But his eyes! When Struan called her over closer, his eyes drew her attention even before his form. They were like the eyes of a great hunting cat—slanted at the corners, but an icy blue color, when she would have expected green or even yellow. And they sparkled every time he stumbled over her name.
My... Anice.
Shivers pulsed through her at the warmth in those eyes and deep voice as her name became almost a possession when he said it.
And his sharp glance missed nothing as it took in everything, everyone in the room. She was certain she saw pity in his eyes as he looked at her.
One day, not long ago, she would have enjoyed meeting someone like this, someone from another place, like she was. Someone to talk with and enjoy. But her husband had ruined that for her in one short night and the days and weeks that followed. Now, even the thought of being near the newcomer made her heart race—out of fear, not excitement. Her duties, such as they were, revolved around this man. Mayhap once she started helping him in his duties, she would lose some of the fear.
The babe quieted in her belly and she pushed off the wall and back onto her feet. She would meet him in the kitchen after he visited with his father. Poor man, returning under such sadcircumstances. Walking to the hall, she made her way slowly down the steps to the main floor. She would see to his comfort as her last official duty before Struan made his announcement at supper.
What would happen to her without her work to keep her going? Days and days of endless worrying? Worrying about the babe? About whether and when Sandy would decide to come home again? She could not spend the remaining weeks of her pregnancy that way. She must find something to do, to keep her mind from being overrun with fear. Something.
5
The seer was on her way back to her cottage when the call came. It chilled her even more than the biting winter winds that swirled around her. She quickened her step; the pull on her strengthened and tugged her homeward.
Entering her home, she went without delay to the hearth and knelt in front of it. The flames grew and became tongues of many colors. She closed her eyes and cleared her mind of distractions, waiting for the wisdom that the Fates had called her to receive. She opened her eyes and gazed at the wild flames.
Scenes appeared before her—two women screaming in childbirth, one dark, one fiery. A man screaming in death— his life’s blood pouring from many wounds. Another sinking peacefully into death’s grip. Fear. Terror. Pain ripped through her body, in her belly, between her legs, blood everywhere. An old woman in her stead. A babe, twa, no, four babes? A bairn’s peaceful sigh, sucking at his mother’s breast. Quiet.
Finally, the vision faded in her mind. The pain and fear disappeared and understanding took root. She sat back and pondered what she had seen and her role in it.
She had plans to make before the things she’d seen were upon her. The Fates were calling her once again into the fray of the clan and she had no choice but to obey. She offered up a prayer that all would end well, but she knew that some would live and some die.
’Twas always the way of it.
6
The door was open. He could see no one inside the room except for the figure on the bed. Robert stepped in and drew a breath at the sight of the ailing man. He walked the few paces to the bed and stared at the man who had once been his father.
Dougal’s withering body lay unmoving on the small bed. Well, he did not move other than the shallow, barely noticeable breaths that raised and lowered his emaciated chest. Robert could not believe that this was the same person who had cared for him. Dougal’s face already had death’s mark on it—the bones of his skull showed clearly, his skin shrunken and drying.
He thought that eight years had prepared him for this but when he tried to speak, he found his words stuck in his throat. He mouthed the word but could not say it. Tears filled his eyes at the memory of the good times... and the bad, with this man. In the end, it was just a hoarse whisper that no one could have heard.
“Da?”
Dougal gave no sign that he had heard the word, the voice, the plea. Of course, Robert thought, he was too near to death for this to make any difference. He turned and left the room, not certain of how he felt or what he thought about Dougal. He only knew that his heart was not so hardened and unmoved as he’d thought, as he’d sworn, as he’d planned it would be.
If he had looked back and watched closely, Robert would have seen the reaction. Dougal’s eye opened, his lips moved, and his throat tried to force words out. But, Robert had not glanced back.
As he scannedthe crowded hall, Robert recognized many faces from his wee years in the village and the keep. He nodded to them as his gaze and theirs met. His plan was to visit the village tomorrow to renew acquaintances and view the upkeep of the people.
They waited now for Anice’s appearance at table. Struan did not look pleased at this small defiance shown by his son’s wife.
And where was his half-brother? Robert remembered Duncan returning to Dunbarton, after attending the wedding here this past autumn, without the usual stories of wedding foolery. It must have been a subdued ceremony, for Duncan had seemed hesitant to talk about it at all. At first, Robert thought it was because Duncan knew the uncomfortable truth about him. But later, it was clear that something had happened and no one talked about it.
When Anice entered from the side door and made her way to the dais, he heard Struan’s loud sigh. Anice obviously wished to avoid this meal with him and he wondered why. He pulled back the chair next to his and rose to greet her.
“We were waiting on ye, lass, as I said we would.” Struan’s voice was gentle but his reprimand was clear.
“I beg your pardon, Laird”—she nodded at Struan and then looked at him—”and Robert. I was detained above-stairs.” Her face flushed with the lie she told.
Robert held his laughter as Struan cursed under his breath, something about women and stubbornness. Anice sat and placed a linen napkin on her nearly nonexistent lap. He reached out and filled the wooden platter they would share— a few slices of mutton, a leg and breast of capon. As he reached for more, she spoke to him.
“Robert, please serve yourself.”
“Are ye no’ eating?” He looked at the bare spot in front of her. Only a goblet of cider sat waiting for her.
