Yet it meant a home for Liam, and that was more important than her soul.
“So be it,” she said with a sigh, as she always did.
3
“Och, so it’s Drew MacIntosh, is it?” The old woman in the healer’s shop cast a twinkling eye upon him. “And to what do I owe the pleasure today?”
He grinned, though that grin faltered in a moment’s time. “I’m afraid it’s a tonic I’ve come for. If ye are able to provide it, ye ken.”
“There has not yet been a condition or an ailment which my tonics could not mend,” the woman winked. “And ye well know it, man. What is it that troubles ye?”
“’Tis not for myself, but for another. A lass.”
The woman rewarded him with a sage nod. “Woman’s troubles, is it? Not to worry…”
“Nay, nay.” He stammered and knew he was blushing, fool that he was. He simply could not bring himself to discuss something so personal with a healer who, charming and winning though she was, happened to be little more than a stranger.
She waited, patient and alert. “Well, then? What can I provide?”
“I dinna know why ‘tis such a difficult thing to tell ye.”
“Why could she not come on her own?”
Why was this so impossible? He had suddenly forgotten how to form words. “She is indisposed at the moment. She is… with child.”
The woman’s snow-white brows knitted together over a long, thin nose. “I see. Ye are wishing for something to help her end this condition.”
His jaw all but hit the floor when it became clear what the woman had assumed. “Nay! Och, for the love of God. She is Davina MacIntosh, my cousin’s wife, and she is quite ill due to the bairn. His bairn. Not mine.” This was perhaps the greatest humiliation he’d ever known, and he’d known his share.
The woman’s eyes widened, a smile tugging at her thin mouth. “That is all? For heaven’s sake, Drew, ye need not have taken such pains. ‘Tis common enough, man! How far along is she?”
“Many moons, but this is not the normal illness. I know enough to know that women often feel ill when carrying a child. Nay, this is much more serious. She has taken to her bed and most days canna leave it. She hardly holds down the broths we press upon her, much less anything more than that.”
“I see.” She tapped her chin. “Aye, this is far more grave. I am pleased ye came to me, though I wish ye had thought of it before now. The poor thing could be spared this suffering. Rufus was correct in sending ye.”
He shuffled his feet, embarrassed yet again. “He didna send me. ‘Tis my doing alone.”
“And why is that? Why could your cousin not come on his wife’s behalf?”
“He didna think of it, and has been too concerned with a number of other matters to consider it. He does not much appreciate my telling him what he ought to do, either. Though I canna blame him.”
The healer snorted. “Few men do. Stubbornness, nothing more. It will take a bit of time to put the tonic together.”
“I have other purchases to see to in the village and can return before going home.” He left the shop moments later, glad to have the errand over with.
The truth of the matter was Rufus did not wish to take the chance of Davina using another tonic or tincture or anything which may cause more harm than good. He had little faith in what so many women who’d been through the house had to say. The lass ought to eat this. Nay, she ought to eat that. Teas made of foul-smelling herbs. Poultices applied to the soles of her feet which had done little more than further turn her stomach thanks to the stench.
It seemed that much of the ordeal involved unpleasant odors.
Oftentimes, the so-called treatments left poor Davina feeling worse than she had before putting them to use. He was not a cruel man—far from it, even if he had never been one to put much stake in emotions and the like.
Except anger. Anger, he understood.
The village of Avoch was chock full of people. Peddlers called out in hopes of capturing the attention of passersby. A group of men herded cattle down the center of the main road, leaving those on horseback or driving carts fleeing to the side to avoid being crushed. Children ran alongside the herd, calling out to each other and seeing which was brave enough to venture nearest the plodding hooves.
He smiled to himself in passing, recalling the times he’d done the same.
And knowing, naturally, that he would apply a switch to Owen’s backside if he ever did something so foolish. Lads were prone to such folly, and he supposed it was a natural part of life, but it was also a dangerous prospect.
He’d never forget the screams of his young friend, Niall—or of his poor mam—when he was crushed under the wheel of a cart after bedeviling the team pulling it by throwing stones their way. One of them had struck their mark and caused the driver to lose control when the team reacted in fear and charged toward the threat. A lad of no more than eight winters, who’d been able to dart out of the part of the team had been no match for the heavy wheel.
Twenty years had passed since that day, or roughly that many, and the memory still turned Drew’s stomach while gripping his heart. The screams…
He shook off the images as he stepped into the tavern, where dozens of men gathered for their midday meal and to exchange information. There were a few familiar faces inside, belonging to men hunched over bowls of stew or cold roast and cheese. He nodded their way before drawing up a chair at an empty table near the fire where he could warm his hands.
“Och, Drew!” One of the men called out from across the room. The smoke from the fire was thick enough that he could not see the face, but the voice sounded familiar. “How are the cattle at the farm? Have ye lost any as of late?”
“Nay, and thank the gods for that.” He tucked into a bowl of stew, reflecting on what a blessing it was that each head was accounted for. They’d lost nearly a dozen over the course of three months in spite of his every effort.
