“You’ve made a conquest,” India teased her maid servant.
“Hummph,” Meggie replied, but she smiled.
Just before Christmas it snowed. They awoke to find the white flakes swirling about the lodge. Diarmid found a Yule log for them in the nearby forest, and dragged it into the little house on Christmas Eve, setting it in the fireplace where it burned merrily for almost two days. They took turns telling the Christmas story, and sang Yule songs. They lit a fire outside on the cliff top on Twelfth Night, and watched as the other fires sprang up for as far as the eye could see, vying to identify the Glenkirk fire first.
Now the winter set in hard. India insisted that Diarmid sleep before the common room fire at night rather than in his stabletop loft. It was just too cold. Even the cows, horses, and poultry were brought into a small shed attached to the lodge on the kitchen side. It was warmer for them there than the stables. The lodge took on an earthy smell, but it did not bother either India or Fortune. Survival was more important.
By February, the days were beginning to grow longer again, but the weather remained cold and snowy. By March, the snow came less frequently, more often than not mixing with the rain. India’s belly was now enormous, and she waddled when she walked, but she never complained. Instead, she would lie upon her bed, her hand protectively cradling her stomach, a dreamy expression upon her face as she wondered what her child would look like. It would be a boy, of course. Her instinct told her that. What would she call him? She knew that Caynan Reis had been a European by birth, but that was all she knew. His origins, and his name remained a mystery to her. If she had known his name, she would have named her child after his father, but she hadn’t a clue.
Finally, she decided. “I shall call him Rowan after our own father,” India told her younger sister one rainy March afternoon.
“Rowan what?” Fortune asked frankly.
“He’ll have to have my name, as I don’t know his father’s,” India replied just as frankly. “Rowan Lindley. I like it!”
“And what will you do after Rowan Lindley is born? You don’t still mean to go off by yourself with your child, India, do you?” Fortune was beginning to worry about her sister.
“It is what I want to do,” India replied calmly. “I will not bring shame upon you, and ruin your chances of marriage because of my adventures.”
“God’s blood!” Fortune swore. “Do you think I care what people may say? I am Lady Fortune Lindley, daughter of the late marquis of Westleigh, an heiress in my own right, and anyone who does not love my family—all my family—can go to the devil. Think about it, India. Our heritage is greater than anyone’s. Our grandfather was a great ruler of a great land. Our great-grandmother bested a mighty queen, and lived to tell the tale. What a woman she was, Madame Skye! We are women who make our own rules in life, and then live by them. We are not mealymouthed, pious little kirk-goers who live dully, and sin in the shadows. We live as we please, do as we please, and the devil take any who would dare to criticize us!”
India burst out laughing. “Do you know how much I missed you when I was away, Fortune?”
“Well,” Fortune replied. “I am your sister!” Then she jumped up. “It isn’t raining hard. Get your cloak, and let’s go for a walk.”
“Take your boots off before you come into this house then,” Meggie warned them. “I’ll nae hae you two tracking mud all over my clean floors!” She glared at them sternly.
“Come with us,” India begged.
“I’m nae a duck, my lady,” Meggie said, “and besides I hae to start the dinner. Rabbit stew.”
“Again?” the sisters chorused.
“Be glad spring is here,” Meggie said sharply. “ ’Twill be the last of the carrots and onions you see in that stew tonight, and lucky we are to hae it. Almost everything is gone, and only that Diarmid trapped the rabbit this morning, we’d be haeing bread and toasted cheese.”
The sisters walked through the forest to a high meadow. The light rain stopped, and the sun peeped out now and again from behind the thinning clouds.
When they returned to the lodge, Meggie’s stew was bubbling in the pot, and it smelled wonderful. India slowly climbed the narrow little staircase to the bedchamber to lie down, for she was tired and her back hurt. She awoke to a piercing pain.
“Meggie! Fortune!” she called, struggling to sit up.
