gave her a quick kiss on the lips, which elicited a shout from the dancers. They were certainly being watched. “You go first. Make an excuse to anyone who sees you. I’ll join you. Be casual.”
“Oh, you know I’m very good at slipping away.” Bertie winked at him. “Raised to it, I was.”
Sinclair laughed. “You are so beautiful.”
Bertie warmed. “Flatterer.”
He kissed the tip of her nose. “Until then.”
Sinclair drifted off, allowing himself to be caught by his friends and brothers-in-law. Bertie talked and laughed with the ladies a few minutes, then excused herself to go to the necessary. She declined any company, saying she could find her way in her own house.
Once she’d left the ballroom, she ducked into a side passage and nipped up a set of stairs. The bedroom she’d share with Sinclair was on the first floor, a suite that took up one corner of the house. A lovely place with a view of the loch.
The hall was dim but the sitting room outside the bedroom was lit, as was the bedroom itself. Bertie shut the door and stood for a moment in the middle of the chamber, letting out her breath. Her body hummed—all the dancing, laughter, and tiredness catching up to her.
She was married. Mrs. Sinclair McBride. She could scarce believe it. Cat and Andrew would be her own children. A ready-made family.
Bertie sat down, running her hands along the finery of her ivory skirt. The Mackenzie and McBride ladies had once again enjoyed themselves transforming Bertie from her plain governess attire to a Cinderella gown. Bertie lifted the layers of silk and tulle and the petticoats beneath, stripping off her stockings while she waited for her Prince Charming.
He came in not long later, closing and locking the bedroom door. He leaned against it, letting out a breath of relief.
“Thought I’d never get away. The Mackenzie and McBride men are all madly in love with their wives—you’d think they’d let me be alone with mine.”
“They love to tease, your family does.”
“They’re your family now too,” Sinclair said darkly. “I’m not sure whether to congratulate you or express sympathy.”
“I don’t mind. I’ve always wanted a big family.” Bertie rose, took hold of his broad hand, and placed it on her lower abdomen. “Which will become bigger soon.”
Sinclair gazed down at her in no surprise at all, his palm warm through the fabric. “I wondered when you would tell me.”
Bertie scowled. “Oh, blast you, I was hoping you’d fall down in a dead faint. Who told ya?”
“No one.” Sinclair’s shrug was maddening. “I’m good at observing people—I know what it means when a woman is ill in the mornings then eats like a horse the rest of the day.”
“A horse?” Bertie planted her hands on her hips. “What do you mean, a horse?” She deflated. “You’re probably right; I’m always hungry now. I’m going to be enormous.”
“I hope so. I want you and our son or daughter healthy.” Sinclair lost his smile and stepped close to her. “I’d forgotten what it was to be happy, Bertie. Truly happy all the way through. Thank you for putting the laughter back into my life.”
Bertie rested her hand on his chest, feeling his heart beating beneath. No flutters as when he couldn’t breathe, no strange pounding as when he’d been fevered. “When I first saw you,” she said, “I wanted more than anything to make you smile.”
Sinclair rewarded her with one now. “And you’ve been doing it ever since.”
Bertie let her hand stray down his abdomen to his kilt. “Looks like you’re doing more than smiling.”