Wanting to ask her

*Zac*
I considered inviting Callie to accompany me on a walk through the garden, but the winds have picked up and it is bitter cold out. The rain arrived at dusk and is slashing at the windows. If it were spring, I would take her on a picnic beside one of the rivers that cuts through my brother’s land or one of the ponds where we sometimes fished as young lads. My chest tightens with the thought that one day I will take Zane fishing there.

I have always known the possibility existed that I would one day have children, but I have always expected to ease into the role of father. Instead it has been thrust upon me with no preparation. I can’t mourn the fact when the same situation has been thrust upon Callie. I won’t complain, resent, or wish matters were different. I will accept my duties as a father and a husband and make the best of them. I never wanted my son to regret that I am his father. Moreover, I never wanted Callie to regret that I am her husband.

I will begin our arrangement as I intend to continue it: with a great deal of thought and with her desires in mind.

I want someplace where we will have little chance of being disturbed. Someplace where my meddlesome mother can’t lurk in hiding and listen to what I intend to say. Finally, I decide on the portrait gallery. On the first floor the windows provide an exceptional view of my brother's estate. I have asked Callie to join me there an hour before dinner is to be served.

I am standing at a window, rehearsing my words, when I hear her quiet footfalls. A burst of lightning lights up the black night sky and illuminates the countryside. The display is majestic and powerful. An appropriate setting, I finally decided, for a woman who has proven she is made of firmer stuff than me. As nature’s light fades, leaving only the lamps burning to provide a barrier against the shadows, I see her reflection in the glass, standing near mine. She is wearing the green gown she wore the first night. Only now I know the treasures it hides.

As we will be going straight to dinner, she has not bothered with gloves. Neither have I. The way her hair is arranged disguises its shortness. A pearl comb draws the eye. I wonder how old I will be by the time her hair once again reaches her waist.

We stare at each other's reflection. We stare at the night. We watch the storm have its way, wind lashing at nearby trees, the rain slashing at the windows. My dragon tells me how freeing it would be to throw ourselves into the night sky.

The corridor is long, the entire span of the house. I have planned to walk the length of it with her. I have even brought my walking stick so I can mask my remaining limp, barely noticeable as it has become. But in the end, I simply indicate a chair in front of the window. “Please sit."

She does as I bid, folding her hands in her lap, and looking up at me with expectation. I wonder if she knows why I have asked her to come here.

Placing my hands behind my back, I return to staring out the window, but I can see her reflection clearly. I am drawn to her. I can’t deny the truth of that. Nor can I deny that I am responsible for her current situation. I can take the baby, allow my mother to raise him, and set Callie free. But I have witnessed her deep love for the child. It would be cruel to separate her from Zane.

I can take Zane and delegate Callie to nursemaid or governess. If she never again claims him, in time, those who know of her transgression will forget. She may meet someone, fall in love, and marry. Have her own life. Leave Zane behind. But that is not fair to Zane.

If I am honest with myself, I don’t want her to leave. But I do not love her, and again, that is not fair to her. I can think of no perfect solution. So I have to settle on the one I think would be the best, in spite of its imperfections. She is the sort who will make the best of an unfortunate situation, and I am the sort who will do all in his power to ensure she is forever happy. A woman should know no sorrow, as far as I am concerned, at least none delivered by me. They entertain, they amuse, they bring a man pleasure. They are a gift. As such, I have always treasured them.

Taking a deep breath, I hold on to her reflection. “I do not know if I am the man you knew in the hospital. I do not know what that man felt for you or what his intentions toward you were. I am not even certain I know the man I am now. All I know is the man I was two years ago. Quite honestly, I'm not certain I hold him in very high esteem.” I turn to face her. “For what comfort it might bring you, I can tell you that the man I was two years ago never took to his bed a woman for whom he held no affection whatsoever.”

She nods and swallows, her delicate throat drawing my eye, before I return my gaze to hers. “You should know that there has never been any man other than you," She says quietly.

I release a light laugh. “That was rather obvious last night. If I didn't know better, I would have sworn you were a virgin."

“Have you known many?” She asks.

I arch a brow. "Virgins?"

She nods in obvious embarrassment, her cheeks flaring red.

“No, but discussing my past exploits in detail is not the reason I asked you to join me here. This morning you indicated you were not opposed to marrying a man who had lost a part of his mind.” I say.

“You've not lost your mind. You’ve lost only your memories.” Her voice is soft and caring.

Her words warms me. “And what if this … affliction is not limited to the time I was in the war? What if it visits me again and I forget you again? Forget you and Zane?"

“I do not believe in borrowing trouble.” She simply says.

But she has borrowed it, with a vengeance, when she has made the decision to keep my son. I can’t continue to allow her to carry that burden alone. Regardless of the man I might have been in the war, I know the man I had been before it. That has not changed. Always when I have bedded a woman, I have done it with the full knowledge that I would never abandon her in a difficult situation.

“You are the mother of my child, and in my head, I know that would not have occurred if I did not have some care for you. I cannot say that I loved you. Even now, I cannot … but just as you did not abandon my son, I will not abandon you." I drop to my knee, my healing leg protesting as I bend it to accommodate my position.

She gasps. Her eyes go wide. I take her hand, pressing it to my lips, drinking in her whiskey eyes. “Dearest Callie, will you marry me?”