“Nay.” Iain took the box and put it under his chair. “I will remind you.”
“Promise?”
“Aye, I swear to it.”
The boy nodded and then all conversation paused as the food was passed around. As soon as everyone filled their plates, talk of what work had been done and what was still needing to be done began. The only bad news was that they had lost a lamb to wolves but the rest were thriving. Iain decided it was probably time to do some hunting.
By the time the meal was over, Iain had a list of chores in his mind and was eager to plan out the next day. He took time to see to Neddy though, cleaning the child’s face and hands off and returning the box to him. Then he took the boy up the stairs to get him ready for bed.
A small cot had been set up in the room where Emily still slept. Mrs. O’Neal had put out a little nightshirt for the boy and Iain got him into it and then tucked him into the bed. Neddy never let go of the box. Iain’s need to know what those papers said grew even stronger.
“Story,” the boy said as he got his Boo out of the box and held it in his arms.
“Ye need a story?”
“Aye.” Neddy briefly grinned. “Story.”
Iain sat on the floor next to the cot and searched his mind for one of the stories he used to tell his young brothers. Settling on the one about dragons that his brothers had so often asked for, he started. He got halfway through it when he realized Neddy had fallen asleep.
Standing up, Iain tucked the covers around the boy and then studied him for a moment. He suspected Neddy was one of those young children women cooed over. There was little doubt he was a well-behaved boy. What tightly gripped Iain’s heart was that he was now an orphan, just as he and his brothers were although they had been a bit older than Neddy, had had a chance to enjoy some life with their parents. They had not had an aunt to look after them, however. He lightly smoothed his hand over the boy’s curls and then left. The boy was going to be a problem in deciding what needed to be done about the aunt.
Chapter Four
Emily carefully opened her eyes. She knew she had been asleep for quite a while but had little sense of how long that while was. Brushing her fingers over her eyes she found no crustiness that often formed after a long sleep. She wondered if someone had bathed her face for she was certain her sleep had been a long one. The various aches and stiffness in her body told her she had been lying in the same position for quite a long time.
Pushing herself up so that she was propped up against the headboard, Emily hissed as pain tore through her arm. Once it began to ease, she began to remember what had happened to her. Her sister was dead, as was her husband. Their cottage had been badly burned. Tears flooded her eyes and Emily brushed them aside as she looked around the room.
Fear crept in slowly as she realized she recognized nothing. Looking down at herself she found she was wearing her shift but little else. Who had undressed her? The walls were white, there were two windows framed with light yellow curtains she had never seen. On the floor were rag rugs she did not recognize. The bed was a bit high, wide enough to hold two people, and made of thick, sturdy wood.
She was breathing too quickly. Emily knew her fear was rapidly increasing and she fought to calm herself as she looked for signs of danger. Panic would cloud her thoughts and she needed them clear now. There was no one guarding her and Emily decided to take that as a good sign. If the enemy had taken her, she doubted they would have had her wounds tended to so well and they certainly would not have left her on her own. She stared at the painting on the wall opposite the foot of the bed and felt calm begin to smother her agitation. It was a picture of home, or someplace similar. Just looking at the small stone cottage with its high thatched roof put her more at ease.
Sitting up a little straighter she realized it was a painting of a place somewhere in Scotland. She had traveled there once with her mother and father and recognized what the Scots called a glen. Memory returned in a rush and she could almost hear that deep Scottish brogue telling her they would be safe. There was a man who had helped her but there was no sign of him. Listening closely, she could not even hear that voice.
And where was Neddy, she thought with a surge of sharp panic she could not hold back. “Neddy? Neddy!” she yelled as she struggled to get out of bed. “Neddy, where are you? Neddy!”
A few moments later she heard someone coming quickly up the stairs and braced herself. Although she prayed it was Neddy, she knew it could be whoever had brought her here and she would need to keep her wits about her. The pound of footsteps was far too loud and heavy to be those of a small child. Neddy’s life depended on her being careful about who she trusted with the truth. Saving her life and treating her well could simply be a more subtle way of getting her to tell them what they wanted to know or leave Neddy unguarded.
* * *
Iain watched Neddy carefully as they worked to weed the kitchen garden. He had planned to fix fences but the boy would not leave his side. Deciding Neddy was too young to be wandering the fields with him, he chose to do the simpler chore of weeding the garden. He had pointed out what needed to be pulled in the pathways between the plants and away from the crops and the boy dutifully stuck to them. Iain kept a close watch though.
Suddenly Neddy leapt to his feet and looked at the house. “Em!”
The boy was already running toward the house before Iain heard what the boy had. Emily was awake and calling for the child. He grabbed the box the child always kept close and caught up with Neddy, hooked his arm around the child’s waist, and helped him up the stairs. He had not considered how fearful she would be to wake and not see the child. They entered Emily’s room and Neddy wiggled free to run over to the bed. Before Iain could catch him again, Neddy climbed on the bed and into Emily’s arms. Iain stood by the side of the bed and saw her quickly hidden grimace of pain. He could not be certain which wound the boy had jarred, however.
“My box!” The boy suddenly cried and looked around. “I lost it.”
“Nay.” Iain held the box he had scooped up as they had rushed away from the garden. “I brought it.”
Neddy grabbed it and held it close. “Mine!”
“Rude, Neddy,” Emily said, and tried not to grimace over how dry her throat was. “Say thank you kindly.”
“Thank you kindly, Iain,” he repeated carefully, then opened the box and took out Boo. “Do you want Boo, Em?”
Emily stared at the box. It should not be unlocked. She reached up to touch her neck and realized the chain holding the key was gone. When she looked at Iain, he pointed to the table beside her and she saw the chain and key lying on the table. Trying not to wince she reached out to pick it up. Then she looked at Iain but he just smiled. Next she looked at Neddy, who avoided her gaze, patting his Boo.
“Neddy? Why is the box open?” she asked softly. “The papers need to be locked up.”
