I felt something pierce the back of my neck. Hm...had a mosquito just bitten me? Or was it perhaps Mr Rikkard Ambrose's icy gaze boring holes into my very soul?
"You..." A low growl erupted from dear husband's throat. "I will get you for this!"
"Get me?" I batted my eyelashes up at him. "We're married. You've already got me."
"Don't remind me!"
"I love you, too."
Ah, the art of old-married-couple-bickering...wasn't it amazing that we had already mastered it this early? I nodded happily. This definitely boded well for our marriage.
The murderously threatening glare my husband was currently directing at my friends and little sister, however, was not quite as promising. I had a feeling murder of in-laws would make for awkward conversations during Christmas dinners.
"Hm...names...'ow about ye name 'im Dick?" Amy suggested brightly. "After 'is father and 'is most important part?"
Seems like Amy had a really great desire for dinner conversations about homicide. Though, judging by the look in Mr Ambrose's eyes, I wasn't sure she would be alive to hear them.
"Are you crazy? Absolutely not!" Elbowing the other girl in the ribs, Patsy shook her head. "Lilly, don't listen to her! You can't give him a name like that!"
"Agreed!" Mr Ambrose nodded firmly, flashing her a rare appreciative glance. "We could never name our son after something like that!"
"Right." Patsy pulled a face. "I mean, just imagine it...naming him after his father? Who would want to be named after such a chauvinist son of a bachelor?"
Suddenly, Mr Rikkard Ambrose didn't look so appreciative anymore.
"No, I have a much better idea for a name!" she continued without seeming to notice. "In fact, the perfect name!"
"Perfect?"
"Oh yes." Patsy smiled innocently. Far too innocently. "How about Ferdinand Ernest Marcus Ignatius Nathaniel Isaac Sebastian Tristan Ambrose?"
Hm...the name wasn't bad, actually. A bit too long, maybe. Why would she—
Wait a minute! My eyes narrowed, and the gears in my mind started to work. F...E...M...I...N...I...
"Oh." I cleared my throat. "I must say...not a bad name. Not bad at all. But maybe fewer given names?"
"I concur." Mr Ambrose chimed in, his voice as chilly as the winter wind. It was clear that his mind had worked through the initials quite a bit faster than mine.
"Oh." Patsy's shoulders slumped—then abruptly rose again. "How about Samuel Ulysses Fabian Franklin Ronald Anthony Gilbert Ivor—"
"No." I had to admire Patsy's fortitude. Mr Ambrose's gaze could have killed a bear at a hundred paces, and she didn't even twitch. "Absolutely not."
"How about Florent?" Flora suggested hopefully. "Or Florian?"
"No."
I couldn't help but see a mental image of a tiny five-year-old mini-Ambrose with a daisy stuck into his buttonhole and a rose behind his ear. Slamming a hand over my mouth, I did my very best to disguise my laughter as a cough. Judging by the arctic look Mr Ambrose sent my way, I was not entirely successful.
"I think," he stated, coolly letting his gaze sweep over the assembled females in a don't-you-dare-disagree-with-me manner, "that this is a private matter for me and my wife to discuss, don't you agree?"
Translation: if you don't leave by the count of ten, I cannot be held responsible for my actions.
"What?" Patsy's eyes narrowed, and she hefted her steel-reinforced parasol. "You think you can chase us away?"
"Oh, I don't know." Thoughtfully, I tapped my chin. "Maybe you should leave."
"Lilly! You..." Patsy gave me a hurt look. "You really mean that?"
I grinned. "Well, naturally you should go. After all, I need someone to fetch..." My voice lowered and, leaning over to her, I whispered into her ear.
A moment passed, and her lips parted in a face-splitting grin. "Oh. I see. Well, yes, of course we should leave immediately. Come on, girls! Let's go!"
"But—"
"No arguments, Eve! Go, go, everyone! Chop chop!"
Like a flock of geese, Patsy chased the others out of the room. Satisfied, I folded my hands and leaned back into my comfy cushions, pretending to be completely ignorant of the suspicious stare sent my way by Mr Rikkard Ambrose.
"What did you tell her, Mrs Ambrose?"
"Me?" I batted my eyelashes. "Oh, just girl talk."
No need to tell him that Patsy was fetching a big pile of diapers so my dear husband wouldn't lack supplies when he attended to his son's bottom later on, right?
He opened his mouth to respond, but—
"Waaah! Wah waaah!"
One corner of my mouth quirked up. I glanced down at my baby, then looked back up at his father. "Seems like our son would prefer us to stop arguing."
