No Fury

Now: Thirty

Harry stands, helping me to my feet as if I am made of blown glass. He swipes at my skirts, dusting me off, before taking stock of his own clothing and groaning.

"We are filthy."

"You need to get back," I say, but step closer to him anyway. "The festival starts in only hours."

"I need to take you to James first," he says. "He's learned in medicine. He'll look after you."

"James?"

"My ... James," he says, haltingly. "In the cabin." He nods his head backward, indicating down the trail, into the woods.

"Harry. I will not see a male relative of your mother's during my pregnancy."

"'A male relative of my mother's'." He pauses, nodding. "Ah." His eyes are mirth and feigned innocence. "James knows we've lain together."

"He what?"

"He's always known. I-I realize I've called him uncle but he is something ... else." He steps closer, cupping my neck. "My love. He warned me again and again to not lie with you, that it couldn't be a simple pleasure with you. Once I admitted I had, he insisted I not come to my end inside you, but I couldn't ever remember not to." His smile is as bright as daylight. "Not when you were naked and wet beneath me."

And now I can see fully that our future is a disaster. Harry is too proud of what we've created in my womb, too innocently thrilled that I am carrying his baby. He will no more be able to pretend this child is Liam's than he would be able to pull up every blade of grass in the county with his bare hands.

Tugging at my arm, he says, "Come. I don't want the common midwife caring for my child."

"My child," I correct, gently. "You have to trick your own mind into thinking it."

"Are you mad? That's my boy in there, it is." His fingers splay possessively over my stomach as he steps closer, pressing up against me. "He'll have my eyes, my mouth, my build," he boasts. "He'll come out with a smile so wide he could be none other than the babe of the Sunshine Prince." His eyes meet mine and he laughs. "Oh, yes. You think I don't know what they call me? You think I won't see myself in him every day?"

"He may have my eyes." My voice sounds unconvinced even to my own ears. The green in Harry's eyes would no sooner bow to my blue than they would themselves fade away.

"You know he will come out looking just like his father. Brown curls, green eyes. On that day I will roar with pride, pound my chest like a savage. I will toast the heavens and send you a crown of rubies, Cath. He will sleep in the finest silk and wool. The world will know he's mine and I don't care. I don't bloody care."

Panic and thrill war inside my chest, and I can't help asking: "And if our child is a girl?"

He softens, leaning close enough that his lips graze my ear. "She will be terrible," he whispers conspiratorially. "A tiny green-eyed princess, raised on cakes and gemstones. Her bed will be as tall as I, made of silk and sweets."

I can barely resist melting over the giddy twinkle in his eyes.

But our life is not this vision.

"Harry." I turn to kiss him, bringing his hands back to my belly. "My darling . . ."

He eyes dim and he looks down at our joined hands over my skirts. "Cath. Don't."

Wincing, I remind him, "I need Liam to marry me. The alternative is a terrible lot."

He scowls, falling silent before pulling away and scrubbing at his face with both hands. When I can see him again, I know reality has struck him. "I hate this."