Mari felt strangely lightheaded—so different from when Nicholas had done almost the same thing—and she wrapped arms around Jamie’s neck to hold on. Mercy. The man certainly knew how to—
“Ewww! They’re kissing,” one of the twins said, while the other one giggled.
Mari’s eyes flew open. The twins stood not far away, engaging in fits of laughter. She tried to push away from Jamie, but he didn’t completely release her. Instead, he gave Caitlin and Caylin a firm look.
“If ye have nothing better to do with yer time than spy on us, I believe there are stalls to muck out when we get home,” he said.
Their eyes became owl-sized as they looked at each other and then, of one accord, they turned and ran back up the hill toward the village.
Mari made an attempt at straightening her skirt, not sure where to look. How embarrassing. Her face was probably beet red.
As if he understood, Jamie placed a finger under her chin and forced her to look at him. “’Tis most enjoyable kissing ye.” He sighed. “We had best go, though, since I am sure the wee hellions will be telling all sorts of tales to my sisters.”
Mari did not think her face could get any hotter, but Jamie just grinned, his dimple showing. “’Tis nae to be ashamed of, lass,” he said and then leaned forward to place a gentle kiss on her forehead before he stood and held out his hand. “Then again, we dinnae want Fiona to hear too grand a story either.”
To her relief, the twins were subdued by the time she and Jamie reached the village. Shauna gave the girls a warning look, making both of them squirm. Although Fiona’s eyes were bright with questions, she glanced at Shauna and kept silent.
Luckily, the presence of the driver prevented any personal comments on the ride back to the castle, which was fine with Mari. Her own emotions were in a tangle over what had taken place.
But those emotions were quickly thrust aside as the carriage rattled through the gates and Darcy came running out, holding her skirts high as she pelted toward them.
“Thank the Lord ye are home,” she said.
“What is it? What is wrong?” Mari asked as Jamie leapt out of the carriage and helped her down. “Is Jillian worse?”
The maid nodded tearfully, trying to catch her breath. “She began bleeding something fierce—”
Mari did not wait for Darcy to finish as she hiked her own skirts and raced toward the massive front door, Jamie close on her heels.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Mari practically bowled over the servant who opened the door for her and bolted for the stairs, taking them two at a time, not caring at all that it probably was not ladylike. She nearly collided with a distraught Ian pacing the hall in front of Jillian’s bedchamber.
“Ye canna go in there,” he said as she reached for the door knob.
Mari glared at him. She was not in the mood for any MacLeod bossiness at the moment. “Jillian is my sister.”
“And I am her husband. The midwife ordered me out, and Bridget threatened to plant a boot on my arse if I didnae leave. ’Tis too crowded, they said.”
“Go,” Jamie said from behind her as he put a restraining hand on Ian’s shoulder. “’Tis nae men they want in the room.”
Mari gave him a brief nod and slipped through the door and then nearly collapsed at the scene in front of her. Bright red splotches of blood splattered the crisp white linens everywhere. Her stomach began to churn.
“If ye are going to swoon, out with ye!” the midwife snapped. “I’ve nae the time to tend ye.”
Mari swallowed the bile in her throat and took a deep breath. The sight of blood was not going to make her swoon—although there was so much of it. She did not need medical training to know this was a bad situation.
Jillian held out a hand weakly. Mari inhaled deeply once more and moved forward to grasp her sister’s hand in both of hers. “You are going to be all right,” she said with as much confidence as she could muster, though even to her ears it sounded inane. Jillian was certainly not all right.
Bridget gave Mari a worried look as she dabbed Jillian’s forehead with a cool cloth. “’Tis good ye returned. Is Jamie with Ian?”
“Yes. They were both in the hall.”
“Tell Ian not to worry—” Jillian whispered and then grimaced grotesquely.
Mari clutched Bridget’s other arm. “How much pain is she in? Is she—”
“’Tis just the birthing pains,” the midwife said as she pulled a chair close to the bed and draped a fresh sheet over Jillian’s raised knees. “Ye must push.”
Jillian grimaced again and then grunted, closing her eyes as her head fell back on the damp pillowcase.
