Margaret groaned as she tried to rise from the couch in the sitting room. Sun streamed in through the French doors and had warmed Margaret and the material of the sofa to an unbearably hot temperature. She pressed a hand to her swollen abdomen just above where the unruly babe kicked viciously. She hissed as she massaged the sore spot and tried to lever herself into a standing position.

"Margaret?" She glanced up to see James standing in the door of the room, glancing from the letter in his hand to her. "Is something amiss?"

"Yes, and it's your fault." Margaret leaned heavily against the pillows that had been propped up behind her on the couch and continued to rub at the sore spot on her stomach. At James' stricken look she smiled at him. "Your son is not giving me an easy time of it."

"You seem quite certain it's a boy." Margaret admired James' figure in civilian clothes. Today he wore a linen waistcoat, white shirt, cravat and brown breeches tucked into his tall brown riding boots. James crossed slowly to the sideboard to pour Margaret a glass of water before he came back to hand her the chilled glass. "How do you know?"

"All women know deep in their hearts what they carry." Margaret said as she took the glass. "That and I'm a midwife. If I can't guess at the gender of my own child after the number of births I've witnessed, I don't deserve to call myself such a thing." Margaret took a sip of water as James reached over the back of the sofa and began to massage her tense shoulders. Margaret had just begun to relax when the babe kicked violently again. "Oooh! Ouch!"

"Does it….I mean to say…" Margaret smiled at his discomfiture and reached up to grasp his hand in hers before pulling it down to rest on her belly beneath where the babe had last kicked. Sure enough, a swift and hard kick met James' hand after just a moment. "My goodness…!"

"Mmm….and as I said, your fault." Margaret groaned. "I'm too big to rise by myself."

James rounded the couch and helped pull his massively pregnant wife to her feet. He held her close for a moment and gently pushed the hair from her face, ghosting his fingers over the scar on her cheek and tucking the errant strands behind her ear. He kissed her softly, almost chastely, and then grasped her hand in his, smiling broadly at the soft blush that colored her cheeks at the tender gesture. He tucked her arm in his, and began to turn so that she could pace the room, something that seemed to calm the baby. James kept a protective arm around his wife as they strolled from the sitting room, down the stairs and out into the dappled sunlight of their garden. Margaret took deep, cleansing breaths as she and James slowly walked the pathways and rounded the hedgerows of their large garden. "I'm too big to walk very far either." Margaret groused, leaning heavily against her husband. James pulled her into the shade of an angel oak and sat with his back to the tree, cradled by the roots as he helped Margaret ease to the ground before him. Slowly he began massaging her back, just where he knew she—and the baby—liked it.

"Am I making up for this being my fault?" James asked close to her ear as he swept his hand over the surprisingly large swell that had become his wife's stomach.

"It's a start." Margaret sighed, relishing in the pleasure of James' hands kneading tight muscles. She lay her head against his shoulder and tried to enjoy the day. With James' warm chest at her back, and the dappled sunlight streaming through the leaves of the oak tree, Margaret felt warm, content and protected. "What was that letter you were reading?"

"Hmm?" She smiled at the sound of sleep in his voice and glanced up through half closed eyes to see that he too was dozing in the warm light streaming through the canopy. "Oh…the letter. It's from a friend in Charles Town."

"News?"

"Yes. The British left in December…"

"We knew that." She shifted, trying to find a comfortable position.

"Indeed, but there's a void now…many of the staunch British supporters left the city when the troops did." James clasped her hand in his as she settled back against him. "There are quite a few business opportunities to grasp in the city." Margaret's heart rate increased at his proclamation. She was close to her due date-she didn't want to be alone. James felt her pulse accelerate beneath his fingertips as he gently brushed his fingers over her wrist. "Don't worry. I'm not going to leave."

"But what about these opportunities?"

"I can invest from afar. Do you think business is more important than the birth of my son? Our son?" The possessive tone in his voice made Margaret smile. He was already madly in love with the child that grew in her womb. He pressed a kiss to a spot just below her ear, one he knew made her shiver. "I'll not leave you."

