She was beginning to understand why her grandmother had spent so much time telling people what they wanted to hear and giving them foolish amulets to conquer their fears. It wasn’t easy being a witch.
But she couldn’t pretend she was anything else anymore.
“All right, Mrs. White. You just take care of that daughter and new grandbaby of yours and see that we have meals, and Lady Lydie and I will take care of the household.”
Selecting one of the cooler oatcakes, Ninian drifted out of the kitchen, her mind racing furiously despite her body’s ungainly pace.
Her grandmother had said she was the Malcolm healer. Her grandmother had been wise in many, many ways that she was just now coming to understand. To be a healer, Ninian must be accepted by those she meant to heal. Otherwise, she was nothing but a breeding machine for an earl. Some women might aspire to that, but she wasn’t one of them.
She had to be true to herself. Drogo wasn’t going to like it.
***
“Hello, Mary. Am I welcome here?” Ninian asked politely as the cottage door opened.
Mary’s eyes widened. “Ninian!” Then remembering herself, she executed a clumsy curtsy. “I mean, Lady Ives. I…”
“I’m still Ninian, but Lord Ives really only has one wife, and I’m it.” She couldn’t resist the jest but bit back the ridiculous urge to smile. She didn’t know where she stood in her own home, and she prayed frantically as her childhood friend looked uncertain.
Mary cast a nervous glance to Ninian’s plain woolen skirt and the bulge only slightly concealed beneath it. “Aye, and he made short work of his duties, too. What is he thinking to let you wander about like this?”
She opened the door, and with a huge sigh of relief, Ninian followed her in. “Oh, we’ll hear his shouts soon enough, I wager, but I could not wait for him to find time to bring me here. Walking is good for me.”
“Walking in this damp and cold is not,” Mary scolded. “Sit down, and let me fix you some tea.”
The children crowded shyly into a corner as Ninian took a seat at the trestle table before the fire. Smiling, she reached in her pocket and produced a small sack of sweetmeats. She needed to go back to wearing the aprons she’d abandoned in London. She never had enough pockets.
At a nod from their mother, the eldest boldly crept up to inspect the offering.
“You have grown, Matt. I bet you’re strong enough to carry water from the well.” Ninian didn’t need the child’s shy smile to tell her of his pride at her recognition, but she liked it just the same. Drogo had taught her to read the way people expressed feelings physically, so she could better interpret the vague empathic vibrations she received. She thought that knowledge could be a useful tool when her patients were hurting and too confused for her to understand.
The children giggled happily over the treat and before long, the youngest had crawled into Ninian’s lap. She felt good there, and Ninian smiled as she smoothed silken locks. “I have missed the little ones.”
Mary still watched her warily as she prepared the tea. “You left them readily enough for the ballrooms of London. I’m surprised you came back.”
“I did not leave them willingly,” Ninian protested. “You didn’t want me around. What was I supposed to do? Grow old and keep cats for company?”
“You never kept cats before he came along.” Mary smacked the mug on the table. “The burn never flooded until Ives and Malcolm came together, just like the legend.”
“The burn must have flooded if there was a legend about it,” Ninian corrected. “And I never kept cats because Grandmother wouldn’t let me. I feared Lord Ives as much as you did, but he’s only a man, like any other.”
Mary smiled wickedly. “And he’s proved his manliness. You’ll not have time for the likes of us once the babe arrives.”
“Don’t be foolish. Of course I will.” Ninian relaxed as they fell into the easy bantering of their childhood. “What else do countesses do? Tell me how everyone fares. Did Harry marry Gertrude?”
“After she got fat with child, he did. Beltane produced a fine crop this year. But it looks as if you’ll have your own to deliver, and we’d best look to ourselves.”
That was a problem Ninian had already considered. The alternatives weren’t the best, but better than none at all. “I am teaching Lady Lydie what I know. She was quite adept at helping with Mrs. White’s daughter. Perhaps she can act as my hands as I did for my grandmother.”
“A lady delivering children? That’ll be the day the sun doesn’t rise.”
“Well, let’s not borrow trouble just yet. We have a few more months.” A few months in which she hoped to teach Lydie the things she was eager to learn. The girl had been remarkably underestimated by everyone, but she’d survived out here on her own for months, raising her daughter without complaint, stalwartly resisting her family’s plans to marry her to wealth. Ninian had learned a few things in London and understood now how much courage that had taken.
With Mary to lead the way and the knowledge that she had already saved Cook’s daughter in childbirth to smooth the path, Ninian stopped to visit Gertrude and reassure her that she would help in her delivery. She stayed with the safe topics of local gossip and childbirth and didn’t mention the burn. That was next on her list, but regaining the confidence of the village was of first importance. Apparently time and absence had proved to the villagers that she wasn’t personally responsible for the burn’s blight.
Worried about her ailing mother, Gertrude set aside her wariness to take her to her parents’ house. Several of the older women were already there, and Ninian’s arrival stimulated a discussion of ailments and remedies that took much longer than she’d anticipated. By the time she stepped outside the modest cottage, the sun had traveled well past noon, and weariness had set in, but triumphantly, she knew she had her foothold in the village again.
