“We?”
“Of course. We’re a family now, aren’t we?”
It was too much for Bram, who was immediately snatched into Abaddon’s arms, presumably so the giant man didn’t have to look at his crumpled face.
“Shall I call Rose?” Abaddon asked.
“No. He can’t see me like this.”
“Like what?” Abaddon sighed. “Bram, I fear this condition will only get worse. If not worse… then bigger.”
This just made Bram cry harder. “What shall I do with a baby, Abaddon?”
“Love it, as Rose does Cecilia.”
“I don’t know how,” Bram wailed. “My parents… they… My brothers died in battle. All three of them. My parents had nothing left for me.”
“I hate to say it, Bram, but your father is not a good man. Not even a fraction of the man you are.”
“Abaddon,” Bram squeaked, unable to voice how precious his comment had made him feel. “I don’t even know my father. He never spoke to me but to pour scorn on everything I did. My mother was much the same. I don’t remember how they were before my brothers left, but I know they would no more accept me as a son than they did as a daughter.”
“You plan on staying this way?” Abaddon asked gently. “As Bram?”
“Yes.”
“Then we shall conceal this until the babe is born, at which point you will be a lone father whose unfortunate wife died.”
This set Bram off again.
“What are you not telling me?” Abaddon asked.
“The father.”
“You cannot wish to marry him if you are to continue living as a man.”
“He doesn’t know about the baby yet, but he is… He is here.”
Abaddon sucked in a breath, looking like he would swallow his own tongue. “I’ll send him in.”
The man got to his feet so quickly, he was halfway to the door before Bram had time for breath.
“But, Abaddon,” he called out, too late, for he’d already gone. To himself, Bram whispered, “I am not ready.”
Armando knocked next, poking his head around the door. He’d tried to engage him with talk of Oliver earlier, but Bram had cut him off every time. He was in no mood for another exhausting conversation, not when his face was still covered in tears, not when Oliver might arrive at any moment.
“What is wrong?” Armando asked, rushing to sit beside him on the bed. “Did Abaddon upset you?”
“Abaddon? No. He is… very special, Armando. You are so lucky.”
Armando frowned. “He said you needed me.”
“You must have misunderstood,” Bram told him. “He’s gone to fetch Feltham.”
“Does he have a way to contact him? I can’t see him fitting down the well.”
Bram stared at his friend. “He left?”
“He left this morning.”
“I pushed him away.”
“Why would you do that?”
“You know why.”
Armando pushed himself against the headboard to hug Bram, who couldn’t stop the tears, eventually wearing himself out. When he woke, Armando was gone.
Bram was alone.
18
Mary King’s Close
It was some days later that Bram began to feel better, but he could not avoid the bitterness pervading the house. Abaddon and Armando were no longer on speaking terms, and Bram was too scared to ask why in case it was his fault. Cecilia was quiet and lacklustre, which was more unsettling than anything else. He needed to get out of the house, so he went for a walk, heading in the opposite direction to the lake.
He needed a plan. Knowing Oliver had lost his entire family, Bram couldn’t in good conscience keep him away from his child. But what if Oliver took the child away from Bram? He would have no recourse because legally, he did not exist. He was nobody.