"Thank you…" Margaret hated that those simple words drove her so close to tears, but they meant the world to her. After not knowing of James' whereabouts at the end of his time with the army and still not knowing what happened to her half-brothers and sisters, she still feared being left behind. It was an irrational fear made worse by her pregnancy. They continued to doze for a moment before Margaret heaved a great sigh and tried to lever herself up.

"What is it?" James asked as he slipped from behind her and helped her rise.

"I'm a woman GREAT with child James, I am in constant need of pacing to keep the child quiet, rest to keep my legs and back from cramping and a ridiculous amount of time spent making water as your son tramples my bladder." Her face twisted uncomfortably as she gripped the lapel of James' waistcoat with an uncomfortable cramp.

"Margaret?" James watched as Margaret straightened taking a deep breath.

"My time may be closer than I thought." Margaret nodded back towards the house and tried not to laugh as James hovered close at her side. It proved an impossible task and she felt the need to stop and turn her husband to face her, touching his cheek to bring his worried gaze to her amused one. "James, stop worrying so…."

"What shall I do?" He asked desperately. Margaret smiled at him and shook her head, trying not to laugh too hard.

"Don't worry." She said earnestly.

"If you don't want me to worry, give me something to do…something to make you more comfortable." She smiled, rose up on tip toe and kissed him, loving him more with each second that slipped by.

"Just help me get into the house, let me do what I must and let's take it from there, shall we?"

Margaret could have laughed at the stricken look upon her husband's face. She'd seen it many times on the faces of other first time fathers, but never did she think she would see it on the face of the man she loved.

It was two days later that James was pacing frantically back and forth in the library, his book long since cast aside as he listened to the screams of his wife issue loud and clear from their room upstairs. The shouting had come closer and closer together in the past hour and twice one of the slaves had run down the stairs to get something at her mistress' behest. Even though several of the women who worked the plantation knew their way around a birthing chamber, Margaret was still issuing orders for her own delivery.

"Sir?" James glanced up as his plantation overseer stepped cautiously into the library. "If I may be so bold…?"

"No business, Greaves. My mind is not in it." James glanced up the stairs again as Margaret bellowed, shouting something unintelligible.

"It's nothing business related sir." Greaves tucked his hat beneath the stump of his arm. The man had lost the lower half of his left arm in a battle as an infantryman early on in the war. He could do little else but oversee a plantation and James had gladly hired him on, grateful that he could continue to help his brethren from the army. "I just wanted to say…the Missus is strong. My mother always said how silent births weren't natural. A good birth came with a great deal of screaming and hollering….the more work as went into the birth, the stronger the babe." Another shout echoed down the stairs and both men turned their eyes towards the upper floors. "By the sounds of it, your wife is giving birth to the next Hercules or Achilles." James smiled, some relief seeping into him.

"I only hope it's over soon." Greaves placed his hat on his head, and tipped the brim at James, who never pulled his eyes from the staircase.

It was hours later when James sat up from the chair he'd dozed off in as if someone had fired a shot. He glanced around, disoriented and then glanced up at the woman standing in the door way. Silence fell heavily over the darkened house and he glanced up stairs, struggling to rise on sleep-numbed legs.

"Master James?" The girl whispered into the dimly lit library and James quickly rushed towards the door and the candle the girl held. "Master James, the missus be asking for you…." He brushed past the girl, and raced up the stairs, ignoring the soft giggle he heard as he tripped on the second to last riser in his haste to get up the stairs.

"Margaret?" James practically slid into the room, so quickly was he moving and was stunned to see his wife, propped up against the pillows of their large bed, staring down into a wriggling bundle in her arms. She looked lovely, lovelier than he'd ever seen her. More lovely than the day he'd met her at her step father's farm, lovelier than the night of the ball at Middleton and even lovelier than the day they had wed more than a year before. Her hair was combed and fell in luxurious, shiny waves of copper and gold around her shoulders. Her skin glowed radiantly in the candlelight and her eyes shone brightly.

