by Mary McCall
Hope and Angel squealed and sprang up from the floor on the far side of the high table then ran toward them.
"Papa and Uncle Duncan,” Angel joyfully cried.
"You are home!” Hope added.
The twins threw themselves at Logan. He caught them each in an arm and twirled them about as they giggled with delight. “What are my two squirrels doing here?"
"We are stayin’ out of Alera's way,” Hope answered.
"Cause of she is not a mother,” Angel added.
"So she don't got the knack of us yet."
Duncan chuckled. He could imagine Alera trying to keep up with a Gaelic conversation from this pair. They wouldn't understand that she couldn't speak with them. These wee gossipers would keep right on talking. “Have you two scamps seen Megan?"
"She was plumb puggled,” Hope supplied with a serious expression.
"So Alera has her napping on my pallet.” Angel tugged her papa's hair, so he would look to her side. “Did you know Alera is special?"
Hope tugged her papa's hair, so he would turn back. “She skips the Good Lord and talks straight to Almighty God."
"Let go of my hair, lassies, before you pull it out,” Logan ordered, smiling.
Angel smoothed his long auburn mane back in place. “She is going to tell Him that all the Ranald women need an extra century in Purgatory."
"Cause of they're hateful heathen she-dogs,” Hope added with a nod, indicating she agreed.
"She said what!” The muscle flexed in Duncan's cheek. Birgit and Ardra stopped working and glared at the insult. Damn it all, he would have a female rebellion on his hands by sundown. Wait, how had the twins understood a word Alera spoke? “Logan, have you been teaching the twins Eng—"
Geddes stepped inside the rear door, oblivious to the tension. “Well thank Saint Ninian, you're back. I did not expect Kevin to find you so fast."
"He did not find us.” Duncan fisted his hands to restrain his ire. “We had a change in plans. Why did you send him?"
"Marcail fell out."
Logan froze, still holding the twins. His face drained of color.
"Alera said Mam might die,” Hope whispered.
"Alera is Mam's special gift from the Good Lord,” Angel added. “So we must not be afraid."
"That is why Henry would not help Alera escape,” Hope said.
"Cause of he knew Mam needs her.” Angel hugged her papa's neck tighter.
"We're ‘posed to pray very hard for Mam."
"And Alera has given her Henry till the birthin'."
"She is in a bad way, Logan,” Geddes said, breaking off the twin's flow. “Lady Alera found her senseless about mid-morn and is tending her now."
Duncan took his nieces from Logan, who barreled out the door. Then he handed the twins to Geddes and took off after his brother.
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Twelve
Duncan cleared the forest trail behind Logan. Alera stepped out of the cottage, holding a laundry basket against her hip. She set the basket by her feet and held out her arms, signaling them to stop.
"Halt right there and keep quiet,” she ordered in a stern hushed voice.
"What is wrong with Marcial?” Logan called.
"Shh!” Alera moved to block his passage. “Marcail sleeps and does not need any excitement."
"What happened to her?” Duncan asked, grabbing Logan from behind when he reached for Alera to push her aside.
Her stern expression crumbled. “Marcail is extremely ill, and she fainted.” She looked at Logan. “I know you wish to see her, but let me speak with you first. Craig is sitting with her and will call out if she wakes."
Logan gave Alera a curt nod. Duncan released him.
"Come and sit with me.” Alera led Logan by the arm to a couple of smoothed off stumps and pushed him down on one. Then she grabbed Duncan's hand and drew him down beside her on another.
She laced her fingers through his as if she would draw upon his strength. He gently squeezed her hand as a possessive wave surged through him. Here he thought she was enjoying a day away from chores, but instead, she was dealing with the one thing he knew she dreaded above all else. Suffering. And she was right. His clanswomen were hateful not to have helped Marcail.
Alera cleared her throat then looked at Logan. “Marcail has had belly pains off and on for a couple of months. She did not tell you because she did not want you fretting. She has been taking an herbal to keep from losing the bairns. But all this swelling is dangerous. She has some rattling in her chest. ‘Tis..."
