Chapter 8

8

T he door opened as he half-carried Anice the last few steps down the path. He could feel her strength draining with each moment. Moira would know what to do for her since he was convinced it was due to the pregnancy.

"Anice? Are ye ill, lass?" Moira moved back into the cottage and allowed them entrance. Robert walked Anice over to the fire and sat her in the chair that was already there. Moira had been expecting her.

"She began to faint as we approached yer door, Moira. Can ye help her?"

His stomach knotted with unexplainable tension as he waited for Moira's assessment. Was this really just part of the pregnancy or was it something more? As he watched Moira loosen Anice's cloak, he tried to pinpoint when the change had happened. Ah, yes. It happened when the talk turned to injuries. But why should that upset her? Mayhap, she'd been injured as a child and treated by a healer? Or mayhap her husband had been injured?

There it was again. Could it have been thoughts of her husband? The fainting at dinner was definitely linked to Sandy.

Was this day's also? But it made no sense at all to him. 'Twas surely a riddle waiting to be solved.

"Thank ye, Robert, for bringing Anice here." He looked up to see Moira gaze on him.

He nodded in acknowledgment. "'Twas no problem since I was on my way here as well." He took off his cloak and hung it on a wooden peg by the door.

She had called him by name, she must remember him.

"Aye, Robert, I ken who ye are. Ye hae truly grown to be the son of yer faither." The woman's eyes seem to glow as she spoke. He shook his head at that crazy thought. Could she know the truth?

"He must favor his mother then, Moira, for truly I see none of Dougal in him at all."

He was so intent on Moira's words and gaze that he'd forgotten about the witness to their exchange. Anice sat up straighter now, looking back and forth, from him to Moira.

"I've been told that my eyes are her eyes. No' the color, but the shape of them." Their color, he knew, was a trait passed among many in the clan and even called MacKendimen blue. Their dyers and weavers were even able to duplicate it into one of the patterns they wove into the thick woolen tartans.

"I wouldn't know, she passed away long before I arrived here. And, Moira, you are too young to have known his mother."

"Aye, Anice, ye hae the right of it. None of us kenned his maither, but we all ken his faither." Robert's eyes narrowed as he watched Moira's guileless expression. Were her words a deliberate attempt to expose his true parentage? If her visions were stronger than her mother's, she knew the truth already. Mayhap this was her way of letting him know that she shared his secret?

"Let me see to the lass as we talk, Robert." Moira left Anice's side and went to the long table at the other side of the room.

Robert glanced around at the dark interior of the cottage. A drying rack hung low over the table; herbs and plants of different colors and sizes were tied to it in bunches. Jars, jugs, and containers of all sizes filled shelves on the wall next to the table. Moira stood before her supplies, choosing several from the lowest shelf. Pouring, measuring, and stirring, he watched as the healer brewed a potion for Anice.

Moira approached the fire and, wrapping her hand in the edge of her plaid skirt, she drew a large pot from over the flame. Ladling a small amount of heated water into the cup she held, Moira stirred the ingredients and held the brew out to Anice.

"Sip this slowly, but drink it all down, Anice. "

"You are using that voice again, Moira."

"Aye, but will it work on ye now that ye ken it?"

"Aye, it will. For now."

Robert watched the exchange between the two women. He knew what Anice meant by "the voice." He remembered Moira as a lass of ten and two years using the voice to give orders to men many times older than herself.

"Robert, will ye help me by removing her boots?" Moira pointed at Anice's feet as she walked back to the worktable, carrying the pot of water with her. He knelt in front of Anice, pausing as he saw her stiffen at his approach.

"May I, my... Anice?" He would never get accustomed to calling her by her given name. Too many years of too many "my lady's" went before her strange request not to call her by it.

Robert looked at her face and waited for a response. An instant of fear flashed through the widened green eyes and was gone quickly, making him doubt that he had truly seen it. Then, realization struck him.

She feared being touched.