Hearing her call, the two girls raced up the stairs, and into the bedchamber. One look told them that India was probably about to have her child early.
“Do you know what to do?” Fortune asked Meggie.
Meggie swallowed hard, saying, “I think so. I was there when my mother birthed her last child. We’ll need hot water, clean clothes, and, for God’s sake, send Diarmid down to Glenkirk to tell the duchess. She’ll want to come and be with my lady India. This could take hours.”
Fortune flew from the room, dashed down the stairs, filled the cauldron with water, and set it to boil. Then out into the stable yard she ran, calling to Diarmid as she went. The big man took one look at the girl, and knew the reason for her fright and excitement.
“Get yer horse, Mistress Fortune, and ride to fetch yer mam and yer da. Ye’re no use here, I can see. I’ll be more help to Meggie than ye will, lassie, meaning no offense to ye.”
Fortune didn’t argue with the big man. She knew he was being kind, and, more important, speaking the truth. “I’ve put a kettle on to boil, and there’s a stack of clean cloths we prepared for this occasion in the cupboard in the fireplace wall, Diarmid.”
He nodded, and walked toward the lodge as she hurried into the stable to saddle her gray. It was a two-hour ride to Glenkirk, but she would make it before sunset. Still Mama would be coming up the ben in the darkness, but come she would. Fortune tightened the cinch on the gray, and clambered onto his back, riding him right out the stable doors and onto the track that led down the ben toward Glenkirk.
India’s labor was hard, but very, very short. She sweated, and she swore blue oaths that turned Meggie’s face bright red, and set Diarmid to chuckling as he encouraged her onward.
“Ohh, m’lady, dinna let the bairn hear such words, and him just coming new into the world,” Meggie pleaded with her mistress.
“Bloody hell!” India snarled. “It hurts, damn it! Why won’t the little wretch be born? Ahhhhh! Merde! Merde! Merde!”
“Ye’re doing fine, lassie,” Diarmid said quietly. “Now, when ye feel the pain again, gie us a hard push to help the wee laddie along.”
India nodded.
“I dinna think you should be here,” Meggie fretted.
“He stays!” India snapped. “He obviously knows more about this than you do. Besides, I suspect there’s nothing I have that Diarmid hasn’t already seen. Ooooooooh!”
“Push, lassie! Push! Ah, there’s a good lass,” Diarmid said calmly in the very same tone India had heard him use with the collie. “And here’s his wee head, dark as a raven’s wing, it is. Gie us another push, lassie.” And when India complied, he said, “he’s half born now,” and, bending, he opened the infant’s mouth and pulled a clot of mucus out of it.
The baby took a breath, and began to wail.
“Ohhhh! Ohhh! Ohhhh!” India cried, and, feeling herself swept by another spasm, she pushed hard again, and felt the baby sliding fully from her body. “Is he all right? Let me see him!” she cried out to them.
Meggie had caught the child in a linen cloth as it was born. She wrapped it about the baby, and lay him on his mother’s belly. “Here he is, my lady,” she said, tears in her eyes.
India cradled her son for a long moment. He did have black hair, and the blue eyes that looked up at her were the eyes of Caynan Reis. Tears slipped down her face as she looked at this miracle their love for each other had wrought. The baby had stopped crying now. “Rowan Lindley is your name, my son,” she whispered to him.
“Gie me back the laddie, my lady,” Diarmid said. “I must cut the cord, and ye must let Meggie finish what
ye hae started. Ye dinna need me here now.” He took the child, neatly cutting and knotting the cord. Then, without another word, he left the bedchamber.
“Thank you, Diarmid More-Leslie!” India called after him.
