“Four babes? But how?”
“Either one of us will give birth to twins or someone haes no’ shared their news with us yet....” Moira’s eyes twinkled asshe spoke. She knew more than she would reveal; her “wisdom” was never completely shared with others and Anice was certain that Moira held some knowledge closely, even now. Moira stood and nodded to Ada.
“I must make my way back to my cottage and prepare for the journey ahead. Anice, ye should get acquainted with Ada for a bit. I will no’ see ye afore I leave in the morn so I give my farewell now.”
“God go with you, Moira. I will keep your sister in my prayers,” Anice said.
“That’s a good lass,” Moira told her. “I will be gone but a few weeks and be back in plenty of time for the birth of yer wee one. Dinna fear.”
Moira gathered up her basket and sack and walked toward the kitchens. Anice was so puzzled by the expression that had entered Moira’s gaze as she promised to be back in time, that she missed Ada’s words.
“Pardon me,” Anice mumbled. “I did not hear your question.”
“Tell me about yer own maither. Did she give birth easily? How many did she bear?” Ada asked.
“Um, only one. I am my mother’s only child.”
Ada began to talk and Anice’s gaze found Moira still making her way to the kitchens. Finally, she realized what bothered her about Moira’s words, or rather her expression.
Moira lied to her.
Moira knew that she would not be here for the birth and so had brought Ada here from Dunbarton. Moira knew and she lied about it.
That was so unlike Moira. The seer was straightforward in her manner and had never lied to her, at least not as far as she could tell. So why had she done so now? Or had she? Was she seeing more here than truly existed? Mayhap this was exactly as Moira had said—Moira needed to leave and Ada would be there in her stead. And Moira would be back for the baby’s birth.
The babe was not due for weeks and weeks, close to two months probably. There was plenty of time for Moira to return to Dunnedin. Taking a breath in as deeply as she could, shetried to let go of the real fear that lay under everything else in her life. ’Twas not bearing the babe that worried her—her mother had had an easy time of it giving birth to her. ’Twas not facing the pain and uncertainty of the birthing, no, ’twas facing the uncertainty of the time after the birth that scared her witless and breathless. For once she gave birth to the heir of the clan—and she knew with unswerving confidence that the babe she carried inside of her was the heir the clan hoped for—she would once more be at the beck and call of her husband.
Even though Struan had promised that he would protect her, even though he swore on his position as laird, she knew that little could be done to keep her husband away if he chose to come home and claim his rights once more. Oh, she did not doubt the truthfulness of Struan’s intentions, but what father would act against his own son when the clan stood to lose? And that was what caused her nightmares. And what caused this powerful terror to take control of her and destroy the person she was before.
Anice tried to listen to Ada’s prattling tales about mothers and bairns, but ’twas difficult to turn her thoughts from those dark times once she dwelled on them. She had attempted to come to some understanding of her actions and to some acceptance of her inner weaknesses, but she’d not been successful in the months since her marriage. At times, it was easiest to believe what Sandy had told her that night—that her shameful behavior towards the man who had impersonated him deserved to be punished. And as her lawful husband and the one most shamed by her actions and open preference of another man, he was the rightful one to deliver the punishment he saw fit.
But, and mayhap due to her inordinate pride, she found that his brutality towards her only spurred her on to question his behavior and not her own. She knew of no other man in this clan or her own who had ever beaten a woman the way her husband had beaten her. Surely she would have known, since little or nothing remained a secret for long within the closeness and intricate pattern of relatives of the clan. She’d witnessed disagreements and even some hands raised against wives by boorish or drunken husbands, but none could approach whathers had done to her.
Had Sandy’s feelings of rage diminished towards her in these last months? Did the news that she was pregnant please him at all? Would he come home for her lying-in? Would he stay to claim her again and again as he’d threatened on their wedding night? His words—until parted by death—had echoed over and over in her mind. Was her death the only way to avoid him?
She shook her head and shifted in her seat, made even more uncomfortable by her long time in one position and the direction of her thoughts. Ada must have misunderstood her gesture, for the old woman continued to sew and talk at the same pace as before.
She was not the same hopeful, willful girl that she’d been before her wedding. That one believed only in the good men could do, and in her own ability to handle anything that came her way and challenged her. The Anice she was today understood more about the ways and dangers of men and about the amount of courage and strength you needed to face the life that scared you witless and breathless, on your own with no help from anyone else. She knew that in spite of his promises, Struan may not be able to protect her. Moira would not be the protection she needed either. She would need to find her own way in this.
Sighing, she realized that Ada had stopped speaking and was watching her now. Had she given herself away? Had she spoken out loud? The mixed expression of sympathy and concern on the old woman’s face convinced her that she must have said something.
“I can see by the look on yer face that my words have stirred yer fears rather than quieting them and sorry I am for doing that,” Ada whispered as she took Anice’s hand once more.
“No, Ada. ’Tis not your words that stirs fears. I fear I am tired of being in this chair, tired of being held prisoner by this storm, and just plain tired.” Anice handed the material she still grasped to Ada and pushed herself up and out of the once comfortable chair. “Here comes Firtha now to help me up to my chambers.”
“Are ye ready to retire yet, Anice?” Firtha asked as she reached them.
“Aye, I think a rest would do me some good right now. Ada, thank you for your kind words. I appreciate knowing that you are here if I need you.” Anice smiled at the woman who seemed to glow under her praise.
“Good rest to ye now, my lady.”
“Just Anice is fine, Ada. My name is Anice.”
The words came out on their own, since she was so used to uttering them in response to someone using her title. If her darkest truth were known, she would be scorned by all; even her babe could be taken from her. She could be abandoned and even put aside by her husband for the grievous sin she’d committed and still not repented. Although she could not bring herself to utter the words in confession, she humbled herself before God and all by taking from herself the honorable position that title and marriage placed on her. She did not deserve to be honored among the clan. She was a sinner. She was just Anice.
“All right then. Have ye a good rest now. Ye and the bairn surely need it.”
Anice turned and followed Firtha out of the great hall and up the stairs leading to her chambers. Now she worried that thoughts of Sandy and his return would keep her from sleep. Entering her rooms, she smiled as she caught sight of a steaming mug sitting next to her bed. Moira had promised a “soothing brew to aid yer rest” and this looked like it. After undressing and slipping beneath the covers, Anice lifted the cup to her mouth and sipped it slowly, enjoying the warmth and sweetness as it moved over her tongue and she swallowed.