Though the arrival of the twins had somewhat drawn his attention away from the problem. Fortunate for him and the rest of the farm, the theft had ceased.
“Ye would be the only one,” another man shouted in reply, a note of disgust in his voice. “Cattle have been disappearing nearly every evening, sometimes two or three at once. It seems not a day passes when there is not a theft.”
“Reivers,” Drew snarled. Foul things. Taking what others had worked so hard to own. The backbreaking effort they’d put into bringing the farm back to life. The sweat and even blood they’d shed.
“If I ever found ‘em, I’d string ‘em up by their thieving necks,” one of the men grumbled, causing the others to grumble in agreement until the tavern seemed to shake from the sound.
He could only add his voice in agreement.
* * *
Hours later, Drew brought the team to a stop beside Rufus and Davina’s house. It sat nearest the road, at the end of a path leading from the stone wall bordering the land. He’d helped repair that very section of wall, along with so many others.
The cart was laden with the goods he’d traded for in the village, though there was one particular item he’d purchased with silver from his own sporran. If only he had a few moments alone with her, that he might repeat the instructions the healer had shared with him.
She was in bed, as ever, this time mending one of Rufus’s tunics. She smiled at his entrance. “I understand Clyde took the bairns home,” she explained. “He ordered me to rest in their absence, but I can only take so much resting.”
“Ye feel uneasy?”
“I feel as though I might crawl out of my own skin,” she admitted, putting the mending aside and stretching her fingers. “There are so many tasks to be seen to, and I am useless.”
“Ye are tending to another task,” he reminded her with a wink. “Which is why I’ve come to visit ye.”
“Not because ye wish to spend time with a bedridden woman?” She pushed her long braid over one shoulder before reaching out for the small bottle he
held out.
It only occurred to him just then that she might not accept this gift in the manner which he’d intended it.
“What is it?” She examined the unmarked bottle with a frown.
“’Tis a tonic which is supposed to aid ye.” He sat beside the bed, leaning in that he might keep his voice low. “I purchased it from the healer in Avoch. She made it especially for ye.”
“For me? Whatever for?”
“Because I asked her to.” The lass was determined to drive him mad with embarrassment. “I canna stand knowing ye suffer when there might be a way to avoid it. ‘Tis all. And I could very much use your assistance with the twins. When ye aren’t well, ye canna help me.”
She took this in with a blank expression, as though she could not understand.
“Do ye believe me to be unfeeling?” he finally asked, resigned.
“Nay, nay,” she murmured, shaking her head. “’Tis merely a kindness I had not expected. Especially as Rufus has already made known his feelings on it.”
“And what do ye feel about it? After all, ye have a say as well and dinna ever, ever tell him I came to ye and took your side, lass.”
She laughed behind her hand, eyes shining with the tears which welled there. “Thank ye,” she whispered once the laughter passed. “This… means quite a lot to me.”
He shifted in his seat. “Aye, well, I had better be off. Goods to unload, twins who need seeing to. Ye ought to rest whether ye wish it so or not. And take a slight sip of that after ye drink your broth.”
“Ye happen to be quite a fine man, Drew MacIntosh.” He turned in time to see her hold a finger to her lips. “And I will not tell a soul of it. We wouldn’t want to tarnish your reputation.”
He snickered, leaving the room. “Aye. We wouldn’t want that.”
“Wouldn’t want what?” Rufus closed the front door behind him before kicking off mud-caked shoes. “Would want the cart full of goods to be left sitting before the house?”
Drew rolled his eyes—knowing as he did that he was the only man who could get away with doing so. “I thought I might stop in and see to your wife before I went about unloading.”
“Dinna worry.” Rufus grinned. “I asked the hands to tend to it before going home. Ye took the trouble to drive to the village, after all—besides, I happened to pass your house on my way from the back fields and found Clyde walking about with one bairn hanging from each arm. I believe he could use a reprieve.”
Drew laughed. “Better him than myself sometimes.” Then, he recalled the conversation at the tavern—ruining his cousin’s good mood was hardly what he wanted to do, and he would’ve rather avoided it, but he needed to know.
“I’ll be sitting up tonight.”
Rufus looked up from where he’d bent to stoke the fire which warmed the house’s central room, where the cooking and dining and general living took place. It seemed rather empty with Davina quartered in her bedchamber, though there was at least a pot of strong broth and a loaf of fresh bread sitting beside it thanks to Innis’s ministrations. “Why is that? It didna seem as though the bairns were ill.”
“Nay. While I wouldn’t wish it so, I would still rather the truth not be what it is.” He let out a heavy sigh. “It seems the reivers are at it again. I had word of it in the village. I will not allow another single head of cattle to be removed from this farm. I swear it.”
Rufus swore under his breath. “Filthy, thieving bastards.”
“Aye.” Drew’s lip curled in a snarl. He could only imagine them, slipping through the shadows, laughing to themselves over how simple it was to steal from a slumbering farm. They would receive the surprise of their lives when they found themselves facing him.
As other men already had. Fortunate some of them were that they’d lived to tell the tale.