"Or he wants to join in." Mr Ambrose very pointedly did not smile. But he couldn't hide the softening of his eyes. "Seems he takes after his mother."
For a long moment, beautiful silence reigned. I would have called it companionable—only, casual companions don't usually stare at each other like we did just then. Like we never wanted to let go. Then, as if by silent agreement, we looked down at the baby in my arms. The little tyke, which in his case probably was short for tycoon, seemed to notice the attention and giggled happily. It was a heavenly sound. Transfixed, I stared down at the shrivelled little potato that was my baby's face. I would fight anyone to the death who denied it was the most beautiful face in the world.
I swallowed. "We really have to find a suitable name for him, don't we? A wonderful one. He deserves it."
"Yes. Yes, he does."
"What?" I cocked an eyebrow. "An adequate one won't do?"
"No." The answer came instantly. Without the slightest hesitation. "Definitely not."
Warmth surged in my heart. Then I thoughtfully cocked my head. "Hm...a wonderful name..."
Before I could get out another syllable, he raised a warning finger. "Don't even think about it!"
"You haven't even let me finish!"
In response, I received a stern gaze. "I don't need to. Don't. Think. About. It."
"So...Qwerty is out of the question, then?"
He sent me another look. One of those looks.
"All right, all right!" I held up a hand in defeat. "I'll spend some more time browsing books then! After all, I can't do much more while I'm stuck in this be—" Suddenly I stopped and snapped my fingers. "Ah! I've got it!"
"What?"
I gave him a brilliant smile. "I've found the perfect name!"
"Really?" He cocked his head, clearly curious. "What is it?"
"Ehem, well..." I cleared my throat. "I just noticed I'm incredibly tired. After all, I've been up all night giving birth. For now, I need my beauty sleep. Let's talk about this tomorrow, shall we?"
"Mrs Ambrose? Mrs Ambrose! What is the name? Don't you dare pretend to be asleep! Answer me! What is the name?"
***
It was late the next morning. Sunlight was streaming in through the windows. Birds were twittering in the trees. A suspicious business magnate was staring holes into me.
"Mrs Ambrose?"
"Yes?"
"What is the name?"
"Would you like some jam?" I offered.
We were currently having breakfast. Karim had been kind enough to carry up a breakfast table that had been placed between my bed and my dear husband. Breakfast in bed was definitely something I could get used to. Especially since it gave me such an excellent opportunity for stalling.
"Mrs Ambrose!"
"Yes, dear? How about some tea with honey?"
"What. Is. The. Name?"
I glanced up and, judging by the look in his eyes, there would be no more stalling. Not even with tea and honey.
So I told him.
A muscle in his cheek twitched.
"Really?"
I beamed. "It's the perfect name, isn't it?"
"Really, Mrs Ambrose?"
"Hey, what do you mean? It's a perfectly fine name!"
That muscle in his cheek twitched again. "Technically. In the same way that you technically didn't name our child after a typewriter's letter scheme."
"What are you talking about?" I batted my eyelashes. "Berty is a perfectly normal name."
His eyes narrowed infinitesimally. He was about to object. I knew it! I—
"Bertram."
Huh?
"Bertram," he repeated. "I will not have my son bearing some ridiculous nickname. If anything, his name will be Bertram."
I grinned. "Berty."
"Bertram."
"Berty."
"Bertram."
Isn't it amazing when you are married to someone who is in sync with you so perfectly? Someone who always shares your opinions and supports your choices?
Our harmonious conversation lasted for around half an hour, during which we discussed many fascinating subjects. The fact that ninety percent of the words we used were either "Berty" or "Bertram" was pure coincidence. Finally, after a long and fierce argume...ehem I meant after our "harmonious conversation", we came to a tentative agreement.
"So...it's settled?" I enquired.
He nodded. "Indeed. The name is settled." Reaching out, he gently touched the cheek of the baby in my arms. If I hadn't been watching so closely, I might almost have missed the flash of emotion in his arctic eyes. "Bertram S. M. Ambrose."
"M standing for...?"
"Midas, naturally."
"Ah." I nodded. "Naturally. And S?"
A short pause.
"For Samuel."
"After your mother, perchance?"
"No comment."
I had to work very hard to keep the smile off my face.
"And...?" I enquired.
He swallowed, clearly struggling to get the next words out.
"And you may refer to him as 'Berty'," he grudgingly conceded. "Occasionally."
This time I couldn't help it. I just had to grin.
"Did you hear that, Berty, my boy?" Cuddling the bundle of supreme cuteness in my arms, I tickled his perfect little nose. "Your father can actually be reasonable. Wonders never cease."
