What Emily did not understand was how their enemy had discovered where they were and how he had then gotten men to come hunting them. She had to wonder if Annabel had been writing to someone back home, giving them just enough information to point to a trail for their enemy to follow. David could have also written to someone in his family, she supposed, but he had claimed, loudly, that he was done with all of them.
It was a puzzle she was determined to solve, if only because the answer could serve to keep her and Neddy safe. The need to sleep meant she would have to do her thinking later. Fear for her nephew tried to push aside the sleep creeping over her, but she told herself the MacEnroys were watching out for the boy. That knowledge proved enough to allow the need to sleep to win over her fear.
* * *
A hand shook her by the shoulder and Emily scowled. Then she opened her eyes and stared into the deep green ones of Iain MacEnroy. That was enough to push aside the last dregs of sleep. Before she could speak he nudged Neddy forward. Iain stepped away and she felt a pang of disappointment before fixing all of her attention on Neddy.
“Hello, love. What have you been doing?” she asked as he pulled off his shoes and climbed up on the bed to sit on her right, uninjured side.
“Working. Pulleded more weeds.” He gently took his Boo from her arms and held it close. “Iain showed me.”
“Ah, so now you know what weeds look like.”
“Some. I pulleded the things between rows. Hard work.”
“I suspect it is. Where are you sleeping now, Neddy?”
“Here.” He looked around. “My bed is gone.”
“It is over there in the corner, laddie,” said Iain.
Even as she wondered why he was standing across the room now and staring out the window, she glanced in the direction he pointed. There was what looked to be a folded cot, blankets, and a pillow tucked neatly in the corner. Neddy was sharing her room. The knowledge eased her mind. Emily turned to say something like that to Iain and found him staring out the window again.
Deciding he was intent on ignoring her, she talked with Neddy. It took her only a moment to realize Neddy was at ease, that she knew she did not need to fret about his care. The way the boy talked of Iain told her the man was skilled with small boys and she had to wonder again just how old he and his brothers had been when they had lost their parents.
A few moments later she found herself hoping Mrs. O’Neal would soon come. The last thing she wanted to have to do was ask the silent man by the window if he could fetch the woman and, worse, have to explain why she needed her. As if she had heard that thought, Mrs. O’Neal appeared and shooed Iain and Neddy out of the room. Iain left without a word or even a glance. Emily had only a moment to wonder why the man who had been so kind and helpful now seemed cold, before all of her thoughts were taken up by the humiliating business of having to be helped in the use of the chamber pot.
Chapter Five
A sharp curse escaped Emily as she tugged on her stockings. She was healed enough to move around now, and eager to do so after more than a week in bed, but her leg wound did not appreciate the feel of the stockings and garters. After trying again to pull them up, she removed them. She would just have to go without and hope no one noticed her bare legs. At least her drawers caused no pain.
Tying back her hair and pleased that her arm only gave her a small twinge, Emily stood up and brushed down her skirts. She had seen little of Iain MacEnroy but told herself that suited her just fine. The few times he had entered the room he had exhibited all the life and warmth of a marble statue. If he spoke to her it was in short, biting sentences and at times she was sure she saw a cold fury in his eyes. That made no sense for she had never done anything to the man.
Deciding she had fretted enough over Iain MacEnroy, she took a few steps to test her strength in walking. There was still a faint throb in the wound on her leg but she shifted to keep as much weight on her uninjured leg as possible when she walked. Going down the stairs proved tricky but she was not in too much pain when she finally reached the bottom.
There was no one around so she decided to have a quick look at more of the house before she went on to the kitchens Mrs. O’Neal had given her directions to. Emily peeked into the room on the right. It was the parlor, she decided. It held a heavy, overstuffed settee in a brown upholstery that almost matched the wood. Two sturdy chairs faced it and there was a plain low table set between them. Scattered around the room were other mismatched chairs with small tables, plain and fancy, set beside each one. She suspected the rugs in the room were handmade. What caught her eye was a painting over the fireplace. It was of a little valley, surrounded by hills both rocky and green, with cottages scattered through it. Some other glen in Scotland, she guessed, and turned to go into the room across the way.
It was the same yet much fancier. The furniture looked more expensive, there were fewer chairs scattered around the room, and they all matched. This had to be where they greeted guests, she thought. Here the rugs were almost certainly purchased. She wondered what the MacEnroys did for money. Again there was a large painting over the fireplace and she suspected she was looking at yet another picture of Scotland. Emily could not help but wonder how they had managed to bring the paintings so far without damage. Then she saw the sword on the mantel and fought against the urge to go over and have a closer look at it. It was a very large sword and had been polished to a pure shine, the scabbard hanging beneath it.
Shaking her head at her odd fancies, for she had never had the slightest interest in weaponry, she headed toward the kitchen, pausing only to peek into what was obviously a dining room and wonder what was behind the closed door on the other side of the hall. The MacEnroys had built themselves a big house but she supposed it was needed when there were seven of them.
Mrs. O’Neal sat at a large wooden table peeling potatoes. Emily carefully sat down on the bench opposite her and idly smoothed her hand over the table. Someone had a true skill in working with wood, she mused. Whoever it was truly knew how to bring out the beauty of the wood.
“Matthew made this,” Mrs. O’Neal said. “The lad has a true gift.”
“The benches as well?”
“Yup. Took a while as he had to work but then winter came and he had the time to finish it all. They did most of the inside work on this house during the bitter months. Built the outside walls and all then did the inside bit by bit.”
“A good skill to have when you are starting a home. If you have another paring knife I could help with the potatoes.”
“Thank you, dearie.” Mrs. O’Neal quickly got a knife and pushed some potatoes in front of Emily. “We give the peels to the pigs. Just make a tidy pile and I will add them to the food bucket.”
“They raise pigs?” Emily asked as she began to peel the potatoes.
“I and my children tend the pigs. The lads raise sheep. Between the meat of both and the wool of the sheep we don’t do too badly.”
“Is there not some trouble from the other people here about them raising sheep? I heard the beasts are loathed out here. In fact, Annabel and David discussed it a lot as they had considered having a few sheep. They decided to stick to just crops.”