“How can you ask her to push when she is so weak?” Mari asked. “You cannot expect her to—”
“If she dinnae push, the bairn will die. If it does nae come out, yer sister will bleed to death,” the midwife said grimly.
Mari felt Effie’s hand on her shoulder. “She is right. Perhaps you should wait outside with the MacLeods.”
“No.”
“We all know what we are doing,” Effie replied. “Not much else can be done.”
“I can pray.” Mari felt the slightest pressure from Jillian’s hand and returned the squeeze. “I am not leaving, but I promise not to get in your way.”
“Then take this,” Bridget said as she handed Mari the damp cloth. “Keep bathing her forehead while I help with the birthing.”
The next few minutes seemed like hours. Bridget crawled into the bed behind Jillian, bracing her in a sitting position so she could push better. Effie stood by, holding what looked like handfuls of moss and leaves while the midwife’s hands were under the draped sheet—God only knew what she was doing, but Jillian alternately groaned and whimpered. Mari bit her lip to stay quiet. She had to trust the midwife knew what she was doing since the physician had not yet arrived.
Jillian suddenly screamed, the sound rending the air like a cat whose tail had been stepped on. A distinct baby’s cry followed just as the door was flung open and Ian burst through.
“Ye are killing my wife!” he said, taking in the sight and then lurched toward the wall, his face white as fresh milk as he slumped down.
“Men,” Effie muttered.
“’Tis better he passed out,” Bridget said a minute later as she took charge of cleaning the bairn. “He would just be in the way.”
“I have nae time to look after him,” the midwife said as she began stuffing the mossy substance Effie handed her between Jillian’s legs. “I must get the bleeding to stop.”
Mari concentrated on bathing Jillian’s face and neck, praying the entire time that her sister would not bleed to death. She was only vaguely aware when Jamie entered the room, quickly retreating with a shaky Ian.
Finally, the midwife stood and crossed Jillian’s legs, binding them together with a piece of linen. “I think the bleeding has stopped, but ye must lie still.”
“My baby?” Jillian asked.
Bridget brought the bairn over. “A healthy, bonnie lass. Ye did well.”
Jillian lifted a hand to stroke the tiny fingers that flailed. “She is beautiful,” she said, a small smile on her lips, and then she fell into exhausted sleep.
“Ye are going to wear holes in Bridget’s prize carpet,” Jamie said, watching Ian pace in front of the desk in the library, “and right now it would nae be wise risking her wrath.”
Ian stopped and ran a hand though his already tousled hair. “Christ. How can any woman bear so much pain?”
Jamie didn’t ask for clarification since Jillian was the only person on Ian’s mind. With so much blood spattered over the bed, her bedchamber had looked like a battlefield, and the glimpse he’d had of her face was no less haggard than that of any wounded soldier. “The important thing is she lives.”
“No thanks to me.” Ian resumed pacing. “I passed out like some green lad at his first battle. ’Tis nae like I havena seen blood before.”
“Ye expect men to be bloodied w
hen they fight. ’Tis different when it is a woman.”
“’Tis my fault she had to suffer so. I got her with child.”
Jamie raised a brow. “I dinnae think she minded that part.”
Ian paused and almost smiled and then shook his head as he sank into an empty armchair. “I canna get her with child again.”
“Jillian being with child was nae the problem. ’Twas the fall she took and lying in the cold all night. Ye remember the doctor said her insides were damaged, and he didnae ken if the bairn would even survive.”
“She shouldna have been out that night. I told her ne’er to leave without an escort.”
Jamie grinned. “Since when do either of the Barclay women listen to what they are told?”
Ian did manage to smile at that. “Aye, but her spirit is one of the things I love about her.”
“Spirit? More like stubbornness. I swear, Mari is going to make my head go grey before its time.” Although she certainly had not resisted his kissing her. Mayhap they should indulge the practice.
“If anything good came of that night, it was finding out about our uncle’s plan to waylay the countess.” Ian said, breaking into Jamie’s thoughts of where he could waylay Mari for another kiss.
“A plan thwarted, thank God, by the blizzard.”