Meggie now wiped the baby free of the birthing blood with warmed oil and wine. Then she swaddled the infant, giving him back to India, who pushed the afterbirth from her body into the basin Meggie held. Setting the ewer aside, the servant took the child again, and set him in his cradle by India’s side. Then she helped her mistress up, bathed her, gave her a fresh shift, settled her in the chair by the fire, and changed the linens on the bed. Finally she helped India back into the bed, returning the baby to her to cuddle. Then, gathering up all the debris of the birthing process, she said, “I’ll leave you wi the bairn, m’lady. I’ll come back shortly wi a nice hot posset to nourish you, and put wee Master Rowan in his cradle then.”
India lay quietly cuddling her newborn son. He was everything Caynan Reis would have wanted. Beautiful and strong of limb. She searched his small face for some sign of his father, but only the blue eyes reminded her of her husband. The little baby face was entirely unfamiliar, but the look he suddenly gave her was direct and fierce. “We will do fine, you and I, Rowan, son of Caynan Reis,” she told him. The infant closed his eyes, and was immediately asleep, safe in the comfort of his mother’s arms. Looking through the window, India could see a magnificent sunset.
She was half dozing when Meggie returned, bringing with her a mixture of herbs, eggs, and rich red wine. The servant took the baby and set him in his cradle which she moved to the warmth of the fireplace. India drank down the nourishment, and, handing the goblet back to Meggie, fell asleep. Meggie tiptoed from the room, and back down the stairs to join Diarmid in the common room.
“I’ll get us some supper,” she said. “My lady and the bairn are sleeping. ’Tis been a long day. Do you think the duke and duchess will come tonight, Diarmid?”
“Aye,” he answered her. “The duchess will be anxious over her eldest lass. They’ll come. Mistress Fortune will hae reached Glenkirk long since, I’m thinking. ’Tis only sunset now, and the twilight will last a bit longer. They’ll come wi torches up the ben. The dogs will let us know when they approach.”
She served them up plates of rabbit stew, bread, and cheese. They toasted Rowan Lindley in the last of the brown October ale. He helped her with the washing up, and then together they sat companionably by the fire, talking low.
It was dark when the dogs began to bark. Diarmid arose, and, going to the lodge’s door, opened it. He could see the flickering of the torches through the trees as the duke’s party came out of the forest and into the clearing.
James Leslie, duke of Glenkirk, pushed his horse forward, stopping by Diarmid More-Leslie’s side and asking, “Is the bairn born yet?” He dismounted.
“Several hours ago, my lord. A laddie, strong and sweet,” was the reply.
Jasmine dismounted her stallion. “Is my daughter all right?”
“Very well, my lady. She’s sleeping. Come into the house. Meggie can tell ye more,” the clansman told his duchess.
“See to the men,” the duke commanded him, and, taking his wife’s arm, entered the lodge.
Meggie bobbed a curtsey. “My lord. My lady.”
Jasmine smiled at the serving girl, and then hurried up the stairs to the bedchamber. Entering it, she saw India, sleeping soundly. She looked into the cradle and smiled. The baby was absolutely beautiful.
“Mama?” India suddenly called to her mother.
“Sweeting, he is a lovely lad,” Jasmine said softly.
“His name is Rowan,” India murmured, then fell back to sleep.
Jasmine’s heart contracted painfully. Her daughter had named this infant after her own true father. She doubted India could remember anything of Rowan Lindley, but she had chosen to name her child after him. The duchess of Glenkirk went back downstairs again.
“How is our lass?” Jemmie asked his wife.
“Sleeping, though she woke a moment. She has called her son Rowan. He is a beautiful boy,” Jasmine told her husband.
“You know what must be done,” the duke said stonily, his handsome face set.
“Jemmie, in the name of God I beg you not to do this thing. India will never forgive you. Is that what you want? For your daughter to hate you for the rest of her life?” Jasmine pleaded with her husband.
“Jasmine, we hae no other choice. We hae discussed this all winter long. There is nae other way if India’s reputation is to be salvaged. We hae had a good offer for the girl, and I’ve taken it, but she canna go to her husband wi her bastard.”