"Waaaah!" my dear son expressed his agreement and astonishment. "Waah! Waaah!"
"Aww...did you hear? He agrees with me!"
"I am afraid, Mr Ambrose, your interpretation of Babynese is not one I would agree with."
"Pish-posh! He definitely agrees with me! Don't you, my darling little cheapskate?"
"Waah!"
"Aww, he's so smart! I wonder what his first word is going to be? I bet it's going to be 'mama'!"
Instantly, Mr Ambrose's eyes lost any hint of softness. "I disagree."
"Oh?" My eyes narrowed. "And why is that?"
"Because he is my son."
"And mine."
"Irrelevant, Mrs Ambrose. He is my son. Thus, his first word must and will address his father."
"Most certainly not! His first word is going to be 'mama'!"
"No."
"Yes!"
"No."
"Yes!"
"N—"
Wham!
Just then, the door to the room slammed open, revealing a grinning Patsy with a ginormous pile of linen diapers in her arms. "Hello, I'm back! Look what I've brought!"
***
"I," Mr Rikkard Ambrose stated, "am an international industrial magnate. My time is precious. This is not a suitable use for it."
"Oh, I don't know..." I smiled at him, innocently. I would have batted my eyelashes, but I wouldn't want to take my eyes off this scene for an instant, even if just to blink. "You always told me it was best to have a hands-on approach to business. Well...your son seems to have done his business." With a beatific expression on my face, I handed my darling husband his son. "Time to get your hands dirty."
A muscle in his cheek twitched. "I thought we were going to do this together?"
"Oh, I wish I could help, I really do." Sighing, I placed a hand onto my heart. "But I still feel so weak from giving birth...I can hardly move, let alone stand. Otherwise, how could I let you do this alone? You know me. I've always been independent and wanting to work. How could I not want to do such an interesting task as wiping off shit with my own hands?"
That cheek muscle of his twitched again. Taking a deep breath, he turned to the other females in the room. There was a silent question in his gaze. In answer, Amy flipped him the bird. Patsy patted her steel-reinforced parasol, a bloodthirsty grin on her face. Eve and Flora looked off into different directions, whistling. So the only target Mr Ambrose could direct his gaze at was pure, innocent little Ella.
"Me?" Demurely folding her hands in front of herself, Ella shook her head. "I wouldn't dream of coming between a father and child. How could I intrude upon such an important moment in your relationship?"
Dang! I had no idea my little sister had such sass! You go, Ella!
I gave my husband a supportive pat on the shoulder. "You heard her. Besides..." Helpful little secretary that I was, I also gave him an encouraging smile. "Little Berty just did his first business. As the only businessman here, you're clearly most qualified to deal with this matter."
This time it wasn't just the muscle in his cheek that twitched. His little finger did, too. Rapidly. "Indeed?"
"Indeed, Sir." Once more, I patted his shoulder. "So go bond with your son. Just...don't bond too closely. I still want to sleep in the same bed with you at some time in the future."
Leaning forward, Mr Rikkard Ambrose stared straight at me, his eyes flashing dangerously. It might have been more threatening if he didn't have an infant in his arms who was busy pulling funny faces.
"Mrs Ambrose...I shall get my revenge for this."
A smile tugged at the corners of my mouth. "Oh, I'm counting on it."
After all, I knew how he usually took his 'revenge'. I did say I was planning on sleeping in the same bed with me in the future, didn't I?
That is, as soon as he's gotten his hands on some contraceptives. I'm not going through yesterday's torture again in a hurry!
For once, I agreed with my inner voice. Right now, I would simply relax in my comfy bed and watch my husband change dirty dia—cough cough, I mean, bond with his son.
Smiling brightly, I cuddled into the cushions and prepared to enjoy the show.
At the other end of the room, Mr Rikkard Ambrose, with a look in his eyes as if he were about to face a firing squad, placed little Berty on a changing table and opened Pandora's box. Instantly, a fragrant aroma spread throughout the room. How lucky that I had already sent Eve to get a clothes peg earlier that I now quickly clamped onto my nose.
"Carry on, Fir," I told him as he directed a baleful glare at the peg. "Don't mind me, I'm juft watfing."
"Yes. I can see that." He sent another icy glare my way—then spared one for Eve, who was currently handing out clothes pegs to all the other ladies. I had such a thoughtful friend, didn't I? And a generous husband. Three icy glares in a day? That was practically magnanimous.
