Fascination -and- Charmed (41 page)

“There it is,” Mairi said, when they broke from a stand of trees and started down a hill. “Ye can see the cottages from here. Och, poor Gael and Robert. Their love is somethin’ to make ye cry wi’ longin’ for the same yoursel’ .”

When they rolled to a stop before one of a cluster of cottages at the foot of the hill, Grace realized for the first time that she was afraid.

Mairi jumped down and began gathering the supplies they’d brought. She paused and glanced at Grace. “Och, look at ye. Fair pinched, ye look. I shouldna have let ye come wi’ me. Stay where ye are and I’ll be as quick, as I can.”

“I’ll do no such thing,” Grace said firmly, and climbed down from the cart. “They’ll need whatever help they can get.”

A murmuring group of people clustered about the cottage door, but they parted to allow Mairi and Grace to enter. Once inside, Grace wrinkled her nose in pleasure at the pungent scent of peat burning in the fireplace.

“Hello, Mistress Tabby,” Mairi said to a rotund woman placing a kettle over the fire. “We’ve come t’do what we can to help.”

Wiping her hands on her apron, the woman turned around, saw Grace, and appeared to lose the gift of speech.

“This is ... this is the new Marchioness of Stonehaven,” Mairi said, and to Grace, “Ye dinna look like one o’ us in your fine clothes, y’see. She’d notice that.”

Mistress Tabby bobbed a curtsy, and her florid face glowed even redder. “Your visit’ll be royally received, I’m sure,” she said, and bobbed again.

“I’m not here to be royally received,” Grace said, but she smiled. A lot of this curtsying could become most trying.

The cottage appeared to have two rooms. The one they were in served all of the family’s needs but sleep. Mairi approached a low door. “Is it all right for me t’go in?” she asked Mistress Tabby.

The woman was too much occupied with a curious assessment of Grace to respond.

A sudden shrill moan from the other room stopped Mairi where she stood.

Mistress Tabby’s lips set in a firm line. She poured boiling water into a basin, gathered a pile of clean cloths, and bustled past Grace.

As the woman opened the door, there was another sound, a wail that went on and on; then, as abruptly as it started, it faded away.

“Mairi?” Grace whispered. “What is that?”

“It’s—” Mairi made a silent “ooh,” and shook a hand for silence, and they listened to a grating cry that was part hiccup, part outrage. “The babbie! It’s the babbie.”

Grace had heard whispers about women who were increasing—and had noted voluminous, heavy gowns associated with the condition. “Why is it crying?”

“It’s just the way o’ it,” Mairi said. “My mother used t’say a wee babbie cried because it was born wi’ sense.”

To her surprise, Grace felt a bubbling excitement. The baby’s wail grew louder and she heard another noise, the sound of men’s laughter and a woman crying—crying happy tears between calling a name Grace could not make out.

“It sounds like Gael,” Mairi said, smiling while tears slid down her cheeks. “God’s good. He’d no take one so needed.”

“Tell me about the sense a baby’s born with,” Grace said, deeply fascinated.

“Och, it’s just women’s talk. She meant a babbie knows that when it’s born, it’s left the best place it’ll ever be and that all the hardest times are yet t’come.”

“Oh,” Grace said, although she did not understand at all. “Mairi, the baby’s inside the mother till it’s born, isn’t it?” She’d never before had the courage to ask such a question.

Mairi stared at her. “It must be hard to be a gentlewoman,” she said. “I’m probably not supposed t’say, but yes, the babbie’s inside its mother.” She put a hand on her own stomach. “And they say it’s the most wonderful feeling, the feeling o’ your own babbie movin’ within ye.”

“And then the baby is born.” Grace puzzled over what that might mean.

“Your mother didna tell ye anythin’, did she?”

Grace shook her head.

“It’s a pity and a shame. But ye’ll learn soon enough when ye have babbies o’ your own. Hush, now.” She put her head inside the bedroom, then went all the way in.

Grace’s heart beat hard and fast. What could it all mean? She put her hands on her own stomach. A baby inside? How?

“Miss ... I mean, my lady.” Mairi’s head stuck out of the bedroom door. “They’re all busy here, but I reckon ye could see the wee bairn.”

At first Grace shook her head. She filled her fingers with her skirt.

“He’s beautiful,” Mairi said, smiling. “Do come and see.”

