Beside himself and without words, Eamonn slid from the bed onto his knees before her. He pulled her close and pressed his forehead against her belly. She felt the slow glide of his nose as he nuzzled closer. “You are loved,” he growled, both to her and the child. “You will be great and honorable and good. You will have your mother’s flaming hair and your father’s stubborn chin. I will rock to sleep at night, and your mother will kiss you awake every morning.”
