Chapter 10

10

T he icy blast of air that forced its way through the small opening she'd created took her breath away. 'Twas difficult to believe that spring approached at all when the weather took this turn. Leaning against the door with all the weight she now carried, Anice closed and secured the latch to keep it from blowing open.

"Here now, Anice. Come away from there before ye freeze."

Startled by Moira's voice, she turned quickly to face her. Moira sat some distance away, in front of a blazing fire. And with her was the old woman Robert had brought from Dunbarton. Ada, that was her name. Nodding at Moira, Anice walked to where they sat. A chair and stool awaited her there.

"Och, now, lass. Here, ye should be sitting afore the warmth with yer feet raised. We have a place ready for ye." The old one spoke and her soft tone of voice washed over Anice like a warm and welcome embrace. She'd spoken to her but a few times and the experience was always the same.

"Thank you, Ada." She smiled as she sank onto the wide-armed chair with its cushions. "This spring storm is colder and wilder than I ever remember seeing in Dunnedin these last few years." Anice settled into the most comfortable position she could find and allowed the two women, the two healers, to raise her feet onto the bench in front of her.

Moira sat back and picked up some mending from the basket at her feet. Anice reached out to Moira and took what she offered. Sewing and mending was something she could do and her size did not interfere. Actually, her large belly even made a convenient shelf for her to rest her arms on. After a few minutes of stitching, Anice noticed the two other women exchanging glances.

"I was about to seek ye out, Anice," Moira started. "I have some news and wanted to share it with ye myself."

Trying to maintain her calm, Anice waited for this news. It could not be good, for there was an air of nervousness about both Moira and Ada.

"First, I am expecting a babe of my own, sometime near Michaelmas Day."

"Truly, Moira? You do not even show yet!" Anice glanced at the woman's small stature and then took Moira's hand in hers and patted it. "You feel well?"

"Now who is clucking like a hen?" Moira laughed. "I am well and Pol is strutting around as though he accomplished a feat unknown to man!" The women laughed together for a few moments.

"There is more news?" Anice knew, she could feel that there was more to be told.

"I have told ye about my sister, Margaret."

"She married a Montgomery from the Borders?" Anice asked, while nodding her remembrance. Margaret was a year older than Moira and left Dunnedin shortly after Anice's arrival there.

"Well, she is carrying once more and is verra near her own time. The pregnancy haes been a difficult one for her and with her losing two bairns afore this, we fear for her and the babe she carries now."

"Is there anything that can be done?" Anice did not think anything but prayers could help and, being so close to her own delivery, she did not want to think too much on it. But Moira's words were leading to something.

"I couldna be with her the last two times and I promised her I would be there with her for this birth. Pol and I leave in the morn for her village on the Borders."

Anice stopped sewing and stared at Moira. The unstoppable terror seeped through her. Tremors crept up her back as though someone had walked on her grave. Anice could not identify what she feared, or put into words her objections; she only knew she could feel the fear taking control of her. Moira was her link to safety and she needed her there.

"But, Moira," she stammered. "The weather is dangerous now."

"Aye, Anice, 'tis no' the best time to be leaving the safety of Dunnedin, but I must." Moira took her hand and clasped it tightly. "I must."

"Will ye...?" Her voice gave out even trying to ask. Her throat tightened and her breaths turned to gasps.

"Here, now, lass," Ada said. The old woman took Anice's other hand and wrapped it inside her own two. The woman's warmth battled with fear's icy hold. "I ken ye fear what lies afore ye in yer own time. I will be here while Moira travels to her sister's and back again. If ye have need of me, I will be here for ye."

The heat in Ada's hands began to travel up her arm and into her body, forcing terror's grip to loosen. Soon, she could breathe again and the clammy sweat on her brow lessened. Ada's words and touch soothed her, calmed her, called to the reason within her. Anice hated this. She hated the powerlessness she felt when the terror within pushed its way out and took control of her body and her life. There was something within the old woman that offered her comfort and gave her strength. Mayhap her presence would indeed get her through in Moira's absence.

