His Bonnie Bride, Hannah Howell [best ebook reader for chromebook .TXT] 📗

"Storm's always been emotional," growled Tavis, recalling laughter, sorrow, rage and passion all openly displayed.

"Aye, but 'tis different when a woman be carryin' a child and for a time after she bears it," said Malcolm, the father of six, and a number of men who were married and had children nodded in agreement. "A woman that ne'er weeps will turn into a waterfall and a woman that ne'er gets angry will snap and snarl. There isnae any reasoning with it either. Ye can only soothe, try tae keep your temper and wait 'til it passes. 'Tis nay a time tae sort out problems. Eldon's right aboot that. Ye could only make things worse. Wait as he asks."

Colin looked at Tavis. "From what he writes here, lad, ye have a muckle lot to gain by the waiting."

Tavis sighed and massaged his temples. Eldon had related the conversation between himself and Storm on the ride home after the wedding. The knowledge of how Storm felt stirred him to the point of extreme discomfort. It was difficult to think that a woman felt such things, yet he had no disgust, did not think her shameless or wanton, only wanted to get her into his arms. That, of course, was a very good reason to wait for a while longer. Storm could not be bedded yet, and he doubted he could near her without wanting to for at least several days running.

"God," he groaned, "it seems I have done naught but wait for a chance to make amends."

"Ye are waiting to gain what some o' us ne'er find," Iain said quietly. " 'Tis worth it."

A nod of heartfelt agreement was all that Tavis could manage.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Storm walked toward the hall, her son in her arms and Phelan at her side. Elaine followed with her daughter, Aingeal, gurgling merrily. At three months, the twins were growing plump and lively. Unlike others, Eldon had no firm rules as to the use of the hall. He felt there ought to be one place where all mixed freely, so women sat with men and there were often children running about. If there was a need of serious discussion between himself and his men-at-arms or anyone else, he simply cleared the hall. There were a few eyebrows raised at this arrangement, but only by those not of Hagaleah.

The winter had been hard, but it was surprisingly mild for mid-March. Spring was just around the corner. Storm refused to recall a mild late March night a year past. Memories only gave her pain, and she felt she had had more than her share already. Even so they engulfed her as she neared the hall causing her to pause in her advance. She could hear the low sound of men talking and found herself straining to discern one voice. Elaine's face revealed nothing to her.

"What is it, Storm?" Phelan asked when he saw that she was not going to continue on her way.

"I am not quite sure. 'Tis just a feeling that tells me that I will not like what I find in the hall today."

Struggling to put aside her qualms, she continued, only to stop in the doorway and glare at those gathered there. "My feeling was right."

For a moment she simply stared at Tavis, trying to sort anger out of the maelstrom of emotions she felt and cling to it. It was not easy, for she knew she still loved him, still ached for him. Knowing who had let her husband come to Hagaleah, Storm turned her glare upon her father, meeting only a guileless smile that she did not let fool her for a minute and that only added to her anger. Elaine's soothing noises did no good at all.

Tavis paid little attention to her obvious anger. His eyes drank in the sight of her lithe form like a starving man. In an attempt to control the desire that shook through him, he turned his gaze to his children. Emotion choked him as he looked from his son's bright head to his daughter's dark one and back again many times. Acceptance of his fatherhood had been hard to gain, but now it flooded through him.

"Why are ye here?" Storm snarled at Tavis as she strode to the table. "Have ye run out of whores at Caraidland and come marketing here? Ye are too late. Elaine cleaned house months past."

"A simple well met will do, Storm," drawled Roden, but there was laughter in his voice.

Tossing a glare at his family, who snickered with the others, Tavis looked at Storm and fought to keep his temper in check. "I have come to see my bairns and to speak to ye."

Sitting down next to her brother Andrew, Storm looked at Tavis icily. "Here they are. Look your fill." She pushed away all feeling as he approached. "When ye are done looking ye may leave."

Taking the seat Andrew gave him, Tavis held his hands out for his son. "May I hold him?"

Storm handed him the child without a word. She could see the glitter of anger in his eyes, yet his voice remained calm. This sign of control unnerved her more than anything else could have, for it showed that Tavis was determined to have his way in this matter. A Tavis set on having his way was a formidable foe, so formidable that Storm began to feel afraid, something she strove to hide from him.

Just sitting near him was causing her insides to curl and melt. It was hard to keep up her icy attitude. What she longed to do was hurl herself into his arms and stay there until he doused the fire that had burned in her for months. Simply breathing in the clean male scent of him was driving her to distraction.

For a while at least Tavis knew relief from that torment. The first time of holding his son and then his daughter had cleared his mind of all else. With a sense of