“Going somewhere?” a welcome voice asked dryly as she reached the square.
“Drogo!” She spun around to find him leaning against the tavern, apparently waiting for her to appear. He looked gloriously rugged in his country boots and old wool coat without the fripperies of London lace. He also appeared on the edge of fury. “You never lose your temper,” she reminded him evenly.
“A man has to start sometime.” He unfolded himself from the tavern wall so he towered over her. “Are you out of your mind, madam?”
“Not at all.” She pulled her cloak more comfortably closed and met his glare without fear. “I am ready to return home, however.”
“Whose home?” he demanded. “Perhaps you would prefer returning to your old one and pretending I was just a passing fancy.”
She cocked her head and tried to interpret what went on beyond his inscrutable expression, but she could only see the anger. In Drogo’s case, it seemed safest to be herself and watch what happened.
She tucked her hand around his arm and started down the street. “People don’t seem to be angry at me anymore. The flood and superstition made them afraid, and maybe they’re still wary, but at least they’re listening now. How did you get here? Surely you did not walk.”
Silence. She was comfortable with that. It took Drogo a while to work out hidden meanings, interpret, and decide on a reply. He was a very cautious man, and she smiled at him to show she didn’t mind.
He appeared totally disconcerted by her smile. She smiled wider, and he scowled. Ninian’s heart soared. He might not understand, but he was actually seeing her. That might not be as good a thing as she had hoped, but it was a more solid place to be than before, when she was just another cipher on his book of responsibilities.
“I can’t turn you over my knee or cut your allowance or send you back to school or any of those things I do with my brothers. How in the world am I supposed to command your obedience?”
“You don’t, no more than I command yours,” she re
plied cheerfully. “Equality, remember? Is it so difficult to understand?”
“Equality,” he repeated glumly. “You’re carrying an impossible burden and can barely stand for weariness, and you expect me to treat you like a man?”
He halted before a gray palfrey with a small, nearly flat saddle. Without any further discussion, he swung her sideways on the saddle, then climbed on behind her. His legs dragged the ground as he gathered the reins in one hand and held her with the other.
“Not like a man.” Ninian skeptically eyed the distance to the ground and granted his wisdom in choice of mounts. “I will freely admit that I cannot ride a horse as you do, although I should not mind learning on one this size. It is not quite so far to fall.”
“And this one walks like a swaying bed.” Drogo kicked the mare into a slow saunter. “Which is better for you than the farm cart, at least.”
She watched the ground until certain she would not immediately slide off, then relaxed enough to appreciate the strength of her husband’s arms around her. He pulled her closer as she leaned into him.
“Will you teach me to ride? It could be a very useful thing to know.”
“You are six months gone with child!” he exclaimed in exasperation. “People fall off horses when they’re learning. Accept it, Ninian. You cannot do anything but grow that child right now. The village is too far.”
“I am not a melon ripe enough to burst.” She concentrated on swaying with the horse. “Walking is good for me. Remember, I’m the midwife, not you.”
“And you will tell me the cold and damp is good for you too? And that growing so weary you can scarcely stand is healthy? I have six younger brothers who have tried every excuse known to mankind, Ninian. I know when I’m being gulled.”
“I am a healer, Drogo,” she said patiently. “I cannot heal if I cannot visit the sick. These people are my responsibility as much as your brothers are yours. Can you not accept that?”
Silence. Ninian thought she’d tear off his shirt and drive her fingernails into that thick skin to see if he was human, but she knew he was as human as she, and that was the problem.
“I’ve accepted that you carry my child, that you are a Malcolm, and that you know something of herbs. I accept that you’re my responsibility now, and that I must protect you as well as the child from harm. Why can you not accept that protection?”
She patted his chest instead of shredding it. He really did not understand. “I’m not your responsibility, Drogo. I don’t need your protection. I can very well take care of myself. Accept that, and we’ve found a starting place.”
“If you don’t need me for anything, then what the hell do you want me for?” he shouted, finally losing the temper he didn’t have. “Am I to be your breeding stud and nothing more?”
Ninian laughed with a carefree joy that bounced off the icicles coating the trees. “Now we are getting somewhere, my lord,” she said approvingly, snuggling into his warmth. “For in your eyes, I am no more than a brood mare. Just because I have the appropriate plumbing for that task does not mean that is who or what I am.”
“You are an extremely annoying bit of baggage with far too much intelligence and freedom,” he grumbled. “Your family was mad to let you grow up wild.”
“My family accepted from my birth that I would grow up as I am. Their only choice was in whether to teach me to use my skills or abandon me to learn on my own. My mother preferred abandonment. I was lost and miserable not knowing who or what I was, only knowing I was different. My grandmother showed me how to make the most of my differences.”
He rubbed his hand thoughtfully over the place where their child grew. “And since I can teach you nothing, I have no purpose? What is it you want of me?”
“Acceptance, my lord.” She closed her eyes and rested against him, hearing his heart beat. “I wish people to accept what I am and not ostracize me for my differences. That’s all I’ve ever asked. Perhaps, someday, I could learn to help you with your responsibilities, and then we could work together.”
