Madeleine feigned a stern expression though her eyes twinkled gaily. “Perhaps I do, Neil, but first ye must answer me this. Have ye been a good boy this week, and helped yer mama with yer two younger brothers now that the babe has come?”
Neil nodded his head vigorously, his reddish-blond hair glistening in the warm sunshine. “Mama says as the oldest, I make a fine man o’ the house!”
Madeleine felt a rush of pity but gave no note of it in her voice. “And right she is, Neil Chrystie,” she agreed heartily as she flipped aside the linen cloth and reached into the basket. She pulled out a white tissue-wrapped packet and handed it to the boy. “‘Tis fresh from Glenis’s kitchen. Mind ye, remember to save some for yer brothers.”
Neil hastily tore away the paper, his small face splitting into a wide grin as he revealed the sweet treasures. He bit eagerly into a thick square of tablet candy studded with sugared walnuts. Munching happily, he suddenly remembered his manners. “Thank ye, Maddie,” he managed, his mouth full to bursting.
Thanks to the English is more the truth of it, Madeleine thought, walking toward the neat stone cottage. She had found the unexpected surprise of a large bag of walnuts in one of the supply wagons stolen earlier in the week.
Aye, it had been a most successful raid. Almost perfect, except for the shooting. She had never shot a man before. Yet she did not regret her action. She had done what was necessary to protect her kinsman, and she would gladly do it again if she had to.
Och, dinna think of the blasted redcoats, she scolded herself, or ‘twill ruin yer outing for sure. She thought instead of what had transpired that day, and her sense of pleasure swiftly returned.
She had had a wonderful morning paying calls on the villagers in Farraline, especially the widows of Culloden and their children. The well-fed, contented faces that had greeted her at every turn were a reward more precious than gold. The stocked pantries and bubbling stew pots further gladdened her heart and heightened her belief that she had done the right thing.
Madeleine stopped and rapped several times at the stout wooden door of the cottage. “Flora? ‘Tis Maddie.” A lilting voice called out for her to enter. She had to duck her head as she stepped through the low doorway.
Her eyes quickly adjusted to the dim light in the one-room cottage, a stark contrast to the bright sunshine outside. The simple cottages of the clansmen were known as black houses because most of them could not afford glass for windows and used sacking instead. The peat fire in the middle of the room cast a welcome glow, its smoke curling through a hole in the thatched roof.
“‘Tis good of ye to visit, Maddie,” Flora said. She began to rise from a chair set beside the cradle, but Madeleine waved her back down.
“Rest yerself, Flora. Ye dinna have to get up on my account,” she said, placing the basket on a table. She walked quietly to the cradle and knelt in front of it, heedless of the dirt floor.
“Oh, she’s a wee darlin’,” Madeleine said admiringly, gazing at the cherubic face of the tiny infant who was barely one week old. A tuft of pale hair peeked from beneath a fleecy cap, and she couldn’t resist reaching out and stroking the silken strands. Her hand brushed against the smooth magic stone placed beside the babe’s pillow to ward off witches. It was a heathen custom in a Christian land, yet no Highland mother would do without it. “Have ye decided upon a name?” she asked.
“Mary Rose,” Flora replied. “After my dead Neil’s mother.”
Madeleine glanced up at the young woman and met her sad eyes. “‘Tis a bonnie name for the lass, Flora,” she said. “Neil would have been pleased by yer choice.”
“Aye.”
A silence borne of a common sorrow fell between them. Madeleine sighed as she looked down at the sleeping infant. She had always loved children. She marveled at the babe’s tightly curled fists and her pink, pouting lips. A trail of milk was dried on her petal-soft cheek.
She noticed a slight movement in another corner of the room. Twin boys lay napping on a pallet in a tangle of plump limbs and tousled red hair. How fortunate Flora was, she thought, despite the loss of her husband. She had four beautiful children to sustain her, to care for, to give her strength.
“Would ye like to hold her, Maddie?” Flora asked. Without waiting for an answer, she leaned over and gently scooped the child from the cradle, placing her in Madeleine’s open arms.
Madeleine felt a tightness in her breast as she held the infant against her. She would never know what it was to feel a babe grow within her, never experience the throes of childbirth, its agony and joy. Yet this knowledge brought her no great sadness, only a poignant understanding. She would never have a family of her own, but she would always have a larger family around her, consisting of her clan, her people. It was enough.
“Do ye have everything ye need, Flora?” Madeleine asked softly, her gaze sweeping the modest surroundings. Plain wooden furniture, earthenware pots, and a butter churn were the trappings of their simple life. A cast-iron pot hung above the fire, suspended from an oaken beam by a long hook. Steam was escaping beneath the lid, filling the room with the herbed fragrance of boiled beef.
“Aye, Maddie, ye mustn’t worry for us. We’ve been well provided for, thanks to the brave soul who defies the English to lay food upon our doorstep. Between that and what ye kindly bring us with yer visits, we’ll more than manage.”
Madeleine smiled. “There’s wild strawberry jam in the basket, herbs from Glenis’s garden, some healing tea for ye, and a christening cake for the minister’s visit tomorrow. Neil has no doubt eaten his fill of tablet candy by now, though I did ask him to save some for his brothers.”
Flora laughed, her smile easing the premature lines in her pretty face. “I’m so pleased ye’ll be standing up for Mary Rose before the minister, Maddie. It does me proud to think the mistress of Farraline will be my daughter’s godmother.”
“I’m honored ye asked,” she replied sincerely. Suddenly the baby whimpered, her blue eyes fluttering open as she began to squirm in Madeleine’s arms. “I think ‘tis time for another feeding, eh, little one? Ye’ll have to look to yer fine mother for that.”
As if to confirm her words, the infant let out a lusty wail, her tiny hands grasping at the air. Madeleine handed the child over to Flora, who made soothing sounds to calm her. Neither heard the door swing open as young Neil rushed into the cottage.
“Maddie, come look! There’s soldiers marching through the village, with guns and wagons and everything!”
Startled, Madeleine was on her feet in a flash. “Neil, stay here with yer mother,” she said, rushing to the window.
“But Maddie—”
“Hush, child,” Flora silenced him sternly. “Go and sit with yer brothers.” She lifted a corner of her thin chemise to suckle Mary Rose at her milk-laden breast.
