No choice now as they slipped through the dark to knock on a door of a crude hovel. Reuben took stock of the area, noting that it was roomier and more pleasant than many homes in the London rookeries. It was the air, he thought, and the space. Livestock usually smelled bad, but there was enough separation to let the stink blow past. And that made this home better than a good portion of London.
“Talia?” Iseabail called at the door. “Talia, are you awake?”
For a long moment, there seemed to be no response. Then there came a grumble from inside the hut before a thunk and a curse. Suddenly, the door was hauled open by a darkly bearded face backlit by lantern light. That left the man’s face in shadow with still enough light to fall on an upraised sword clenched in a heavy fist.
Holy shit! Reuben was used to lots of different types of weapons, but this was the first claymore he’d ever seen held by a man with strength enough to wield it. No one in London carried so large a thing. Damn it, the man shouldn’t be able to raise it in one hand, much less maneuver it through a doorway, but this one seemed to be doing it easily.
Nevertheless, Reuben jumped in front of Iseabail, shoving her back as he tried to figure out how to defend them from that sword and the giant beast wielding it. But before he could do more than make himself a target, the woman holding the lantern peered around her beast of a husband.
“Iseabail? Is that really you?”
“Fergus, put tha’ away! We mean ye no harm!”
Iseabail’s brogue had grown more pronounced as they’d traveled through Scotland. It was in full force now. Even better, Fergus seemed to understand the sharp tone.
“Miss Iseabail? That canna be you.”
Iseabail pushed forward. “It is,” she said, her voice becoming less certain as she stepped around Reuben. “May we come in? I’ve need to speak with ye both.”
Fergus frowned, his massive brow making calculations that Reuben couldn’t guess at. His wife, however, had no such hesitation. She pushed her man aside and gestured with her lantern. “Get inside. Quick. It’s no decent hour fer anyone.”
Iseabail nodded and quickly entered. Reuben tried to stay close, but these were her people. He would not endear himself by being overprotective. Neither would he leave her completely exposed, though his back prickled as he ducked beneath Fergus’s claymore.
“Fergus,” Talia ordered. “Get some drink for us all. I mean to have a talk with Miss Iseabail.”
She meant to have an accounting. The woman was older than Iseabail by about fifteen years, and she had the attitude of a difficult aunt as she placed her hands on her full hips and rounding belly. She was with child for sure, but not so far advanced that she couldn’t whip an errant child—or husband—if she had a mind.
Apparently Fergus understood that, so with a hard look at Reuben—who immediately raised his hands in surrender—the large man stomped outside to wherever the drink was stored. Likely a cellar of some kind. Meanwhile, Iseabail was looking hard at Talia’s belly.
“Oh my,” she murmured. “The herbs didn’t work, then.”
“They worked fine until you left, and I couldn’t get them anymore. Orlaith threw out all your jars of medicine. Said we didn’t need yer witchcraft no more.”
Iseabail gasped. “All of them? But there was no witchcraft in—”
“All gone.” Talia snorted. “Then she was gone a month later once she turned up barren.”
She would have been better to learn something about what she destroyed, but Reuben knew too many souls who would rather throw away something than learn why it was important.
Meanwhile, Talia put her hands on her belly, clear worry in her face. When she spoke, her voice wavered with fear.
“I don’t know what to do, Iseabail. Little Blake nearly killed me. You remember that, don’t ye? You said the next child would be the death of me—”
“I said it would be difficult, but not impossible,” Iseabail soothed. “I said—”
“To use a sheath. I know. But we didn’t have any and I finished the herbs, an…” She shook her head. “We got seven kids already, and I’m too old—”
“Not that old.” Iseabail took her friend’s hands. “I’m here now. I’ll see you through.”
Talia’s swallowed, her body straightening as she gained enough strength to face her future. “And you’ll make more of that mixture, yes? After this one’s born—”
“And get more sheathes.” She nodded. “I’ll do whatever I can.”
Reuben saw hope enter the woman’s eyes. Hope and suspicion as she looked over at him. “And who is this?” she asked, her voice low.
“He’s my husband, Reuben Bates.”
Reuben had already pulled off his hat. Now he performed his most courtly bow. “Pleased to meet you, madam.”
