Leila was looking forward to her first celebration of the Yule. She liked the celebratory mood that had seized both Killairic’s village and hall. The air was cool but not so very cold during the daylight hours—and she had Fergus to keep her warm each night. Her belly grew rounder and the new midwife from Dumfries declared herself pleased with the progress of Leila’s pregnancy. Radegunde had advised her not to worry and she tried not to do as much. They expected the child in the new year, although all was already prepared.

Leila walked a little more slowly and tired a little more quickly, but those were small prices to pay when she knew the child—boy or girl—would make her husband and his father so happy. She still feared that Stewart’s savagery might have left a mark, but the midwife assured her that the babe was vigorous and seemingly hale. Would the babe have blue eyes as Fergus had once foretold? She could not imagine how the babe would have red hair, but Leila could not wait to know for certain.

Ever since Karayan’s departure, Fergus had returned to the solar to sleep each night. They made love or cuddled and she continued to tell him Scheherazade’s tales. Leila could not imagine a greater contentment than living by this man’s side.

She was leaving the chapel after discussing the arrangements for Christmas Eve and making her way back to the hall when she noticed the visitor enter the village gates. He was older and dressed warmly but simply. Indeed, he looked to have walked, for he had no steed, but only a great heavy walking stick. He glanced up when she passed and Leila smiled at him, assuming he was a friend or relation of someone in the village. No doubt she would be introduced to him over the holidays. At this moment, she was late for the midday meal.

Instead of smiling in return, his mouth dropped open and he paled. “Saffirah?” he whispered, his tone incredulous.

Leila halted and looked at the new arrival, puzzled by his address. How could he know her mother’s name?

“I beg your pardon?” she said, thinking she must have heard him incorrectly.

He apologized as he approached, his gaze roving over her face as if he could not believe his eyes. “I am sorry, my lady, for my eyes must deceive me. You remind me greatly of a lady I once knew, but she would be many years your senior by now.” His smile was sad. “It has been a long time.”

“A woman named Saffirah?” Leila said with care. “I did not know there were any so named here.”

“It was not here.” The man ran a hand over his brow and looked suddenly fatigued. “So many years,” he whispered, then seemed to recover himself. He inclined his head. “I am Alasdair Campbell, the comrade of Laird Calum. I hope he is yet sufficiently hale to greet an old friend.” His gaze sharpened, and she noticed the vivid blue of his eyes. “Unless I am mistaken, you are far from home.”

Leila did not return his smile. Could it be? Her heart fluttered. She could not bear to think that the Franj who had broken her mother’s heart stood beside her now, speaking her mother’s name with such ease. “Nay, sir, I am at home. Calum’s son, Fergus, is my husband and now is Laird of Killairic.”

“Ah!” Alasdair said. “And so the details come together. Fergus was due to return from Outremer, and Calum hoped for his appearance last Yule.”

“Our party arrived in the spring, sir.”

Alasdair nodded approval. “He is wed, then, and wed well, I would wager.” He indicated her belly. “For it cannot be long before your child is born.”

She had to ask. “You then are the comrade who journeyed to Jerusalem with Calum,” she said, recalling every word of her uncle’s missive. It seemed unlikely that this kindly man would use a woman as Hakim had declared the knight had mistreated her mother.

Perhaps he had repented of his former ways.

“I am, though I lingered there longer than he did.”

“Why?” Her question was too sharp and Leila knew it.

“I was in love,” Alasdair said. “I suppose there is no cause to hide it. I was assigned to a post in one of the villages granted by King Godfroi to the care of the Holy Sepulchre...”

“Al-Ramm,” Leila said, her heart in her throat.

Alasdair stared at her. “How could you guess that?”

“I would ask you to continue your tale first, sir.”

His features softened. “Al-Ramm. That is where I met my Saffirah. She was the sister of the blacksmith there and talented with the administration of herbs. Both she and her brother admired the work of Ibn Sīnā, she for the pursuit of healing in people and he for the healing of horses.”

“You were in their home?”

“Nay, never. I was struck with affection for Saffirah when first we met and was astonished to find my admiration returned. We met secretly, only to talk, though I would have wed her in a heartbeat. She insisted that such a match could not survive, and truly, we saw the hatred between our kinds each and every day. She told me of her family, as I told her of mine, so I knew much of Hakim though I only met him briefly.” He swallowed and shook his head. “The day came that I was released from my post and another man sent to take my place. I would have stayed. She told me to go.” His voice turned husky. “I might have defied her command if I had not loved her so.”