His thoughts went back to each of their meetings. Each time he observed her, she held herself separate and apart, never allowing others close. She would not allow him to help her climb the stairs and when he took her arm in his room to stop her from leaving, she tightened. She stiffened when he tried to assist her in walking the path here.

Was it just his touch, as a stranger, as a man beneath her station, that caused the fear in her eyes? No. She withdrew from everyone but her maid and Moira, even maintaining a distance from Struan. Another clue to the riddle of the Lady Anice MacNab, unbeknownst to her, his sister-by-marriage.

"Go ahead, Robert," Anice said in a quiet voice. He lifted one foot and leaned it on his thigh, unlacing the straps that held the boot in place. After loosening it, he pulled it from her foot and placed it near the hearth to dry. Robert did the same with the other.

"Here now, Robert." Moira held out a mug to him. "Drink this, it will warm ye."

He stood, took the mug, and stepped away to give Moira room near Anice. Walking around the room slowly, he observed the two from a distance. Moira drew off one stocking and exposed a swollen foot, ankle, and lower leg to his view.

Puir lass, as Ada would say. She was not handling the carrying of the babe well at all. Moira scooped a small amount of ointment from a jar next to her and applied it to Anice's foot and leg, rubbing it in slowly. He watched as Anice's head dropped back against the chair and her eyes closed. The tension in her body lessened with each stroke of Moira's knowing hands.

In a voice too soft for him to hear, Moira plied Anice with questions and listened to the responses. She smiled at several things Anice said as she continued her massage. Finally, the room grew very quiet and Moira wiped her hands on her apron and lifted Anice's legs gently off her lap. Moira stepped away from her seat and propped Anice's feet up on the cushion. Signaling him with a finger to her lips, Moira approached Robert, and he waited for her to come near.

"Does this happen much?" he whispered as he gestured towards the sleeping woman.

"Nay. 'Tis only recently that I could get her to come here."

"Why?" Robert asked. It made no sense for Anice to avoid the person who could offer her the most comfort for her physical ailments.

Moira took her time in answering, moving to the other side of her table and cleaning up some of the recently used ingredients first.

"She stays close to the keep."

"Ah, her duties keep her there." Robert could understand how busy Anice would be in her duties as steward since Dougal's illness.

"Nay, her fear keeps her there."

"Fear? Fear of what? Or should I ask of whom?" Robert waited to hear who would dare threaten the Lady Anice in a way that kept her a prisoner in the keep.

"Robert, I can say no more. 'Tis Anice's story to tell if she wishes ye to ken." Those were almost exactly Struan's words, too. He would not pry any further now, but somehow he would find out the truth of this.

"Can ye tell me of Dougal's condition?" His irritation forced sarcasm into his tone as he asked.

"Of course I can speak of Dougal." Moira gave him a patronizing smile that matched her tone of voice. "He is a man standing at death's door and waiting for it to open. He doesna have much time left on this earth."

"Does he suffer as he is?" Robert remembered the sunken face and body of the man on the bed.

"Nay. I give him a broth that eases pain. He does try to speak occasionally, but spends most of his time drifting between consciousness and sleep."

He thought of other questions, but the tightness in his throat trapped any more words. Robert nodded at the healer.

She placed her hand over his. "Make yer peace with him now, Robert. Dinna waste time and hold back things which must be said between ye."

"But, Moira, he is atween sleep and unconsciousness. How will he hear my words?" His voice was barely a whisper even now.

"He will hear with his heart, Robert, no' his ears. Fear no', yer words will be heard."

He nodded again and she moved away, busying herself with chores. Moira was right—'twas time to speak to Dougal of things that had passed between them. Even if Dougal couldn't hear them, the speaking of the words might lift his own burden.

Robert blinked several times to clear his hazy eyes and looked at Anice's still and sleeping form. It was then he noticed that the furrow between her eyebrows had eased. Her face looked even younger without the mark of worry upon it. Somehow, it didn't seem fair to him that a lass of but ten years and seven should wear such a serious frown. Her responsibilities wore heavy on her slight shoulders.

