“Nay, just impatient and ye need to practice how to stop that. I ken that feeling very weel. And ye did say ‘please’ after.” Iain reached out and lightly ruffled the boy’s hair. “I will see if I can get the key without waking her.”
As gently as he could Iain removed the chain from her neck. She took so little notice of what he did, he found himself checking to be certain she still breathed. When he turned he saw Neddy seating himself at the end of the bed, one hand on Emily’s foot as if he feared she might disappear, and the other on the box. The boy watched Iain carefully as he opened the box.
“I dinnae ken why ye want it opened,” Iain said as he put the key back on the chain and placed both on the little table by the bed. “Ye cannae read them.”
“Emmy teachin’ me. I know my name.” He took out the papers and carefully unfolded them one at a time. “Edward,” he said carefully, moving his finger over each letter in the word on one of the papers. “Emmy says it my birth paper.”
Iain sat next to the boy and studied the paper Neddy held. A cold feeling knotted his stomach as he studied the precise handwriting and the official seal on the paper. It was the same feeling he had gotten when Emily had spoken like a high-bred female. Common people did not have such papers. They got a notation in the parish records at most or had it noted down in a family Bible if the family could afford one. They certainly did not have papers signed by half a dozen people or a signet ring to mark the paper as well next to a few of the names. Despite reminding himself that he was dealing with a small child and a wounded woman, Iain felt the heat of anger and distaste flood his veins.
“Lad, are ye gentry then?” he asked.
Neddy stared at him then looked back at the paper and shook his head. Iain sensed he had just been lied to. He wished he could read. It was not hard to recognize the mark of a signet ring as it was so similar to the mark on the papers shoved into his father’s face as they had burned their home to the ground. Cursing softly in Gaelic, he knew the boy would tell him nothing, had probably been well trained to keep his silence, but there was no denying the mark.
“I think we should put these back, Neddy,” Iain said. “Then we can clean ye up and have ourselves something to eat.”
“I am hungry,” Neddy said, and began to fold the papers back up.
As soon as the child allowed him to help return the papers to the box, Neddy then settled his Boo on top of the papers. Iain knew there would be no locking the box this time. He helped the boy get off the bed then turned to look at Emily. Before he could reconsider his action, he reached out a hand to brush it over her cheeks and forehead.
“Emmy sick.”
“Just a little.” He took the boy by the hand. “We will just wander down into the kitchens and see if Mrs. O’Neal has anything for us, aye?”
The boy smiled and nodded. “Aye.”
Mrs. O’Neal was just tucking the last of the buckets with the blood-stained clothes and rags in between the sink and the back wall when Iain led the boy into the kitchen. The woman had ears like a prize hunting dog. She must have heard their approach and put out of sight anything that could upset the child or bring awkward questions. Mrs. O’Neal wiped her hands on her apron and hurried over to greet Neddy.
“Are you hungry, lad?” She smiled when the boy nodded. “Come in and have a seat. The evening meal will be set out soon.” She took his hand from Iain’s and tugged him over to the table.
It was not until Iain was helping her get the plates to set the table that Mrs. O’Neal quietly asked, “How fares the lass? Resting easy?”
“Aye,” he replied. “Still has a fever though it doesnae feel too high. She sleeps like the dead though.”
“Some folk do. My boy Rory sleeps like that. I will go have a look in a few.” She glanced toward the boy. “Can you get that box away from him?”
“Aye, but I dinnae think he will let it go far. It holds a lot of papers and I think he was taught, verra thoroughly, to keep it safe. I think they might be gentry. The papers have a seal I am sure was made by a signet ring. No one uses them in this land. Or, very rarely.”
“Irish, Scottish, or English?”
“English. They both have that accent.”
“What the devil would English gentry be doing in these hills?”
“Hiding? Running? I do not think the attack was just random so it means someone is looking for them.” Iain shrugged. “The boy has no answers or doesnae wish to give any to me.”
“Then we best get the woman fixed up right quick so she can tell us.”
Iain had every intention of doing so. He did not like the thought of English gentry being anywhere near him. They had finally found a place, actually owned it. It was what their parents had wanted but had not lived to see. All the death and misery they had endured had been caused by the English gentry. He needed to know if he was right about what he suspected. If he was he would see that the Stantons left. He would make certain that they were safe but they would be safe far, far away from him and his family.
A sound from the back porch drew his gaze and he grinned. Through the window he could see his six brothers and Mrs. O’Neal’s three children cleaning up for supper. They started splashing one another and, as always, Robbie stepped in front of the girl to save her from getting wet. The concerns he had had when he had allowed the O’Neals to move in seemed foolish now. Their two families had blended perfectly.
Moving quickly to help Mrs. O’Neal put the meal on the table, Iain wondered what could be done about getting some sustenance into Emily. She was too small and slender to go without food for long. He hoped Mrs. O’Neal had some solution.
He was pulled out of his thoughts by young Neddy. The boy was up on his knees so that he was at a height to reach the food. Iain went into the food pantry and got the large block of wood they had used when the youngest O’Neal was small. He picked up the boy, who was still clinging to that box, set the block on the chair, and sat the boy back down.
Taking the seat beside the boy, Iain asked, “Why dinnae we put that box under your chair?”
Neddy frowned. “I will forget.”
