Unfortunately, the delight was going to end very soon. Once they began their journey, he would have to press her for details she wouldn’t want to answer. But he would go slowly.
Soon.
After a kiss or three.
And a little more…
But even such a wonderful interlude had to end. When she was relaxed against him, her body barely clothed, he asked her who were the people—exactly—who helped her escape her uncle’s control. He wanted every name and everything they did on her behalf.
Entwined in his arms, these stories came easily to her.
Her clan ran the largest highland market. Every clan brought their goods here to sell and fair days were a sight to behold. As such, so were pregnant women, children with illnesses, and injuries to man and beast. Iseabail usually worked night and day, helping wherever there was need. So when she had cause to hide in a potato cart leaving a day early from market, she was just another lump in one of several wagons that came and went that day. From there, she found other carts, other rides, all to get her to Sadie’s clan and the final trip to London.
“You didn’t trust any of your own clan?”
She shook her head. “There are some who would help, but they are always intertwined with someone who will tell. Everyone knows what everyone else is about.”
He grunted. That did not bode well for their success.
Now for the harder part. “Tell me about your mother’s disappearance. How did you realize she was gone? Who helped look for her?”
She moved restlessly against him. He let her shift how she willed, but he could not let her escape the questions. “She went to help a sick family and never arrived. Never returned. I knew she was gone the very next morning when no one, not even the women, could tell me where she was.”
“And your uncle?”
“Feigned great distress. Sent out Hamish and a few others to search. They found nothing.”
“Hmmm.”
He pressed for more details, discussed who she thought tried to help her and who maligned her. By her reckoning, the numbers were equal. He hoped she was wrong and that the Scots were not blind to her skills.
Which led him to the last and most difficult questions. “Why do they despise your grandmother? And what has she to do with you?” The answer was simple, if somewhat confusing to his English mind.
“My grandmother blessed the men at Culloden. She praised them, cast spells to protect them, and swore that they would win the Jacobite cause.”
Obviously, that hadn’t happened. The Scots had been decimated at Culloden. “They blamed her for the loss?”
She shrugged. “They blame everyone, the Sassenach most of all. But they can’t vent their hatred onto you. You’re all the way down south and you have cannons.”
“But she was in Scotland. She blessed them and predicted a glorious win.”
Iseabail nodded. “I wasn’t even born yet. My mother was a child. But they turned their anger on her, said she was a witch who trucked with the devil.” She shuddered. “They said awful things—”
“But they didn’t kill her.”
“She ran. She hid. She changed her name and pretended to be yet another clanless widow with a child.”
“Did someone recognize her?”
“Someone recognized her skills.” She lifted her chin to look hard at him. “They are the same as mine. The knowledge of herbs to fight infection, unguents to soothe old joints, midwifery, and more. Could you sit by and watch a woman in labor die merely because no one else knows how to turn the babe in the belly?”
“No.” And neither could she.
“She had a habit of humming songs as she worked. Hymns or lullabies, folk songs or just notes.” She looked back at him. “You understand I never met her. This happened long before I was born. I heard it from my mother.”
“I know. But the Scots have long memories. I need to know why they damn you because of her.”
She threw up her hands in disgust. “They said she was invoking the devil to curse Scotland.” The scorn was heavy in her tone. “Many people hum when they work, but it was enough to identify her. I learned young to keep silent.”