She wiped a hand across her brow. Then she looked back at Logan and squeezed Duncan's hand until he thought she might snap his fingers. “I have dealt with this a few times. I know no way to soften the truth."
"Just say what I need to hear,” Logan said.
Duncan slipped an arm around Alera, and she leaned against him. “'Tis unusual for both the mother and the bairn to survive, though I have seen that happen once."
Logan blanched. “Oh God, nay!"
"What can we do to help, Alera?” Duncan asked.
"Marcail must stay abed and rest until the birthing. Her risk is higher, because she is having twins again."
"Saint Columba, she did not tell me,” Logan lamented, shaking his head in disbelief and fear.
"You have an important decision to make, Logan.” Alera's voice crackled. “You must decide who is more important—Marcail or the bairns. ‘Tis unlikely you will keep them all."
"'Tis no choice to make,” Logan said. “Marcail is mine."
Alera nodded once. “Then I will try to help you keep her. I promised her I would tend her chores until her mother comes.” She looked at Duncan and toughened her tone. “You will allow me this duty, Duncan. I'll not allow Marcail to harm herself further."
He gave her a quick squeeze. “I'll not be trying to stop you, lass."
"I am going inside now.” Logan stood.
Alera rose and placed a hand on his arm. “Please try not to wake her. I gave her a potion to help her rest. She should wake naturally in a few hours. I am going to the stream to wash these last few things. When I return, I will cook your dinner."
Logan entered the cottage, leaving Duncan alone with Alera. She crossed over and picked up the laundry basket. Something was different about the lass, but he wasn't...
"You're speaking Gaelic,” Duncan accused.
She raised a lofty brow. “There is an old Latin saying. When in Rome, do as the—"
"Why and when did you learn?” He folded his arms over his chest and peered at her suspiciously.
Alera shrugged then lifted her chin and peered at him down the length of her dainty nose. “In England, women take care of each other. And when a woman leaves her family behind to join her husband, we throw a celebration and welcome her to her new home. Even if she is Scot. ‘Tis something we both have cause to think on, Laird Ranald."
Duncan narrowed his eyes. There was more to the lass speaking Gaelic than she let on. Her tone sounded somewhat stilted as if she hadn't spoken the language in a while, but her burr lilted as if ingrained. He would have to use canniness to get it out of her. The lass was as stubborn as a Highlander about secrets. “I'll get some of the women to help with the chores."
"Do you not like your brother's wife, Duncan?"
"Of course I do!” He glared, letting her know how such impudence
displeased him.
"Then I will do the chores. Your clanswomen are mean to Marcail. I'll not let them upset her."
"'Twould not be a problem if they had a Lady Ranald to guide them."
"That sounds like pestering, and my month is not up. For that remark, I demand an extra day or a new pair of shoes.” She turned and walked toward the path to the stream, calling over her shoulder, “I will be gracious and let you decide."
"Only wives can make demands,” he called after her retreating back.
She snorted and disappeared down the trail.
Duncan shook
his head and entered the cottage. Brews steeped on the far counter, where Alera was making potions. The pungent odor of medicinals lingered about the outer chamber. His gut twisted. For the rest of his life he would associate that smell with the lingering death of his father after an English sword pierced the elder's gut.
Megan rested on a pallet by the hearth, her new rag doll tucked under her arm. He gazed down on her sleeping so peacefully. Her bruises faded more each day, and her flesh filled out, taking on a healthy hue. He again thanked the Almighty for sending Alera to give him back his daughter.
He found Logan sitting at the bedside with Craig in his lap. The lad sniffed and wiped his sleeve over his face. Logan's eyes glistened as he gazed at Marcail in the faint candlelight and held one of her swollen hands in his. She lay against pillows cushioned behind her back, propped on her side. Dark circles shadowed her eyes, accentuating her pasty complexion.
Duncan felt choked at the sight. He held a true fondness for Logan's wife. “I didn't know Marcail was this bad,” he whispered. “I should never have let her talk me out of sending some of the clanswomen to help."
"The Good Lord sent me help, Duncan.” Marcail slowly opened her eyes. “Just do not tell my help I am awake."