Turning back towards the changing table, Mr Rikkard Ambrose resumed his work. With swift and impressively practiced movements, he removed the blanket wrapped around Berty and started dealing with the business matters at hand. Or at bottom, if you wanted to be precise. Once he had cleaned up the mess, he proceeded to wrap things up, quite literally. Reaching for a clean diaper, he quickly slung it around the little squirt and turned him onto his back to tie the string at the front when—
Pssssssssst!
Oh my.
Oh my oh my.
A beautiful golden fountain had sprayed forth.
Apparently, my baby boy didn't just want to relieve his bowels, but his bladder as well, all in one go! With admirable reflexes, Mr Ambrose threw himself to the side, but some of it still hit home. Beaming with pride, I clapped my hands together. "Good boy! Such good aim, and on the first try, too! Well done!"
"Mrs Ambrose?"
"Yes, Dicky Darling?"
"Stop. Applauding."
"Why?" I cocked an eyebrow. "At his age, he's not only doing business, but doing two businesses simultaneously, thus saving time and money. A multitasker and businessman at the age of zero. Shouldn't you be proud?"
"Oh, I am so very proud," he told me, tying the last knot with a finality that would have been ominous if it hadn't been attached to a baby's diaper. "I can't wait to show you exactly how proud."
"I think dat's our cue ta leave, girls," Amy announced with a grin. "Seems like da two of dem need some...'privacy'. Come on! I could use some fresh air anyway."
Giggling and whispering to each other, my gaggle of friends started to file out of the room. Mr Rikkard Ambrose, meanwhile, picked up our newborn son and, stepping towards me, gently placed him back into my arms.
"I shall be in the bathroom, Mrs Ambrose," he told me with an intense look. "I feel I require some freshening up."
"Indeed?"
"Indeed. I shall return forthwith."
He whirled around and stalked out of the room. I swallowed, watching his broad back retreat. His broad, muscular back, the sight of which made my mouth go dry and—
Oy! Get it together, Lilly! After what you've just gone through, you should be threatening all men with sharp weapons so they don't get within a mile of you! What's wrong with you?
I glanced down at my son beside me. His son. Our son.
It's probably love.
After a moment or two, I heard the sound of the bathroom door closing, followed by the muffled noise of water droplets. He was taking a shower.
I swallowed again. Water droplets, running down bare, sculpted muscles...
Son of a bachelor! He's doing this on purpose, isn't he?
He was trying to tempt me so he could get his revenge.
I looked down at the little bundle in my arms.
"Your father really is evil incarnate, isn't he?"
"Waah wah! Gah!"
Well...the joke was on him. I might love Mr Rikkard Ambrose with all my heart, but if he thought he was getting anywhere near my private parts while they still felt like they had been set on fire after being spiced with pepperoni, he was very much mistaken.
"What do you say...should we have a comfortable, family-friendly time together?"
"Waaah!"
"I'm delighted you agree."
It was so comforting to have an intelligent conversation partner. I was just about to indulge in a discussion about the dietary requirements of arthropods, or some similarly riveting subject, when I heard the shower shut off. A moment later, footsteps followed.
He's coming.
The door swung open—and there he stood. Mr Rikkard Ambrose, clad in nothing but a pair of trousers, water droplets sparkling on his bare, chiselled torso. I knew girls who'd faint at the thought of that, let alone the sight. At any other time it might even have worked on me. Right now, though?
Like I said, lady parts spiced with pepperoni and set on fire.
"Care to join me?" Batting my eyelashes at him, I pulled aside the blanket invitingly.
In answer, all I received was a curt nod. My marble statue of a husband strode over to the bed and slid in beside me. With a smirk he couldn't see, I cuddled closer, wiggling my bottom against him.
"You ifrit...!" A groan escaped his throat. "I really want to take my revenge on you, right here, right now."
"Oh, I know." Half-turning, I smiled up at his beautifully chiselled face. "But you can't, because you know I'm still hurting and you actually care about me. Outrageous, isn't it?"
"Indeed," he squeezed out, his dark, unfathomable eyes boring into me.
"Besides..." Tightening my grip on a certain little bundle of joy, I glanced from him to Mr Ambrose. "We have company."
"Oh, I have noticed." His eyes narrowed infinitesimally. "Don't think you can use our son against me!"
"Can't I?" I held up Berty in front of me like a particularly adorable shield. "Just look at this face! Isn't this the epitome of cuteness? Don't you just want to hug and cuddle him and forget about all the naughty thoughts in your head?"
Mr Rikkard Ambrose's eyes softened ever so slightly.
"I..."
Abruptly, they hardened again and flicked to me, spearing me with imaginary icicles. "That is underhanded, Mrs Ambrose!"
