*Blake*
As I head into my bedchamber exhausted from chasing down and finally recapturing my i***t horse, then stubbornly galloping back to the manor while every beat of the hooves jarred my leg and sharpened the pain, I hear the baby cry out. Immediately I pause, my hand on the doorknob.
Before this afternoon, I had enjoyed having the entire wing to myself. Then I had asked that Merida should be given a room near me. I don’t know if she is aware that I am just across the hall. In spite of the fact that I had been wearing a greatcoat, which I had discarded downstairs, I am wet and chilled. My hair clings to my head and the water drips onto my shoulders.
I am hardly presentable.
The baby’s wails rise in crescendo. There can be no doubt he has a good set of lungs. Why is he so upset? Why