“Right. I’ll give you the mine books when we reach home, and you can find where we need to cut costs.”
He still didn’t understand, but he was listening and not rejecting her. That’s all she could ask, for now. “Introduce me to your foreman, and I will tell you if he’s cheating you,” she answered dreamily, half asleep with the sway of the horse and the warmth of his arms. “I’ll bring you children and teach you to laugh.”
“And if I don’t want to laugh?”
“Then I’ll cure you of that too.”
She nodded off in his arms, leaving Drogo with the terrified feeling that he walked a precipice whose edge he could not see and beyond which he had no idea if air, water, or rocky boulders awaited.
Marriage had been a mad idea. He should have stayed in London, where he knew where he stood and what was expected of him.
But sitting here with his wife and child in his arms brought him a joy he’d never known, even as his head spun with uncertainty.
Maybe he could solve the problem that was his wife while he was here.
Twenty-nine
Drogo carried his sleeping wife into the castle. She woke enough to hug him groggily, but her sweet breath soon warmed his neck again as she returned to slumber.
He didn’t know what he was doing with a woman like this. He’d once thought he might marry some graceful doe-eyed beauty who would drift through his life like a butterfly, going about whatever odd business women tended during the day, warming his bed occasionally at night. If he’d given it any thought at all, he’d imagined she would be content with a little flattery, a little jewelry, and whatever attention he could provide between his other pursuits. He was quite certain if his father had given his wife that much, his parents would have stayed together.
But no, he had to bed a moon-eyed country bride who thought London a bore and delivering children her task in life. Instead of inspecting his estate in Ives, roping his brothers into the holidays, and exploring the profitability of a new shipping venture, he was stranded in the back of nowhere, dancing to his wife’s merry tune—all because she carried the child he’d thought never to have. This wasn’t how he’d planned his life.
He supposed he could humor her for a few months. He could explore expanding his mining ventures and look into the canal some of the other owners wanted to build—if only he could be certain Ninian would stay where she belonged, the obstinate wench.
Today hadn’t been a reassuring experience, but he thought he might have the answer to that.
Gently, he carried her through the winding corridors to the back wing of the castle. He hadn’t comprehended Sarah’s request to rebuild back here until Ninian had fully entered his life. After these last months of watching plants spring to life everywhere he turned, he had a better grasp of Ninian’s talents.
With satisfaction, he lay his sleeping burden on the settee he’d carried down for her use. Not that she would ever use it, he acknowledged ruefully. Maybe he could tie her down so he wouldn’t have to chase after her.
She woke again as he stepped away. Drogo watched with secret pleasure as her sleepy blue eyes widened with astonishment. He didn’t think he had ever seen anything so innocently beautiful since his brothers were babes in the cradle.
“My word!” she whispered, pushing herself onto her elbows and staring.
He’d ordered all her potted plants carried in here, and after consulting with a few of London’s noted naturalists, he’d had quite a few more delivered. He didn’t understand their purpose or appeal, but Ninian’s fascinated wonderment was satisfaction enough.
“I wasn’t certain if the servants were keeping it warm enough,” he admitted as she continued her wordless examination from the settee.
“Oh my.” Ninian struggled to sit, accepting Drogo’s hand as she drank in the sights and smells of moist earth an
d green leaves. She clung to that strong hand as she stood and touched a fern. It was sending out new fronds—in the midst of winter.
Tightening her grip on his hand, uncertain if she dreamed or not, she brushed her fingers against the fragrant leaves of a bay bush. The aroma filled the air.
“I never imagined…” She didn’t even have the words as her gaze fell upon a rose bush with a single perfect pink bud. “My roses!”
“I told them to carry in the things you had at your grandmother’s. I wasn’t certain how they’d fare without you.”
Ninian thought she would cry. All this time, she’d thought he hadn’t noticed…
Blinking back tears, she gazed up through a watery film at this remarkable man who was her husband. His dark eyes held a hint of uncertainty, but otherwise, he maintained his usual stoic composure. She touched wondering fingers to his square jaw and caught a small smile curling the corner of his mouth.
“I didn’t think you meant to return me to Wystan.” She didn’t understand anything about this man. She searched his face for understanding now. “Why would you do this?”
“I thought we would come here in the summer, and these things seemed important to you.”
She didn’t know what to say. No one had given her such an astonishing gift before. She gazed up at the panes of glass overhead. She could see blue sky and puffs of clouds. It was like being outdoors, except warmer. Her gaze fell downward and swept the tiled floor, finding the secret tiles of moon and sun and stars. Those tiles were older than Ceridwen. They traced back through generations of Malcolm women. She was home.
“I can’t thank you enough,” she whispered. “I don’t even know how to begin to thank you.”
He drew her into his arms and rested his hands above the child she carried. “You have given me a greater gift. The plants are small in comparison.”
The bonds they had forged together tightened around her, frightening her more than a little. She was his as surely as this castle belonged to him. He’d bought her a pretty cage and fed her lovely treats and expected her to sing sweetly and remain loyally where he placed her. She had never asked for this.
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