She slid her hand down to her stomach, which still ached. The womb which had produced her small son still cleaned itself out, still sought to recover from its ordeal of barely two days ago. A woman usually rested for nearly a fortnight, took it easy for a month after birth, yet she busily planned a walk of several days while her body still bled so heavily. She told herself of how a peasant woman, a poor crofter’s wife, managed to rise easily from a childbed and work. It did a poor job of easing her fears. She had not been hardened by a life of constant toil such as a peasant woman endures.
There was also her newborn child to consider. He was a strong healthy baby, but she would be asking a great deal of someone only a few days out of the warm safety of his mother’s womb. Babies died with an alarming regularity no matter how well favored the conditions. By taking her child on a journey of several days’ length, subjecting him to the whims of nature in all its cruelty, she could well be signing his death warrant. She could well be striving to deliver Alexander his son only for the burying on MacDubh land, not for training on how to rule it.
It was hard, for her fears for her child ran deep, but Ailis forced that thought aside. To stay with Malcolm was to risk certain capture by Donald, who would do exactly as he had so often threatened—murder her child and send it to Alexander in pieces. The journey to Rathmor was indeed a risky one, but it was also her only real choice. It also had to be attempted now while the MacCordys searched elsewhere, sent on a false trail by Malcolm. If her son was fated to die, then die he would, but at least he would meet his fate fighting in his own tiny way, and not as some meek sacrifice to Donald MacCordy’s mindless hatred.
A shiver tore through her as she suddenly wondered if Alexander was even at Rathmor to receive his son. Her last word of him had been Jaime saying that he had seen an arrow slam into Alexander’s back. That wound, combined with the ones inflicted before his men had rescued him, could well have proved fatal. What the beating and arrow wound had begun, the hard ride could easily have finished. Fever and infection could have set in. The more Ailis considered the matter, the more certain Alexander’s death appeared.
She violently shook her head. Alexander was too great a part of her. Somehow she would have known if he had died. A person could not remain ignorant when the light suddenly left their world. Ailis was confident that she would know if her love had ceased to be. All she felt was a deep need to return to Rathmor, to be back with Alexander and to present him with his son and heir. Even though she knew there was the chance that she was living on false hope, she preferred to believe that her urge to get back to Rathmor meant Alexander was still alive.
How Alexander would accept her child did not concern her at all. She knew he had grown to love Barra’s children despite their MacFarlane blood. She had also sensed his eagerness for the child he had planted in her womb despite how he had reacted at first. He had proved how much he wanted their child when he had tried to rush her to a priest for a church-sanctioned union and then proclaimed a handfast marriage to her before her whole clan. Alexander still did not want a wife, as far as she could tell, yet he had taken one and one who was the niece of his father’s killer, the thief of his lands. Nothing could have told her more clearly that he wanted the child.
When sleep finally claimed her, she suffered from nightmares born of her fears. It made her so restless that she greeted the dawn with something akin to relief. Now she could hold her fears at bay with the strength of her own will. She knew that fear had its advantages by making a person wisely cautious, but it could not be allowed to stop her from what she had to do.
She soon discovered that all her strength was needed simply to step out the door, for both Jaime and Malcolm renewed their arguments against their journey. Her own fear urged her to give in to their pleadings and arguments, but she held firm. Her son was held close to her body by a blanket sling and further protected by her cloak. The three of them were then efficiently smuggled out of Malcolm’s tower house and beyond sight of his lax guards.
Left alone with Jaime and her baby, Ailis was briefly terrified. It was so far to Rathmor, and it would take so long on foot. Malcolm had been unable to lend them mounts, for they would have been missed. She took the first few steps with a great deal of hesitancy, but then her strength returned. As her pace became more firm and steady, she realized that whatever dangers were ahead, at the end of her journey lay safety for her child. It was enough to give her heart.
Alexander greeted the dawn with a heavy heart. He rose and answered the pull to go to the walls. Word had come at last concerning Ailis. She was not at Leargan but at Craigandubh, but where within that formidable keep was still a mystery. Although the man who had discovered that news felt certain Ailis was still alive, he had no firm word on her health or if she had borne his child yet.
He did not want to heed the message hidden in Sibeal’s dream, yet found himself searching the horizon. The foul weather was showing signs of improvement. Soon an attack would be possible. Unfortunately, he was no longer sure of where to attack. Frustration made him clench his fists. Every plan of action that came to mind was merely an exercise in futility. He had to wait, and that had never been an easy thing for him to do. Patience had never been one of his strengths. When Ailis and their child were concerned, it was nearly impossible to find any such quality within himself. He literally ached to take some action and wanted to weep with the knowledge that there was none he could take.
His body was taut with the evidence of his feelings as he searched the surrounding countryside with his eyes and hissed, “ ‘Tis enough to drive a man to madness. I ken not where to look or who to go after. For the sake of God and my peace of mind, Ailis, will ye send me some word of ye?”