This was a vastly different version of the tale than her uncle had shared with Leila and she hoped it was true. She could find no hint in Alasdair’s manner that he deceived her and wondered if it had been another Franj who had violated her mother.

“And you were never intimate, despite this love?” she dared to ask.

He smiled, taking her elbow for the steps to the keep. “So, you might well ask, for passion is so often taken as the full expression of love. I was concerned for her future, should we be intimate, for if we were not to wed, I would not have wished for her to be shamed. Much less to be left with a child. I was stalwart, until our last night together. We were more amorous than we had been yet, for we knew we should never see each other again.” He frowned. “I was weak, though she insisted that we enchanted each other. It was marvelous. As perfect as she was.”

He seemed to be overcome for a long moment, but then finally cleared his throat. “I hated to leave. She practically cast me out. I begged her to send me word if she had need of me, but she wept and kissed my cheeks, telling me that her heart was mine forever but that we should not see each other again. I have prayed for many years that she found good fortune, that she wed a good man, that she had many children and a long life.” He sighed and Leila saw how it grieved him. “I will never know.”

Alasdair would have continued to the hall, but Leila laid a hand upon his arm to halt him. “There is a reason I resemble the Saffirah you loved so well,” she said softly. “And I can tell you that she had one child, a daughter.”

He stared at her, aghast. “She did wed, then...”

“Nay, she did not. She told her brother that she had been abandoned by her lover, no doubt to win his mercy. He took her into his home but she died in the bearing of her child.”

Alasdair crossed himself, obviously struck with grief.

“Hakim moved us all to Jerusalem. He raised me along with his own daughter and called me his little flower.”

Alasdair was clearly astonished. “Saffirah,” he whispered.

“She never wed,” Leila said with a smile. “She told Hakim that my father would hold her heart forever, but I was never told that man’s name.”

Their gazes locked and held, so much joy and hope in the eyes of Alasdair that Leila could scarce take a breath. “You did not tell me your name, little flower.”

“Leila. Leila binte Qadir lufti al-Ramm.”

“Leila. Lady Leila.” Alasdair wiped a tear, then bowed low over her hand. He kissed her knuckles and she felt him tremble. “And so God’s mercy is shown to an old man in his winter years. I wish you every joy, my daughter.”

“And I am slow in offering you hospitality, my father,” she said with a smile. “Come, come into the hall, for Calum will be glad of these tidings.”

“Perhaps not,” Alasdair acknowledged with a laugh. “For he will see far more of me now, and have competition to dote upon that child you carry.”

They laughed together and entered the hall arm in arm, Leila’s heart full with the unexpected joy the older man’s arrival had brought. Fergus glanced up from a discussion with his father and smiled at her, the sight of her beloved making Leila feel that she was fortunate indeed.

Then she felt a contraction, a hard wrench of her womb, and caught her breath. Alasdair seized her arm to steady her and Fergus hastened to her side. It was only a few moments before she felt the pain again, and she gripped Fergus’ sleeve. “I believe, sir, that there may be a babe in hall for the Yule,” she said, trying to make a jest.

Fergus’ eyes lit and he swept her into his arms, carrying her to the solar even as he shouted for the midwife.

“It will not come so quickly as that,” Leila chided, but Fergus would not heed her.

“The babe will come when it chooses, but we shall be prepared,” he said with resolve. “And if there is so much time, you can tell me how you made old Alasdair smile.”

By the time Leila’s water had broken and the midwife arrived, she had done just that and could not fail to see how the tale satisfied her husband.

Her cry at the next powerful contraction, however, did not.

---

It was just as he had dreamed.

Fergus sat in the solar late that night, holding the tiny miracle that was his son. Leila’s labor had been short and fierce, and though the midwife had warned him that it might be thus, he had been terrified by her ordeal. In truth, he could not have endured it much longer and he marveled at her strength.

She slept as he rocked the babe, and he was glad that they were once again alone in the solar. The candles burned low and the coals glowed in the braziers. The shutters were closed tightly against the chill of the night, though Fergus had liked that the night was clear and the sky filled with stars. The keep had fallen silent at this hour, particularly after the excitement of the heir’s arrival.

The babe stirred and fussed a little, and Leila seemed to sense it. She awakened in almost the same moment and sat up. Her hair had grown longer this year and spilled over her shoulders, though her smile was as warm as ever. “Let me try to coax the milk again,” she said and lifted her hands.