Moira released her hand and smiled at her. Anice relaxed as much as she could against the chair, trying to let the rest of the tension flow from her.

"Ada haes some healing talents, Anice. And she kens many of my recipes already. 'Tis why I had Robert bring her from Dunbarton."

"But Ada arrived weeks ago, Moira. Why have ye said nothing until now?" Looking at Moira, she knew that the seer had already known what was to come. What else did the woman know?

"I have only seen bairns being born, two boys and two girls," Moira answered without the question being asked.

"Four babes? But how?"

"Either one of us will give birth to twins or someone haes no' shared their news with us yet...." Moira's eyes twinkled as she spoke. She knew more than she would reveal; her "wisdom" was never completely shared with others and Anice was certain that Moira held some knowledge closely, even now. Moira stood and nodded to Ada.

"I must make my way back to my cottage and prepare for the journey ahead. Anice, ye should get acquainted with Ada for a bit. I will no' see ye afore I leave in the morn so I give my farewell now."

"God go with you, Moira. I will keep your sister in my prayers," Anice said.

"That's a good lass," Moira told her. "I will be gone but a few weeks and be back in plenty of time for the birth of yer wee one. Dinna fear."

Moira gathered up her basket and sack and walked toward the kitchens. Anice was so puzzled by the expression that had entered Moira's gaze as she promised to be back in time, that she missed Ada's words.

"Pardon me," Anice mumbled. "I did not hear your question."

"Tell me about yer own maither. Did she give birth easily? How many did she bear?" Ada asked.

"Um, only one. I am my mother's only child."

Ada began to talk and Anice's gaze found Moira still making her way to the kitchens. Finally, she realized what bothered her about Moira's words, or rather her expression.

Moira lied to her.

Moira knew that she would not be here for the birth and so had brought Ada here from Dunbarton. Moira knew and she lied about it.

That was so unlike Moira. The seer was straightforward in her manner and had never lied to her, at least not as far as she could tell. So why had she done so now? Or had she? Was she seeing more here than truly existed? Mayhap this was exactly as Moira had said—Moira needed to leave and Ada would be there in her stead. And Moira would be back for the baby's birth.

The babe was not due for weeks and weeks, close to two months probably. There was plenty of time for Moira to return to Dunnedin. Taking a breath in as deeply as she could, she tried to let go of the real fear that lay under everything else in her life. 'Twas not bearing the babe that worried her—her mother had had an easy time of it giving birth to her. 'Twas not facing the pain and uncertainty of the birthing, no, 'twas facing the uncertainty of the time after the birth that scared her witless and breathless. For once she gave birth to the heir of the clan—and she knew with unswerving confidence that the babe she carried inside of her was the heir the clan hoped for—she would once more be at the beck and call of her husband.

Even though Struan had promised that he would protect her, even though he swore on his position as laird, she knew that little could be done to keep her husband away if he chose to come home and claim his rights once more. Oh, she did not doubt the truthfulness of Struan's intentions, but what father would act against his own son when the clan stood to lose? And that was what caused her nightmares. And what caused this powerful terror to take control of her and destroy the person she was before.

Anice tried to listen to Ada's prattling tales about mothers and bairns, but 'twas difficult to turn her thoughts from those dark times once she dwelled on them. She had attempted to come to some understanding of her actions and to some acceptance of her inner weaknesses, but she'd not been successful in the months since her marriage. At times, it was easiest to believe what Sandy had told her that night—that her shameful behavior towards the man who had impersonated him deserved to be punished. And as her lawful husband and the one most shamed by her actions and open preference of another man, he was the rightful one to deliver the punishment he saw fit.

But, and mayhap due to her inordinate pride, she found that his brutality towards her only spurred her on to question his behavior and not her own. She knew of no other man in this clan or her own who had ever beaten a woman the way her husband had beaten her. Surely she would have known, since little or nothing remained a secret for long within the closeness and intricate pattern of relatives of the clan. She'd witnessed disagreements and even some hands raised against wives by boorish or drunken husbands, but none could approach what hers had done to her.