Grace went slowly, hesitantly, until she stood just inside a room where the only furnishing was a roughly fashioned bed and a single chair. In a distant corner stood a small cot upon which sat a little girl with blond hair that rose around her head like spun white gold.

“Come on.” Mairi beckoned, but Grace only ventured a few steps closer to the bed. A red-haired young woman lay against the pillows, her face very white, her big eyes very blue. And she smiled up at a slender, blond man who leaned over her and whispered words Grace could not hear.

Another man, this one exceedingly tall and with wild dark hair, stood with his back to Grace and Mairi. He rocked and made clucking sounds.

“The worst came and went,” Mairi said in low tones. “She dinna lose the blood this time the way she did wi’ Kirsty.” She indicated the little girl.

Grace heard, but still had little idea what was meant except that the bringing forth of a baby from a woman’s stomach was a complicated thing. She watched the mother’s face and decided it was also a wonderfully happy thing.

Something brushed her leg and she jumped. Looking down, she saw that the child had left her bed and come to stand beside her. She stroked the velvet of Grace’s dress and gazed up at her.

“She’s not seen anythin’ so fine as your gown,” Mairi said.

A fresh wail snatched their attention. The big man laughed and rocked harder.

“He’s a bonny wee laddie,” the fair young man said. “A bonny son.”

“Aye,” his wife said softly. “But not as bonny as his father.”

“Oh,” Mairi said softly. “Y’see how they love?”

A tug returned Grace’s attention to the little one at her side. She smiled down.

“Kirsty’s babbie,” the child said. Tight beneath one arm she held a small, jointed teddy bear.

“Kirsty’s baby,” Grace agreed.

“He needs feedin’,” the woman in the bed said, and a fretfulness entered her voice. “I should nurse him.”

“You don’t have the strength,” the big man said.

Grace clasped her hands tightly together. It could not be. It
could not.

“Dinna worry your head,” Mistress Tabby said, spreading cloths on the bottom of the bed. “There’s a good woman who’ll take care o’ that for ye.”

“I want to nurse my own—”

“It’s for the best.” The man who must be Robert Mercer smoothed his wife’s glorious hair and kissed her brow. “The sooner ye’ve your strength back, the sooner ye’ll be takin’ care o’ all o’ us again.”

The big man turned and bent over the bed, carefully lowering the tiny, spindly-limbed creature he’d held against his chest. “There, my fine boy. You’ll do very well now.” Deftly he folded the soft cloths around the baby, then lifted his fragile bundle so that Mistress Tabby could swathe a white wool blanket about it. “You did well, Gael. You and Robert did well. It’s time you showed Kirsty her brother.”

He put the baby into his father’s arms and looked around for the girl. “Kirsty—” His eyes met Grace’s, and the smile on his face became fixed.

Surely ... Grace pressed her hand over her heart. The man wore rough clothes and heavy, worn boots. His tousled black hair fell to his shoulders, and although the tone of his voice had alerted her, he spoke with a softly Scottish brogue that was never heard in the clipped speech of the Marquess of Stonehaven. Yet it was into Arran’s clear green eyes that she looked.

“What will ye call the babbie?” Mairi said. “Will it be Robert, like his father?”

“No,” Robert Mercer said at once. “It’ll be Niall, after the man who helped birth him.”

Grace found she could not move, could not breathe.

“Gael and Robert,” Mairi said, moving forward. “This is Lady Stonehaven, the Savage’s—I mean, the marquess’s new lady. She became his bride today. She heard about your trouble and came t’see if she could do anythin’.”

There was complete silence before Robert Mercer came around the bed to bow. “I ... We thank you.” He bowed even deeper. “We’d heard the marquess was t’take a wife.”

“Thank you,” Gael Mercer said. Her smile made her eyes luminous. “I’m sure ye’ll make the marquess a happier man. Will ye look at our babbie?”

It was “Niall” who placed the baby in Grace’s inexperienced arms. The soft bundle wiggled and stretched. “Oh, look,” Grace said. The wrinkled little face jerked back and forth until a tiny fist found a place against the baby’s mouth. “Look!”

“Aye. Nature’s wonderful.”

She looked up into Arran’s face, her dark angel’s face, and saw such deep gentleness there that she felt its impact like a glowing blow deep inside.

“Niall’s as good as his name to all o’ us, m’lady,” Robert Mercer said. “Champion. There’s never a hardship at Kirkcaldy that Niall doesn’t find a way to help us. Not that I’d expected him to be a practiced hand at birthin’ babbies.” He laughed.

