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Jamie and Claire had left a few hours ago for a long-awaited and well-deserved date night. Murtagh had enjoyed an evening of stories, dress-up, and building towers with wooden blocks with the lasses before Bree had finally run herself ragged and had fallen asleep on the rug where they were playing. Faith, ever the cooperative child, had gone to bed easily after that.
Those wee lasses are different as night and day. His mind drifted to the time he’d just spent with them. From the outside it appeared as if Bree was troublesome and Faith was easy to deal with. Generally, that was the case, but it didn’t explain who they were.
Physically Faith resembled her mother. She had the Claire’s curls, her pale, flawless skin, even her eyes and smile were small echoes of her mother’s appearance. The wee lass was a delicate copy. Emotionally, Claire under pressure had a sense of overriding logic and calm that Faith also seemed to possess. She lacked only her mother’s tempestuous temper.
Brianna was a different story. She was her father’s daughter through and through. From her red curls to her volatile temper, she felt things deeply and reacted strongly in nearly every regard. And the two-year old may have been small, but her personality was far from it! Those who didn’t know her thought she was difficult to manage (which wasn’t completely wrong) but she usually just needed a bit of space to unleash her emotions until she could get them in check once more.
He chuckled at the thought while he gathered up a few blocks that had slid under the edge of the couch when Bree had knocked down a tower. Behind him, he heard the sound of footsteps slapping on the hardwood floors.
“Murtagh?” A small voice drifted toward him and he turned to find a miniature version of Claire with teary eyes. Ah dhia. So, this was why the lad could never say no to his wife. This tiny version might hold even more influence. He set the blocks aside and gently scooped her up, bundling her tiny body against his chest, sheltering her from whatever it was that was causing her distress.
“What is it lass?” he asked the tearful toddler in his arms. “Is there something amiss?”
“Bree is asleep and I tried to sleep too but I can’t!” she sighed in sorrow. “I need you, Murtagh.” She squished her little hands onto his cheeks and looked him directly in the face. “Can we play together?” Then she abruptly dropped her hands down to curl around his shirtfront and buried her face into his chest.
His godson had asked him a few months ago why he let Faith play so late at night. Apparently, Jamie had been away and Claire had woken to Faith by their bedside asking to play. Upon invitation, Faith had climbed in beside Claire and explained that “Her Murtagh” would put Bree to bed and would then stay up to play with her. Neither Jamie not Claire had realized what Faith meant until Murtagh had showed them.
With the lass on his lap, wrapped in a plaid, he sat down on the old piano bench. Worn and gnarled fingers reached out to the keys with chips on their edges. Gently, he began to play a lullaby. He could feel her softly humming against his chest. Together, they played.