Had Sandy's feelings of rage diminished towards her in these last months? Did the news that she was pregnant please him at all? Would he come home for her lying-in? Would he stay to claim her again and again as he'd threatened on their wedding night? His words—until parted by death—had echoed over and over in her mind. Was her death the only way to avoid him?

She shook her head and shifted in her seat, made even more uncomfortable by her long time in one position and the direction of her thoughts. Ada must have misunderstood her gesture, for the old woman continued to sew and talk at the same pace as before.

She was not the same hopeful, willful girl that she'd been before her wedding. That one believed only in the good men could do, and in her own ability to handle anything that came her way and challenged her. The Anice she was today understood more about the ways and dangers of men and about the amount of courage and strength you needed to face the life that scared you witless and breathless, on your own with no help from anyone else. She knew that in spite of his promises, Struan may not be able to protect her. Moira would not be the protection she needed either. She would need to find her own way in this.

Sighing, she realized that Ada had stopped speaking and was watching her now. Had she given herself away? Had she spoken out loud? The mixed expression of sympathy and concern on the old woman's face convinced her that she must have said something.

"I can see by the look on yer face that my words have stirred yer fears rather than quieting them and sorry I am for doing that," Ada whispered as she took Anice's hand once more.

"No, Ada. 'Tis not your words that stirs fears. I fear I am tired of being in this chair, tired of being held prisoner by this storm, and just plain tired." Anice handed the material she still grasped to Ada and pushed herself up and out of the once comfortable chair. "Here comes Firtha now to help me up to my chambers. "

"Are ye ready to retire yet, Anice?" Firtha asked as she reached them.

"Aye, I think a rest would do me some good right now. Ada, thank you for your kind words. I appreciate knowing that you are here if I need you." Anice smiled at the woman who seemed to glow under her praise.

"Good rest to ye now, my lady."

"Just Anice is fine, Ada. My name is Anice."

The words came out on their own, since she was so used to uttering them in response to someone using her title. If her darkest truth were known, she would be scorned by all; even her babe could be taken from her. She could be abandoned and even put aside by her husband for the grievous sin she'd committed and still not repented. Although she could not bring herself to utter the words in confession, she humbled herself before God and all by taking from herself the honorable position that title and marriage placed on her. She did not deserve to be honored among the clan. She was a sinner. She was just Anice.

"All right then. Have ye a good rest now. Ye and the bairn surely need it."

Anice turned and followed Firtha out of the great hall and up the stairs leading to her chambers. Now she worried that thoughts of Sandy and his return would keep her from sleep. Entering her rooms, she smiled as she caught sight of a steaming mug sitting next to her bed. Moira had promised a "soothing brew to aid yer rest" and this looked like it. After undressing and slipping beneath the covers, Anice lifted the cup to her mouth and sipped it slowly, enjoying the warmth and sweetness as it moved over her tongue and she swallowed.

"Moira said ye will sleep after ye drink that. She said no' to allow ye to walk around unaided." Firtha smiled and took the empty mug when she finished. "'Tis no' good to see a pregnant woman swaying on her feet like a drunkard, she said."

"My thanks to you for looking over me, Firtha. I do not know what I would do without you."

Feeling the sleepiness creeping into her limbs, Anice slid down and pulled the covers up to her neck. So much faced her in the days ahead. And now she had to be strong for not only herself but also the babe who depended on her. The bairn must have sensed her thoughts for he began to shift within her, pushing and stretching and testing his strength. He? Smiling as she drifted towards sleep, she realized she only thought of the babe as a boy. A son. Her son.

A son to live for and to love and to hold precious as none had held her. She would, she could, endure anything for the babe that lived within her now. He had saved her months ago. He had pulled her out of her walk in darkness and given her something wonderful and untainted to love. Something, someone, who was her own and no one else's.

Her son.