4
The night air was damp, chill, causing Anne’s breath to hang about her in a cloud thicker than usual.
Curse it. The cloud of breath gave away her position, wherever she happened to be. Little chance of hiding successfully when one’s breath floated around them. She might breathe behind her hands to conceal what she could, though little good that would do once it came time to lead the cattle away.
She could have brought a scarf to put over her face, but what good would that do when the cattle would be breathing, too. And heavily like as not. It would give them away in a heartbeat.
Malcolm would not wish to hear of it. He would only wish to know why she had failed to complete the task he’d set out for her.
And woe to her if she provided an answer which did not suit him.
She clutched the edges of her thin, dark cloak about her as she walked her spotted gray mare down the narrow, winding road which cut through the woods bordering MacIntosh land. Maebe was a fine companion, sweet and true and patient, and she did not protest these late-night rides through dark, treacherous territory.
An apple or carrot tended to sway her in the direction of Anne’s needs.
At that moment, Maebe picked her careful way through the unlit woods with Anne on her back. The sky was thick with clouds and made it nearly impossible to see which way was which.
“Good girl,” she murmured, patting the mare’s neck as she stepped expertly over a fallen log which blocked the road. More like a path, truly, overgrown and narrow. She wondered how she’d manage to lead frightened beasts through this wilderness and simply decided she must trust that it would be so.
For though she was well aware of the wrong in what she did, the Good Lord seemed to smile upon her efforts time and again. Perhaps because He knew she did not steal for the thrill of it, like the others in the family. She did not pick pockets, slit the straps of sporrans, did not even go so far as to slip into the homes of her victims and take their candlesticks, their little bits of finery, while they slept their innocent slumber.
There was no thrill in this for her. There was only a sense of dread. She knew what she needed to do and why it had to be done.
For Liam. Everything for Liam. Second to him came herself, and she preferred her back unscarred. Malcolm had laid the strap to her three times over the years. Only three, and always while she was fully clothed so as to avoid marking her too badly.
He may have been a brute, callous and deceitful, but he was not completely without a heart.
Yet there was only so far he could be tested before one pushed him too far. She’d seen him lose control of his temper in the time it took to bat an eyelash. She hadn’t borne the brunt of that temper. Yet.
And she had no intention of ever doing so.
If only the moon would provide a little light! The thick, heavy clouds refused to part. At least the darkness would conceal her breath and her movements, but what good would that do if she somehow became lost?
She straightened her spine. Only bairns and weak, simple women allowed panic to take hold during situations such as this. Panic would make it all but certain that she’d become lost or make a mistake that would ruin her chances of success. This was hardly her first nighttime excursion. In fact, she’d lost count of how many times she’d done this, riding throughout the night and arriving home with the first suggestion of light touching the sky.
She’d done it in worse conditions, too. Rain was normally a nightmare, turning solid ground to a mass of sucking, slippery mud which made it difficult enough to travel on horseback, let alone while leading one or more plodding, anxious beasts who would much rather be warm and dry in their barn.
As if she, too, would not prefer being safe and warm.
Somehow, she’d proven herself to be the most daring and adept at reiving. They’d all tried their hand at it and some, like her, still performed regularly. They could not match her for always returning home with a prize. Some were forced to flee after alerting those inside the house. Others found it impossible to force the cattle from their stalls—too tense, anxious, their attitude clear for the animals to sense and shy away from.
If only the rain wo
uld hold off until she’d made it at least partway home.
She broke through the tree line just on the outside of the stone wall bordering the farm. Even in the moonless night, it was clear how much work had been done to the place since her most recent visit. Two of the outer buildings which had been crumbling to the ground were gone, and in their place were sturdier structures. The thick, choking weeds which had grown in that area were no longer there, telling her this corner of the farm was not as seldom visited as it had once been.
She’d chosen this place for her entry with its former disrepair in mind, but had been proven wrong. Drat. She gritted her teeth and dismounted, choosing to lead Maebe now, rather than making herself more visible in the saddle.
It did not appear as though anyone was awake or about the place. A good sign. She continued at a slow pace, watching intently, waiting for signs of life.
As far as she knew, judging from the silence which hung about the place like the breath hanging about her head, none of the MacIntoshes or their hands were aware of her presence. Would that this remained the case.
Only when she came to a stop near the one remaining patch of crumbled wall—yes, they had indeed finished quite a lot of work, as much of the rear wall had been a crumbling mess on prior visits—did she hear a footstep behind her.
Drat!
She froze, casting a look to Maebe from the corner of her eye. The mare heard it too, of course, her ears pointing back in the direction from which the light sound had come. Perspiration beaded on the back of Anne’s neck, and her sweat-slick palms nearly lost hold of the reins.
She took both in her left hand, the cloak concealing her movements, and reached for the dirk tucked into her belt. If it was a fight they wanted, it was a fight she’d give them. The sound had come from a place too close to where she stood. She had little chance of fleeing on foot unless she wounded her attacker.
Highland Temptations: Boxed Set: Books 1-3 Page 39