Duncan favored Marcail with a mock scowl. “If you were not so ill, I would order Logan to beat you for not telling us how sick you are."
"He wouldn't do it.” A tired smile lit her amber eyes.
"You think not, woman,” Logan said sternly. “I would do it without an order if I were not so afraid ‘twould kill you."
"You still would not beat me, Logan Ranald, because I am yours."
Logan grunted and nodded once. “Damn right."
"Do you want me to send for Lady MacPherson, Logan?” Duncan asked.
"Not yet, Duncan,” Marcail answered for her husband. “I do not want Mam fretting, and the pains have stopped. Alera said if I make it through the night with no more pains, then I might last a week or two."
Logan caressed her cheek. “Why did you not tell me you were having twins again?"
"You know why.” Marcail cast her eyes upon Craig, indicating she wouldn't say more on the topic in front of the lad. “I want you to know, Logan, that our son has been brave today. He was handy, too."
"I do not want you to die, Mam.” Craig sniffed then gulped back tears.
Marcail caressed his cheek. “I happen to know for a fact that I'll not die. Alera is too obstinate to let me. The Good Lord knows she is as stubborn as...my Uncle Julien. Where is she?"
"At the stream doing the laundry,” Duncan answered.
"She is a wonder and cleans like a spring gale. I have never seen anyone with quite so much energy—except my mother.” Marcail turned resolute eyes toward Duncan. “You better take good care of her, Duncan Ranald. Because if you ever hurt her, I'll get my whip and thrash you good.” She yawned and her eyelids drooped. “I am glad I finally met her. It seems like I have looked forward to her arrival all my life."
"We'll leave you to your rest now,” Logan said gruffly. “You just remember who you belong to."
A smile twitched Marcail's lips. “I promise to remember if you keep the same thing in mind."
"Minx.” Logan gave her a quick kiss on the mouth.
"Can I stay with Mam?” Craig asked. “It be my job. Alera said so."
"Well, if Alera said so, then you'd best not leave.” As he stood, Logan gave Craig's shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Your uncle and I will be right outside if you need aught."
The men left the cottage and walked toward the forest edge well away from the entrance.
"Oh, God.” Logan rubbed his hands upward over his face in a frustrated gesture. “Duncan, I cannot stand the thought of losing her. She has to pull through this."
"I'll send for Lady MacPherson if you wish, but I put faith in Alera."
"Do you truly think she can handle this? She seems so young."
"Alera would tell us if Marcail's condition was beyond her skills to handle. She did heal Megan—and Struan. Even Lady MacPherson could not help him."
"Aye, you're probably right. She has Marcail resting well enough.” Logan raked his fingers through his hair. “I just do not like to feel so powerless."
"Papa!” Hope came running toward the men.
"We're home!” Angel called from behind her sister.
"Is Mam better now?"
"We want our story."
Logan caught his two girls and hugged them close. “Shh. Mam is sleeping. You may not get a story today."
"I hope ‘tis all right that I brought them back, Logan,” Geddes called
to them from the trail. “I wish to head out after Kevin, and the women have disappeared from the hall."
"'Tis fine, Geddes,” Logan replied. “My thanks for all your help with Marcail."
"The one to thank is Lady Alera.” Geddes chuckled. “She told your hard-headed wife that if she didn't follow orders, she would tie Marcail down and make her rest. Then the lady took over your home and went about tending Marcail as if she were a long lost sister."
"Alera hates suffering. She has a soft heart,” Duncan said, deciding he approved of this flaw.
"Aye, she is a fine lady, laird,” Geddes said. “Told me not to call her a lady, though. Said she did not deserve the title anymore."
Duncan scowled. “She is Lady Ranald by my word. She'll be addressed as such."
"Aye, I know. The lady seems slow catching on.” Geddes grinned. “Said she was canceling her escape plans to take care of Marcail."
Damn it all! He'd tie her to his side the second Marcail was through this. “She'll understand soon."
Geddes squinted up at the sky then nodded. “I best get after Kevin. I'll see you both later.” He left back down the forest trail toward the keep.