“With a good mother’s help and common sense, it’s not such a problem,” Arran said, never looking away from Grace. “You can thank my horses for giving me the practice.” Making certain no one else saw what he did, he put a single finger to his lips.

Grace nodded faintly and their pact was sealed. He could not know the joy she felt. Regardless of how she’d come to him. Regardless of why he’d wanted her as his wife—this man was so much more to her than any other.

Very carefully she raised the light bundle to her face and touched her cheek to the baby’s downy head. He squirmed, and she felt his little fingers jerk against her chin.

“I don’t want to give him up,” she said, going to Gael Mercer’s side. “But you’ll want to hold him. Mairi and I brought a few things. Some food. Blankets. And there’s a pretty nightrail for you, Mrs. Mercer.”

“I’m Gael.”

“Gael. May I come again to see ... Niall?”

“We’d be proud. And we do thank ye. Ye’d best away back to your bed. We wouldna want his lordship t’be angry.”

“The marquess isn’t a man to be angry over such things,” Grace said, careful not to look at Arran again. She started for the door.

“Be careful how you go, my lady,” Arran said. “Did you ride?”

“We came by cart,” she told him.

“You were dutiful to come on your wedding day, but your husband will expect you to await his pleasure. Do not delay in returning to the castle.”

A thrill of pleasure went through her at his words. “We won’t delay,” Grace said.

Kirsty stood, sucking a thumb and swaying, near the door. Her cotton nightshirt showed signs of many washings, and her feet were bare.

“You’re going to catch a cold,” Grace said, gathering her up and depositing her back on her bed. “You’ve had a busy night. Now it’s time for you to sleep. Here ...” She slipped the gold chain holding the little enameled bluebird over her head and put it on the child. “This is for you because you managed to have such a lovely baby brother.”

Kirsty picked up the bird, and pure wonder filled her pale face. “Look.” She showed the necklace to her bear. “Pretty.”

“Ye’re too good, m’lady,” Robert Mercer said. “And ye’re a spoiled one, Kirsty Mercer. A bear from Niall and a beautiful necklace from the lady, and all in a matter o’ weeks.”

With Mairi, Grace took her leave of the company and felt Arran’s eyes on her back until the bedroom door closed behind her.

They went out into the night and found the tenants about the door chuckling quietly and raising glasses whilst they toasted new life and the deliverance of a woman who was clearly very dear to them all.

“I’ve heard o’ the man, Niall,” Mairi said when they were safely in the cart and making their slow way back to the castle. “The tenants talk about all his good works. He saved a man from drownin’ once. Another time, when there was a big snow, he carried two children out o’ the hills when everybody’d given them up for dead. And ... Well, there’s many a story about the good he’s done.”

“A special man,” Grace said, hugging her knees against the chill. “How lucky we are to have him at Kirkcaldy.”

“Indeed,” Mairi agreed. “But y’know, I’d never seen him for mysel’ before tonight. I don’t know, but ... but I could have sworn I’d seen him somewhere else. Ah, well, it’s probably because I’m so tired.”

“Arran!”

He whirled around. “Theodora?” Dressed in a voluminous white night robe and with her hair tangled about her face, she rushed toward him from the direction of his chambers.

“Oh, Arran, we’ve been waiting for you. You’ve got to help us with Grace.”

“Grace?” He dropped the bundle that was “Niall’s” garb and grasped her shoulders. “What about Grace?”

“She went out somewhere.”

He relaxed instantly. “Did she?”

“Yes. Then she came back and ... Oh, please do hurry!”

“Speak plainly,” Arran said, watching her narrowly. “She came back, and ...?”

“And she was distraught. We think she was upset by the unfortunate mention of ... of, well, things from your past.”

He caught her shoulders again. “Stop chattering, you fool.” They’d done something to Grace. “Where is she?”

“Melony had one of her feelings. She has them, you know. She senses things and—”

Arran shook her.
“
Where
is Grace?”

“Melony went to her room and found her gone. She waited until she returned, and then Grace insisted upon going into the vaults beneath Revelation. We tried to stop her.”

The vaults?
“
There
’
s nothing down there.”

“We know that. Nothing, but who knows how many miles of passageways? Grace said she had to find out if it was true that Isabel Dean could have gone down there to be with ... to be with Mr. Dean.”

“Why would she do such a thing?”

“I have no idea—unless her mind is unhinged because of your betrayal of her feelings for you.”