“Because she just had two babies, and certain herbs help a new mother recover her strength.” Francesca squeezed her daughter’s hand. “It’s what ladies do—we take care of our people.”
“Like how Da takes care of them by settlin’ disputes and protectin’ the borders?”
“Exactly like that. We each have our own way of caring for the clan.”
They found Mistress MacKay resting while her mother-in-law tended the twins. The new mother’s face lit up when she saw them.
“Lady MacGhee! And wee Eloise! What a lovely surprise.”
“We brought herbs for your recovery,” Francesca said, setting the basket down. “And some sweet biscuits that Eloise helped make.”
“I put the sugar on them meself!” Eloise announced proudly.
“Did ye now?” Mistress MacKay smiled. “Then they must be extra delicious. Thank ye both.”
While the women talked, Eloise peered curiously at the babies. “They’re so small.”
“Aye, they are.” The grandmother beckoned her closer. “Would ye like to hold one? If yer ma says it’s all right?”
Eloise looked at Francesca, who nodded. The old woman carefully placed one of the twins in Eloise’s arms, showing her how to support the baby’s head.
“She’s perfect,” Eloise breathed, staring down at the infant with wonder. “Ma, look how tiny her fingers are!”
Francesca’s hand instinctively went to her own stomach, a gesture that was becoming habit. She’d been almost certain for weeks now, though she hadn’t told Declan yet. She wanted to be absolutely sure before raising his hopes.
“Ye’ll make a fine big sister one day,” Mistress MacKay said warmly. “When the Laird and Lady have their own bairns.”
Eloise’s head snapped up. “Really? Ye think so?”
“Of course! Ye’re already so gentle and careful.”
As they left the cottage, Eloise chattered excitedly about babies and being a big sister. Francesca listened, her heart full, thinking about the secret she carried. Soon. She’d tell Declan soon.
That afternoon, Fraser found them in the solar. Francesca was working on her embroidery while Eloise practiced writing, and Declan reviewed reports at his desk. The scene was so domestic that Fraser paused in the doorway, something unreadable crossing his face.
“Cousin,” he said finally. “Might I have a word?”
Declan looked up. “Aye, of course. Francesca, would ye?—”
“Stay,” Fraser interrupted. “What I have to say concerns ye both.”
Francesca set down her needlework as Fraser entered fully, closing the door behind him. His expression was serious, almost sad.
“I’ve received word from Clan McArthur,” he said without preamble. “Me brother… he’s ill. Verra ill. The healers donnae think he’ll last the winter.”
“Fraser,” Declan was on his feet immediately. “I’m sorry.”
“Aye, well.” Fraser’s jaw tightened. “We’ve nae been close, he and I, but he’s still me brother. And more than that, he’s the Laird. When he passes…” He took a breath. “The clan will need me. I’ll have to return. Permanently.”
The weight of those words settled over the room. Eloise looked up from her writing, sensing the shift in mood.
“Ye’ll be Laird McArthur,” Declan said quietly.
“Aye. Unless me brother produces an heir in the next few months, which seems unlikely given his condition.” Fraser moved to the window, staring out at MacGhee lands. “I never wanted it. Ye ken that. I’ve been happy here, servin’ as yer second. But duty…”
“Duty calls,” Francesca finished softly. “We understand, Fraser.”
“When do ye leave?” Declan asked.
