“He left Dunnedin long afore ye came to us, Anice. He went to the MacKillops for training and now serves as their steward.” The old excuse still worked; he would make use of it.
“And he will stay on here?”
“Nay, he will no’.”
Without meaning to, Struan raised his voice in denial. Robert could not stay here after he fulfilled his duty. Too many problems, too many lies, too many mistakes from the past would lie open. Nay, he could not.
“The MacKillop wants him to return as soon as he is no’ needed any longer here. So, ye see, Anice, ye will have yer duties back after ye recover from the birth of yer bairn.”
With her head bowed, she nodded. “Yes, Laird,” she whispered. “I will obey your commands.”
Oh, dear God, what he wouldn’t give to have the old Anice back. The one with the noble airs and the infuriating tone of voice. The one who insisted on being addressed as “milady” and who never trembled in fear before any man.
“Robert will arrive in a few days, Anice. Can ye find a suitable chamber for him to use during his stay?”
She smiled at him and nodded, obviously pleased to be given a task, however mundane it was. He watched her turn toleave the room, when she stopped at the door.
“Struan, may I ask a boon?”
“Anything wi’in my power to give ye is yers, Anice.” He meant it.
“Can we keep my dealings with your... son a private thing?”
“Aye, Anice, there’s no need for Robert to be privy to yer private life.”
“Thank you, Laird.”
One day, long ago, he had waited for the day this lass would finally call him Father. He had waited for the day she would joyfully give him many plump grandchildren to carry and spoil. ’Twas not meant to be. He regretted that more than anything else ruined by his son.
Sandy, as it turned out, was the despoiler not only of virgins, but also of dreams. Struan shook his head in regret as Anice turned and left the room.
Anice madeher way to Dougal’s chamber. The poor man was withering away before their eyes and no one could slow his deterioration down a bit. Moira tried all the potions and herbal concoctions she knew how to brew and it was all for naught. Well, Anice thought, at least his son would see him before he passed over.
The door was open and Moira was tending the dying man, wiping his brow and face. Anice had tolerated Dougal in his role of steward, but she had never liked him, although that thought felt uncharitable as the man lay near death. At least he had lived a long, full life and God had granted him a son.
Her hand moved to her belly as it always did now when she thought about children. Would this be a son for the clan or a daughter for her? If only Moira would share her knowledge.
Instead she always answered that things would work out for best. But whose best? Hers? The babe’s? God forbid, Sandy’s?
“Does the bairn move inside ye?” Moira’s voice broke into her thoughts.
“Aye, he moves much more now than before.” She always called the babe “he” as if she knew the matter had already been decided. She rubbed her fingers over the spot that moved.
Moira stood as she approached the bed. The healer reached out towards her belly but paused, waiting for permission. Moira was one of few whose touch she could bear, but the woman always asked first. Anice nodded her consent and Moira’s hands encircled the bulge of the babe and spread outward. She pushed lightly against the movements from within.
Anice smiled as Moira continued her poking and prodding. For some reason, Moira’s touch soothed her and she felt the tension of the encounter with Struan leave her body. Moira stopped with her hand on top of the mound and smiled, too.
“All is well?” Anice asked, hoping for some small clue.
“All is well. Have ye been resting?” Moira met her glance.
“I try.”
“Ye are a liar, Anice MacNab, and no’ a verra good one at that.”
“When the new steward arrives, I will have nothing to do but rest, Moira.”
“New steward? Haes Struan spoken of him to ye, lass?” The news of the visitor seemed to excite Moira.