"Come…meet your son, James." She whispered as she glanced again at the bundle in her arms. James felt as if he stumbled across the floor, sitting heavily on the bed beside his wife. His throat felt thick with emotion as he gazed at the red faced little wonder his wife had labored to bring into the world. The baby was swaddled tightly and Margaret turned to place it in James arms. He sat stiffly beside his wife, staring with wondering eyes upon the life he held in his arms.

"Relax…." She whispered, trying not to laugh at James' stiff, attention-like posture.

"A son?" He breathed, shocked as he watched the baby slumber, a soft, high-pitched whistle issuing on every tiny exhale. "I have a son…"

"Indeed." Margaret sighed as she watched her husband gaze lovingly at his son. "He's already exhausted his mamman."

"I wasn't there…." James whispered. He glanced at her and saw the slight smile curling up the corners of her mouth. "Margaret….I wasn't there….I was asleep…!"

"Ha!" Margaret barked a laugh loud enough to make her new son twist uncomfortably in his father's arms. "I only just sent the maid down to you to fetch you up. I was a mess."

"But…"

"I knew you were downstairs. After two days of laboring, it was high time for a good soak and clean sheets." Margaret settled in amongst the pillows at the top of their bed. "There was time enough for you to meet your son after that." The baby started to fuss and Margaret leaned up to lay her head against James shoulder and settle gentle fingertips over their son's tiny body. She felt James turn his face towards her, gently placing a kiss against her hair.

"I love you Margaret." She felt his whispered words against her scalp more than she heard them and she smiled into his shirt sleeve, blessedly content as she stared at the healthy son she'd brought into the world as much as James did. "What shall we name him?"

James' whispered question brought Margaret out of the shallow, contented slumber she'd slipped into. She stared at the still sleeping bundle that James held. He'd slipped the blanket back from the baby's head to reveal the bald little head and sparse blonde hair. The baby fidgeted again and turned dark blue eyes upon his father, his little face twisting up to issue a cranky little cry. James marveled at the sound that issued from the baby in his arms, the toothless little gums and scrunched up little features. Margaret reached forward to pull the baby from James' arms and tuck the blanket back up around him, cooing softly to him to ease him back to sleep.

"What do you want to name him?" Margaret whispered as the fussing died down and her son went back to sleep.

"I…" Margaret grinned at her husband, turning her face up to his as she rocked their son in her arms, the gentle bouncing motion soothing him. James leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on his wife's lips, soft and lingering. "I have no idea."

"We have time…" Margaret stifled a yawn and James pulled the child from her arms to lay him in the cradle at the foot of the bed. "I am bone tired."

"It was a long labor." James nudged the cradle with the toe of his boot and watched as it lulled his son into a deeper slumber.

"Not as long as some." Margaret yawned. James went back to lay upon the bed beside her, tucking her against his side. "But it was my first…" hopefully of many more. The thought came unbidden, even as she was still in some pain from this birth.

"Jacob." Margaret glanced up from the rocking cradle to her husband, whose eyes were fixed on the cradle. "Let's name him Jacob."

"Jacob." Margaret rolled the name around her mouth as she stared at the still rocking cradle. "I like it."

"Jacob Wilkins." James said with awe. "A new life. A new beginning…"

"For all of us." Margaret curled carefully into her husband's side, a heavy lassitude blanketing her in the aftermath of her labor. The last thought she had before drifting off to sleep was of how blissfully happy she was with her family.

"Ma famille…" She had one again; one that was hers. One that would never abandon her. Her, and James, and now Jacob.

Her Family.

A/N: Thanks for following along everyone. It's been a fun run, and I'm glad that all of you reviewers have enjoyed it. This took longer to get finished off than I thought it would, and I'm grateful for those of you that have stuck with me. Thanks again!