I smirked. "All is fair in love and business."
"I thought it was 'war'?"
"With you, where's the difference?" Leaning forward I pressed a gentle kiss to his lips. He resisted for a moment or two—then abruptly melted beneath my ministrations.
"You...vixen...!" he murmured. "Tempting me with what I cannot have...you are intent on torturing me today, aren't you?"
With one finger, I lightly jabbed his nose. "It's your fault for calling me a bovine before."
His eyes flashed icily. "So that is why I have been cleaning up infant feces?"
"Well, you seem to have such a rich experience with cows...surely that means you've got some practise with mucking out stables?" I batted my eyelashes. "You should always leave a task to an expert in a given field, don't you agree?"
"You...!" His arms launched towards me. "Come here!"
How could rock-hard arms be so soft? How could a fierce embrace be so gentle? The way he enveloped me in his clasp...this wasn't about him wanting me, or even wanting his revenge for the great diaper disaster. No. This was a husband holding his wife. His family.
I hugged little Berty closer and, turning around to face my husband, placed him right between us. Mr Ambrose froze, his gaze fixed on the tiny, scrunched-up face in front of him. I had never seen Mr Rikkard Ambrose stare at anything like that. Not bank notes, not diamonds, not even myself. Because all of these were things he wanted, desired, loved even—but they didn't need him for protection. This little one did. He needed him for his very survival, and judging by the look on Mr Ambrose's face, my husband would go to hell and back to ensure it.
I knew there was a reason I loved him.
"He really is beautiful, isn't he?" I muttered, staring at the bald little potato head in my arms.
"He is." Feeling the touch of his fingers on my cheek, I looked up to see Mr Ambrose staring at me. "And so are you."
Slowly, he leaned forward, towards my lips. There was no heat in his movements, no passion or desire. In his dark, unfathomably deep eyes, I could see one thing, and one thing only: love. The happiness in my heart swelled to new heights, and our lips finally tou—
Knock, knock!
"Bloody frigging he—!" Abruptly, I glanced down at the peacefully sleeping form of little Berty, and cleared my throat. "Ehem, I mean 'heck'. Yes, definitely, heck. Blooming digging heck."
Crap! Now I couldn't even curse properly anymore. This was not something I had foreseen when I'd started this whole mother business.
Knock knock!
There came that bloody sound again! It sounded urgent, too, as if whoever was out there had his coat tails on fire. Glancing over at the door, I suddenly got an ominous feeling.
Why do I feel like I'm going to need to curse a lot in the near future?
"Enter!" Mr Ambrose commanded.
The door flew open, and a man in a bowler hat rushed in. "Mr Ambrose! Mr Ambrose, we—oh."
That was the moment when the poor man noticed his employer lying next to me on the bed.
"Ah. Um...did I come at a bad time?"
In answer, he received Mr Ambrose's patented May-You-Be-Banished-To-The-Frozen-Circle-Of-Hell look. His message couldn't have been conveyed more clearly if he'd shouted "What do you think?" out loud.
"Errr...right. My sincerest apologies. I can come back later and—"
"What," Mr Rikkard Ambrose demanded in an icy voice, "do you want?"
I was wondering that myself. We hadn't exactly been discreet about the birth of our child. Why would someone barge in on Mr Ambrose and me at this time?
"Right!" Nodding quickly, the man cleared his throat and straightened. "I came here to notify you that everything is being carried out as per your orders."
"Orders?" The frown in Mr Ambrose's voice was clearly audible.
"Yes, Sir! As you ordered, everything is being prepared for your departure to Battlewood. The men are already assembled, the weapons are being checked, and the horses are rested and ready to depart." The man smiled, as if waiting to be rewarded for a job well done. "When shall we depart north, Sir?"
North?
In an instant, my happiness shattered. I felt my heart drop as, suddenly, memories that had been pushed to the back of my mind by little things like giving birth and almost dying resurfaced in my mind.
North.
To Battlewood. To Adaira. My sister-in-law, who was engaged to a man whom she didn't even know, a man who happened to be a murderous, evil mastermind. Worse—a murderous, evil, French mastermind.
Fiddlesticks.
-------------------------------------------------
My dear Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen,
Well? What do you think of the name I picked? ;)
By the way, those of you who usually buy the published ebook / paperback versions of my stories might have noticed that there wasn't one published last year. This is mostly because 2022 was a bit too chaotic. Now, however, I shall get to work on the ebook & paperback version of the Storm and Silence series again, and I firmly intend to publish one this year!
Yours Truly
Sir Rob
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GLOSSARY:
Bovine—another word for cow.