She frowned as she neared the door and young Magnus came running up to her. “What is wrong?” she asked quietly.
“He is angry, verra angry, but then he gets all happy again. ’Tis verra odd. I dinnae like it,” Magnus said firmly. “And he has a new boy with him, one who doesnae say much.”
“A lad? Why does he have a lad with him?”
“Took him, I be thinking. Like he took me.”
She opened her mouth, then closed it again, stunned by what he had said. It was true that she had wondered about it but, to her shame, had never asked. Instead, she had pushed the thought away, not wanting to know where her brothers had come from. Nay, she thought, fighting to be honest with herself, she had been afraid to ask, afraid to know, and, mostly, afraid of asking questions that could anger her father.
That moment of truth brought tears to her eyes but she blinked them away. Now was not the time to bemoan her own cowardice. Bethoc looked at Magnus, noticing how closely he watched her with his dark brown eyes, a color that neither her mother nor father had. That made her even more certain of what a coward she had become.
“And like Bean and Colin,” she murmured and Magnus nodded, breaking her heart. “And Liam and Georgie and Gavin.” He nodded again, still watching her closely. “Are they all waiting inside?”
“Aye, and being verra quiet. Quiet is good now.” He bit his lip. “Some food would be as weel, I think.”
Bethoc nodded. “I think ye are right. I had nay realized it had grown so late. Come along then,” she said as she took him by the hand. “I had best get on with it.”
He smiled briefly and nodded his agreement. Her father’s tempers settled some when his belly was full. The moment she stepped into the cottage she felt his glare on her but ignored it as well as she could while she let go of Magnus and removed Margaret from the sling. She set her bag over by her bed, handed Margaret over to Bean, and turned her attention to the making of a stew.
When he stood up, she tensed but fought to keep all of her attention on the preparations of the meal. The man she still called Father was not tall, barely six inches above her own meager height of five foot two and he had gone soft. It could be seen in his expanding belly. Yet he was more than strong enough to do her harm. She had not fully recovered from his last show of temper.
“Where have ye been, lass?” he demanded.
“I was just on a walk, getting some fresh air,” she replied.
“Went to see a mon, did ye?”
“Nay. I have seen no mon. Just walked. Checked a few bushes for signs of berries but ’tis too early yet. May put some net over a few to keep the birds away so there will be some ripe ones to harvest.” The spoon she held flew from her hand when her father suddenly grabbed her and jerked her around to face him.
“Who is he? Who is the mon ye met?”
This was not good, she thought as she struggled to hide the fear threatening to swamp her. He was furious. She knew he had no idea where she had been or with whom so she did not understand his insistence that she had been meeting with a man. How could she argue with a suspicion he had simply plucked from the air? Bethoc was about to reply when he slapped her. She placed her hand over the spot and stared at him, not sure what to do or say to escape his fury.
“I met no mon, Father. I ken no mon save for the few ye have brought home now and then.”
“Tell me who he is!”
“Father, I . . .”
He struck her again and she fell to her knees, dazed. She knew she needed to get up, that she was helpless, yet could not hold that thought in her head long enough to act on it. That last blow had come too close to sending her into unconsciousness. Then he kicked her and she cried out in pain. Before he could kick her again, she was suddenly surrounded by dirty feet. Blinking to clear her vision, she saw that the boys had surrounded her and she feared for them.
“Get out of my way, brats,” their father growled. “She has been out with a mon. Rutting like a whore just like her mam.”
Bethoc made a noise, a denial she hastily smothered as she struggled to sit up.
“With Margaret along?” asked Bean. “Ye think she could be rutting with a mon with a bairn strapped to her back?”
Bean’s words appeared to stun her father as much as they did Bethoc. Not only was Bean ridiculing the man’s opinion but he did so in a tone that made it no secret. Fear for him gave her the strength to struggle to her feet.
“Ye watch how ye speak to me, boy.”
“We need her to make the food,” said Colin, and there was only a hint of scorn in his voice. “She needs to get back to cooking.”
Her father grunted but his gaze was narrowed as he studied the boys. She had the feeling he was suddenly thinking too much on how they were growing. Both Bean and Colin would soon tower over him and they were visibly stronger. Bethoc accepted the sad fact that she was going to have to try to plot a safe escape for them as well and probably very soon.
She got to her feet and brushed her skirts clean before returning to the stew. Her face hurt, the skin tightening as the swelling began. She badly wanted to place a cold cloth on it but did not dare. Long ago she had learned that making a fuss over any injury he had inflicted just inspired him to make more and lately the beatings had gotten more vicious. He seemed to take it as some insult that one would actually acknowledge the injury he had done you. One of her back teeth felt loose and she prayed she would not lose it.
As Bethoc served the stew she studied the boys. They watched both her father and her. Their gaze on their father was wary, the one they cast her way now and then was watchful. She knew they were looking for some serious injuries and so she made an effort to hide the many aches and pains she was suffering from. It was not easy although she was accustomed to doing so. Her ribs ached with every move she made but she was as certain as she could be that they were not broken.
