Realizing that she had no choice in this either, she walked without resistance up the stairs and through the kitchen rooms. Without conscious thought, she placed her free hand over her belly and pressed against the movement from inside. Would this babe be a girl or boy? If it was a boy would he carry all of his father’s traits? That fear had driven her to Moira the last time. If only there was an answer for her, a resolution to her fears.
“Come in, lass, come in.”The door swung open and Anice entered the cozy warmth of the healer’s cottage. There was a blazing fire in the hearth and it called to her. Warmth, so good for the coldness that lived inside her now. She tugged the leather gloves off and rubbed her hands together near the heat. When she turned back to the door, her maid was gone.
“Where is Firtha?” The woman’s presence gave her peace of mind.
“I have asked her to run an errand for me to Pol.”
“And she went?” Firtha usually held herself separate from the villagers, as Anice had for so long.
“Well, Pol is at his brother’s house.” Moira’s eyes twinkled. Anice felt she was missing the joke.
“And?”
“Ramsey is a widower with three children. His wife died of the fever last year.”
“Moira, I still don’t see your point.” Anice shook her head. She kept to herself, steered away from gossip.
“Ramsey haes an eye for Firtha. He is going to ask her to be his wife.”
“What? Ye canna be serious! Firtha and Ramsey? She does no’ ken him—she canna be his wife.”
The steel-strong hold over her feelings, her dreams, her fears slipped—and her accent did too. Many years of tutoring had rid her of most of her accent. She had wanted to be the perfect wife for the heir of the clan, a man who had spent five years at the English court. She had learned the English customs, English dress, and English speech. If she were ever to be presented at Edward’s court by her husband, he would not be embarrassed by her behavior. She slipped only under great stress.
Stress like this. Like the thought of her faithful maid Firtha putting herself under the control and power of a man. Shaking her head, she clasped her hands tightly to keep them from shaking. And such a large and powerful man. Anice remembered watching the two brothers work side by side one day in the village last summer. Huge men, with bulging muscles, wielding the enormous tools of their trade in theoverpowering heat of the smithy. They had to be strong to do what they did but the thought of them turning that power against someone else, a woman...
“I beg yer pardon, Anice. I didna mean to tell tales about Firtha. I thought ye ken’d about her attraction to Ramsey.”
Anice struggled for a moment to regain control of her thoughts and fears. She told herself that she would have to trust Firtha in this.
“Come, lass, sit here.” Moira dragged a chair to the place where she stood by the fire. “Ye should sit as much as ye can with yer feet raised like so.” Moira placed a small stool by her feet and lifted them into place. The clan healer knelt by her legs and looked at her. “May I?” Moira pointed to the boots she wore.
After a moment’s hesitation and preparation for the onslaught of emotions that accompanied any touch, she closed her eyes and nodded. Moira pushed Anice’s skirt to her knees and tugged at the straps holding the boots in place until they were loose enough to remove, leaving only her woolen stockings behind. A sigh of relief escaped from her reluctantly.
“Are ye drinking the water as I suggested?” Moira touched and prodded her swollen feet.
“I try, Moira,” she lied smoothly.
“Are ye resting on yer side with yer legs drawn up?”
“Mmm-hmmm.” Moira’s prodding turned pleasant, if touching could be pleasant. Anice felt herself drifting away, into the sleep that never came at night.
Peaceful.
Safe.
“Anice ’tis time toreturn to the keep.” She shook herself awake and rubbed her eyes. Looking around, she noticed that Firtha was back. Anice stretched in the chair and wiggled her toes. She could not believe that she had fallen asleep like this. Without warning, it had crept up on her while Moira rubbed her feet.
“Aye, Firtha, it’s time to go. Can you help me with myboots?”
“Stay there, lass, I’ll get them.” Her maid looked to one and all a formidable woman, but she was one of the gentlest creatures in the world. And Anice appreciated every kind act and gesture of concern from her.
“Anice, may I show you something that may help ye to sleep better?”
What could she say—no, but thank you? No one knew the true terror that the night held for her. Nothing Moira showed her could rid her of the fear she carried. But Moira meant well.
“Of course, Moira. What do I have to do?”
“Sit on the edge of yer bed or in a chair and spread yer knees like this.” Moira demonstrated on the footstool. “Now, bring yer elbows down onto yer knees.” After Anice took that position, Moira called to Firtha, “Stand in front of her, Firtha, and use yer hands like so on her back.”