“Aye, but nae forgotten. Duncan and Broc bear watching.”
“That they do,” Jamie said and remembered Mari had told him Jillian suspected the men had wanted her to follow them. “We must take care.”
“Ye be taking a care now that ye do naw drop the wee one,” Darcy said as she descended the stairs behind Mari. “Be sure ye protect the babe’s head.”
Mari tucked the soft woolen blanket around her precious bundle and smiled at Darcy’s presumptuousness. The maid did not have any more experience handling babies than Mari did, but to appease Darcy for being left out of the birthing room—heaven only knew what kind of a scene that would have been—Bridget had appointed Darcy the baby’s nanny. Darcy had lifted her chin and smiled smugly while Effie scowled. Bridget quickly had reminded Effie her skills were needed in helping Jillian recuperate, causing Effie to lift her own chin and gloat.
But both maids seemed content with their roles, and Mari was beginning to think Bridget was a miracle worker.
They approached the library where Mari could hear Ian talking to Jamie. Before she could knock, Darcy opened the door and stepped inside. “Ye can see yer daughter now,” she announced, sounding for all the world like she was in charge.
Both men fell silent as Mari stepped through the door. Jamie’s golden eyes widened slightly, and Mari supposed she did look a little strange, holding a baby in her arms. Suddenly, she felt shy, remembering the kiss earlier and how she had responded to him. She turned quickly to Ian.
“Do you want to hold your daughter?”
A look of trepidation swept across his face as he stepped closer. “I dinnae want to drop the bairn.”
“She will naw break,” Daisy said authoritatively.
“She is such a wee thing,” Ian replied, tentatively brushing the baby’s hand with his, but not making a move to take the child.
Jamie came to stand behind him, looking only a bit less apprehensive.
Mari bit her lip to keep from laughing. Imagine the two large MacLeod men, fearless in fighting and able to brandish claymores that weighed almost as much as she did, yet here they were—both of them afraid of a tiny baby.
For heaven’s sake. Obviously, she would have to take charge. Mari thrust the baby at Ian who instinctively put out his arms to grasp it, the expression on his face changing from terror to incredulousness when he realized he was holding a bairn—his bairn. She covered a smile with her hand and glanced at Jamie, who was staring at her with the strangest look on his face.
A look that gave her delightful shivers and had nothing to do with fathers and babies.
Three mornings later, Mari rested her arms on the paddock fence, watching two of Jillian’s prize Andalusian mares nuzzling their respective foals. It seemed all the mothers and babies were doing fine. The doctor had arrived shortly after Jillian gave birth—too late, Effie had muttered—but he declared the midwife had done all the right things and Jillian was on her way to recovery. Luckily for the doctor, Ian was enthralled with his infant daughter and spared the man a stern lecture on not being there sooner.
Mari lifted her face to catch the warmth of the wintery sun. Most of the snow had melted, thanks to some unusually warm, thawing temperatures, and it felt good to be outside. Jamie and Brodie had ridden into Glenfinnan earlier to collect supplies, and Jillian was comfortably settled in the solar with baby Rose, the twins and her sisters-by-marriage competing with Effie and Darcy for turns holding the baby. Mari smiled to herself. She doubted anyone even realized when she slipped out to get some fresh air. Maybe she should grasp the opportunity to go for a walk.
“I dinnae think ye would care for horses.”
Mari jumped at the sound of Broc’s voice behind her. One of the mares raised her head anxiously, nostrils flaring as she scented the air and then nudged her foal to move farther away.
“You startled me.”
Broc merely shrugged. “’Tis wise to be aware of yer surroundings.” He gestured toward the horses. “The clan was pleased with the fine dowry Ian brought home.”
Mari was about to retort the horses were not a dowry, but Jillian’s pride and joy, but she decided against it. With the baby’s birth, Broc and his brother could no longer deny Jillian’s place. Perhaps Mari could convince them not all English were bad. Horses seemed a safe subject.
“I used to be a little afraid of horses, but Jamie taught me to ride in Hyde Park. I find I actually enjoy it now.”