Well, his presence would lift some of the weight she carried and give her the time and strength to deal with the difficulties of her carrying. He would make his peace with Dougal and uphold his bargain with Struan until she birthed the bairn. Then, commitments fulfilled and a new steward in place, he would return and take his place of respect in Dunbarton with the MacKillops.

Anice stirred, her eyes blinked open, and she looked in confusion at her surroundings and at him. Based on what he now believed about her, Robert fought the urge to go to her, allowing her time to clear her thoughts.

"Och, ye are awake already, lass?"

"Would seem so, Moira. 'Twas not long enough for you and Robert to catch up on your gossip?"

Robert smiled at Anice. "Oh, aye. 'Twas time enough to reacquaint ourselves. Are ye ready to go back?"

He watched as she shifted in the chair and slid her feet to the floor. Before her bare feet could touch the packed-dirt floor and without thinking of his newfound understanding, he sat in front of her and lifted them back up. Anice gazed at him—wide-eyed and mouth-opened.

"All of Moira's hard work will be for naught," he started to say. Then he felt the shiver move through her body and into his hands.

He glanced at Moira for guidance but she looked away, leaving the problem, literally, in his hands. Anice began to pull her feet from his grasp. Robert tightened his grip, not allowing her to move.

"Here now, Anice. If you twist like that ye will end up on yer arse on the floor. Stop it now."

He immediately regretted his raised voice but he feared she would turn topsy-turvy on the not-so-sturdy-looking chair. Without letting go of her feet, he repositioned them on the other bench and stepped back. Then he released his grasp.

"Moira, I think ye should help Anice with her stockings and boots." A smart man knew when to remove himself from a bad situation.

Moira approached and he moved towards the door to retrieve his cloak. Within a few moments, Moira replaced Anice's stockings and slid the boots on, lacing and tying them snugly against the cold and moisture. He could not understand the feeling of regret he felt at her refusal of his touch. Robert knew for certain that it was not his touch alone that bothered her but the knowing of it did not ease the strange ache that settled in his chest.

Anice stood and straightened her skirts and replaced her heavy cloak on her shoulders. Moira whispered to her the entire time, sometimes more insistently than others. Robert waited for Anice to draw nigh before opening the door. He held out his arm to support her steps and waited for her to place her arm on his. After another brief but still noticeable hesitation, she did.

They had taken but a few steps down the path from the cottage when Moira called him back. He hastened to her, leaving Anice at the gate.

"Robert, I have need of a favor from ye." She pitched her voice low but continued to smile at Anice as she spoke.

"Anything I can do for ye, I will, Moira. Ye hae but to ask." Part of being steward was solving problems, big and small. That was one of many talents he'd developed in his years at Dunbarton.

"Once there is a break, a true break in the weather, summon yer companion from Dunbarton."

Images of flowing blond curls and enticing feminine curves flashed before his eyes. He could feel the heat enter his cheeks and other parts of his body as memories of his times with Helena entered his thoughts.

"Companion, Moira? Of whom do ye speak?"

"No' the one who warmed yer bed, man, the one who haes the healing touch."

"Ada? Summon Ada here?" How did she know of both Helena and Ada?

"Aye, the old one. Her skills will be of need to ye in the spring. Bring her as soon as ye can."

"Moira, why?" Her request was strange since her skills far surpassed anything Ada could do. And certainly no one in Dunnedin would request another healer when Moira was among them.

"I canna say for now. Just do it, Robert." Moira motioned him back to Anice. "Tell the lass I want to see her back in two days." She waved two fingers at Anice. "'Two, no more."

Anice was still shaking her head at Moira when he reached her at the gate. Their walk back to the keep was brisk and quiet. Once inside the stone building, Anice was met by her maid and escorted up the stairs, leaving Robert to watch her escape. He was no closer to understanding Anice now than when he rode in through the gates. He shook his head and realized that the same was true about most men and most women.