“He is so tiny,” Fergus said as he laid the precious burden in Leila’s arms. She smiled and nestled the babe close, offering her breast to him.

Fergus smiled at the sight of the babe’s dark auburn hair. The color had only been discernible once his hair dried, but proved Fergus’ forecast true. The boy’s skin was palest gold, lighter than Leila’s and darker than Fergus’ own. He watched, wondering how many other traits he would notice over the coming years, in which the boy took a bit from Leila and a bit from him to make his own way.

The babe caught the nipple in his mouth and sucked with such vigor that Leila caught her breath, then she smiled at Fergus.

“And he is strong. I was so afraid that Stewart had damaged him.”

“He is perfect.” Fergus sat beside her, putting his arm around her shoulders. This was the scheme he had envisioned so long ago, Leila nursing a child. The boy opened his eyes and they were of clear blue, as vivid a hue as those of Alasdair. “Which grandfather is more proud, do you think?”

Leila laughed. “It is impossible to say.” Her eyes were shining, as if lit by stars in the way that he found most enticing. “I think his father is most smitten of all, though.”

“If only because his lady wife is hale,” Fergus said and kissed her brow. “I see how he makes you happy.”

Leila nodded. “I would adore him even if you did not need an heir. We should have another.”

“And a daughter,” Fergus agreed. “I would like to see if she, too, would resemble Saffirah.” He sobered then. “I wish she had been here to see your joy, and your cousin, too.”

“Aziza will see it in Venice, when we meet, and I am certain that Karayan has been compelled to tell her of Killairic over and over again.” Leila smiled. “As for my mother, I felt her presence this day, as if she meant to aid me.”

“A guardian angel on your shoulder?”

“A loving one,” Leila said, her voice husky. “Who will never be forgotten.”

Fergus held her tightly, and eased away her tears. “I have a gift for you this Yule, but would give it to you now, when we are alone together.”

“It is a little soon for that manner of gift, husband,” Leila teased.

Fergus chuckled and retrieved the parcel. As she was holding their son, he had to unwrap it for her. It was the psalter he had bought, with no clear idea at the time of why. “It was not intended for Isobel,” he said before she could ask. “I knew she would not value it. But I thought it so pretty and I could envision it in a lady’s delicate hands as she made her prayers.”

Leila smiled up at him. “Any particular hands?”

“These ones,” he said and lifted one to his lips. He kissed Leila then and they sat in silence, admiring their son as he dozed. Fergus could imagine no finer way to spend this night. “He has need of a name, this son of ours,” he murmured finally to Leila and was relieved when she smiled again.

“You must have a family name to bestow.”

“My family will bestow much upon him, including the tradition of his mother choosing his name.”

“Truly?”

“Truly. The decision is yours.”

Leila stared down that the boy, her finger caressing his cheek. “Then I would name him for his guardian angels, his grandfathers both by blood and by honor.”

“One on the left and one on the right.” Fergus smiled, for he thought it a perfect tribute. “In what order?”

Leila considered it, then chose. “Alasdair Calum Hakim,” she said. “It sounds best that way.”

“And so it shall be thus,” Fergus agreed and kissed his wife again. The shadow of doom was dispelled, the future was assured and he was happier than he had ever imagined he might be.

And it was all because Leila had put her hand in his. He would spend the rest of his days and nights ensuring that she never regretted her choice.

He would spend the rest of his life ensuring that Killairic was the home she had been determined to make her own. “Are you too tired to tell me a story, Leila?” he asked as he tucked himself into the bed beside her. “I believe that last night you were telling me a tale of three apples.”

“Indeed, I was,” Leila agreed, then smiled up at him. “And what shall you do when I reach the end of Scheherazade’s tales?”

“What did Shahriar do?”

“He confessed that she had won his heart and his admiration, and he revoked his law to have his queen executed in the morning. He asked her to be his queen in truth and she agreed.” Leila’s eyes danced. “I believe they lived happily ever after.”

“But you are already my lady and my wife, for my heart and my admiration are both conquered,” Fergus said, pretending to consider this as a puzzle. “Perhaps, you could start at the beginning again and tell Scheherazade’s tales to our children. Alasdair will be old enough to listen after another eight hundred nights or so.”

Leila laughed with a merriment that made Fergus smile. “I think that might ensure that we all lived happily ever after,” she said, and Fergus could not argue with that.