Broc gave her an appraising look. “’There is an abandoned croft nae far from here and two more down by the glen. ’Tis only a trail too narrow for a carriage that leads to them, but ye could ride there.” He paused, his eyes narrowing a bit. “That is, if ye were truthful in your talk of wanting to ken about the Clearances. Ye could see for yerself.”
“I would like to see them. I will ask Jamie to take me when he returns,” Mari replied, glad that Broc was actually conversing with her. “I meant every word I said. It was horrible of King George to threaten to take the lands away and to raise taxes so high that families had to leave.”
“Aye,” he answered and then looked across the bailey to where Duncan was gesturing for him. “I must go, but there is nae reason for ye to wait for Jamie to return. ’Tis a fine day for a ride, and there are nae highwaymen about in these parts. Ye can pick up the trail just outside the gates. Along the way ye can truly see what the Scots have suffered.”
Mari watched him leave. Broc had actually been pleasant. Maybe Rose’s birth was a real turning point for everyone. She hoped so.
She looked at the castle. Having spent most of the past week inside the stone walls, she was not ready to go back. Mari looked at the sky—clear blue except for a faint line of grey forming along the horizon. Based on the small drop in the barometer Shane kept at the castle, Ian had warned another storm was likely on the way, which was why Brodie and Jamie had ridden in for supplies. Mari really did want to see those empty crofts. They sounded like the same ones Shauna had mentioned the day they’d talked. And it would give her conversation to share with both Duncan and Broc. If she went today, before more snow arrived, they would know she was sincere. Briefly, she thought about asking Ian to accompany her, but since he’d spent so much time caring for Jillian, he had accounts and business to take care of, and she would only be gone an hour or two. She was hardly likely to be accosted on what would be little more than a deer trail.
Mari made up her mind. Why not take advantage of the good weather and go for that ride?
Half an hour later, Mari almost giggled as she nudged the aging gelding into a faster walk outside the gates. Her escape—as she was beginning to think of it—had been surprisingly easy. No one had been about when she’d
gone to change into the riding habit with its split skirt. Her story that she needed a bit of exercise and fresh air went over easily with the young lad who saddled her horse—especially since she’d brought one of the cook’s freshly baked scones with her. Apparently, Jamie’s edict of needing an escort hadn’t reached the stable boys. She’d made sure to pull the tartan well over her blonde curls in case the guards had been notified not to allow her out, but the ancient battlement over the portcullis was empty.
Mari breathed in the crisp air. It seemed colder than it had been earlier, but that was probably because she was not longer inside the bailey shielded from the wind. The important thing was that she was free for the afternoon. No one following her, no one ordering her about—just free to go.
The trail had been easy enough to find. It was the same one Jillian had followed on that ill-fated night, and Mari found the first croft quickly. Most of the thatch had blown off the roof of the cottage, but an assortment of rotted furniture still remained, a sign that whoever had lived here had left with very little. Inside the little lean-to, she found a spade and hoe as well as a wood-handled hand plow with its curved blade rusted. Jillian had probably cut her hand on it, causing the infection that had nearly taken her life. Mari decided once Jamie got back, she would ask him to have someone remove the tools.
Going outside, she looked at the sky. Although fluffy clouds now partially shaded the sun, it hadn’t moved far, which meant she still had enough time to ride down to the glen. It couldn’t be more than a kilometer or two away.
She turned the horse back on the deer trail that began to wind its way around craggy boulders as the path descended to the valley below. The slope was not particularly steep, but it did twist and turn a lot, sometimes with rather narrow ledges that dropped off to rugged ravines. Mari began to understand how Jillian had tripped and fallen, especially in the dark. Still, the gelding seemed surefooted, and there really was only one path to follow.
Eventually, the terrain leveled off, giving way to smaller jutting rocks and prickly hedge-row and then bracken and tall ferns as the trail led through a sparse forest of conifers interpersed with beech and rowan. The white bark of beech contrasted with the dark green of firs, while the golden leaves and red berries of the rowan gave wonderful color. Somewhere close, Mari could hear the bubbling of a burn that had not yet frozen over. Mari was beginning to see why Scotland appealed to Jillian.
Rogue of the Isles Page 21