"Did you know Alera has an aunt with my name?” Hope asked.
"Grandma will keep quiet, but Grandpa will tell,” Angel said.
Hope smirked at her sister. “Angel jumped in the stream."
Angel glared back. “You pushed me."
"Alera saved her,” Hope added.
"Uncle Duncan, Mam says you want Alera,” Angel announced.
"Alera says you only want her for a salve,” Hope stated.
"Mam agreed not to tell you, but she's got mischief,” Angel volunteered.
"Mam said Alera should tell before you finds out,” Hope said.
"Alera got upset cause of she almost wed her cousin,” Angel put in.
"Mam is going to roast Uncle Leo's cursed rump for not recognizing her,” Hope declared.
"Alera has the cursed bloody blue eyes of a Highland heathen,” Angel said.
"She got ‘em from her mama,” Hope added.
"Her mama is Mam's aunt. Is that not funny?” Angel asked.
"Her name was Bradana."
"Uncle Julien is going to make Alera marry you, Uncle Duncan."
Hope snorted and looked at Angel as if she were daft. “Only if he finds out she is here."
Angel nodded. “I forgot. Alera might get to Aunt Toril."
"Uncle Julien will do anything Aunt Toril says."
Duncan's jaw went slack at the twins’ disclosure.
"Stop your chattering, squirrels,” Logan ordered. “And do not repeat a word of what you just said to anyone else. Now go down by the stream and help Alera with the laundry.” He set the girls on the ground and let them kiss his cheeks.
"I'll make sure Angel does not get wet again, Papa,” Hope promised.
"I only got wet cause of you pushed me,” Angel grumbled as she followed her sister down the trail leading to the stream.
Duncan watched the twins scamper off through narrowed eyes. So his lass was a Highlander, was she?
Logan raised a brow. “She is a MacKay, Duncan. What are you going to do?"
"That depends on Alera.” Duncan looked at his brother. “If she does not agree to wed me on her own soon, then I'll speak with The MacKay. In the meantime, I don't wi
sh either Marcail or Alera to learn we know."
"Are you sure you still want her? If she lies about her mother, she'll lie about other things,” Logan cautioned.
"She is mine, Logan.” Duncan smiled. “Besides, Alera did not lie. She said her mother was the bastard daughter of a noble warrior. She just left out that he was a Highlander."
"She'll not agree, Duncan,” Logan said in a certain tone.
Duncan gave him a sharp look. “You think not?"
"Nay.” Logan let a slow grin cross his lips. “She is as stubborn as Uncle Julien."
Duncan slammed a palm against his forehead. “And has more energy than Marcail's mother. Your wife was baiting me."
"Better you than a wolf or a boar,” Logan retorted.
The men laughed.
"Alera told me boar bait was a game she heard of as a child.” Duncan shook his head at his own folly. “She always wanted to play, but her papa wouldn't let her. With those eyes, I should have made the connection. Bradana probably raised her on tales of Lady MacPherson."
"Well you had best hope she didn't raise her on tales of her Aunt Toril, too. That Viking lass went after bears until The MacKay claimed her."
"Papa!” Angel's yell reached them.
"Uncle Duncan!” Hope screamed, as they burst into the clearing.
"Come quick!"
"They are going to kill Alera!"
Alera twisted water from the last garment and placed it with the other bundles in the basket for hanging after she returned to the cottage. She rubbed her aching lower back then stood on her toes and arched, releasing a long sigh.
The hairs at her nape stood on end. A sense of foreboding made her frown. The feeling was too strong. Someone stalked her. She glanced around
but saw no threat.
No need to take chances. She bent to lift the basket. Someone grabbed her bound hair and jerked her backward. Hands seized her arms. A fist slammed into her jaw.
Coming out of a daze, Alera recognized Brigit's frigid gray eyes sneering at her while Ardra and another woman held her arms.
"You thieving Sassenach bitch!” the woman snarled. “You're no better than a dung heap, enticing our laird into sin. We will see how much he wants you when you're all cut up.” She waved a dirty dagger in an arch before Alera.