“My grandson is no more a bastard than I was, James Leslie,” Jasmine said angrily.
“But her marriage to this infidel, and this child, are nae easily explained,” the duke said. “India will be wed as soon as we can manage it. The earl is willing to do it by proxy, and then she will be gone down into England before the summer hae come in, Jasmine.” His tone softened. “Do ye remember the time that A-Cuil was our refuge?”
“Do not attempt to wheedle me, Jemmie,” his wife said harshly.
Meggie was totally confused, but rather than tax herself with the meaning of the conversation between the duke and the duchess, she brought them wine instead. They thanked her, and then the duke told his daughter’s serving woman to go upstairs and remain with her mistress for the night. He and his wife would remain here.
The baby was beginning to whimper when Meggie entered the room. India was instantly awake, and Meggie brought her child to her to be put to the breast. The infant nursed until he fell asleep, and Meggie returned him to his cradle.
Twice more before the dawn, the boy was fed at his mother’s breast, India speaking softly to her son, gently touching his soft downy dark hair.
The sun was just beginning to peep through the bedchamber windows when the duke of Glenkirk entered the chamber. India awoke as her father reached into the cradle and, taking the baby out, made to leave the room.
“Give me my son,” India said, frightened, and Meggie, sleeping by the fire, awoke, and looked from her mistress to the duke.
“Ye hae nae bairn, India,” the duke said, and departed, his booted footsteps echoing as he went down the stairs.
India scrambled from her bed, and after him. “Give me my son!” she shrieked. “If you hurt him, I shall kill you, Papa! Give me my son!”
The duke of Glenkirk handed the baby, now awake and crying, to Diarmid More-Leslie. “Ye know what to do,” he said.
The clansman took the swaddled infant, and exited the lodge through the front door.
Weakened, India lurched down the stairs, screaming, “Bring him back! Bring my son back!” She fell the last few steps, but, struggling to her feet, tried to follow after her child.
The duke shut the door, and, blocking it with his large body, said to her, “ ’Tis for the best, lovey. Ye’re to be wed in a few weeks’ time. The lad will be taken care of, I promise ye.” He reached out for her.
India shrank back, her eyes wild. “Get away from me, you bastard! Get away! I want my son! I want my son!” She flung herself at him, and tried to claw him aside.
“There, there, lassie, ’twill be all right,” he promised her, and caught the hands that would beat at him in her effort to follow Diarmid and her child. “Jasmine!” he called to his wife. “Come and take yer daughter back to her room. She will need her rest now if she is to recover and be wed on time.”
Jasmine glared at her husband. She had never known Jemmie to be such an insensitive clod. She tried to cradle her daughter, but India flung her mother away.
“How could you let him do this, madame?” the distraught girl sobbed. “How could you allow him to take my son? I will never forgive you. I will never forgive either of you!” Then she collapsed to the floor, sobbing bitterly.
Chapter 18
She was cold. Cold as ice. The fire Caynan Reis had roused in her had been exti
nguished when they had kidnapped her son, Rowan. She felt nothing but emptiness, and for a time did not care if she lived, or died. It made no difference. None of it made any difference. Her eyes, once an unusual gold, were now dulled amber. She spoke only when spoken to, and then her answers were monosyllabic, or as brief as she could make them. She wept more often than not. The day her breasts finally dried up of their milk she was completely inconsolable, and attempted to fling herself from the battlements of Glenkirk Castle.
The duke of Glenkirk was furious and frantic by turns. He had done what he truly believed was best for his beloved stepdaughter, yet she would not see it. India was no longer in the first flush of her youth. The marriage offer he had received from England had been the answer to his prayers. India would have the noble husband she deserved, and none but a sworn-to-secrecy few would be the wiser of her misadventures. Her intended had agreed to all the conditions laid down by the Leslies of Glenkirk in order to protect their daughter and her personal wealth. The large dowry had already been paid, but here it was the beginning of May, and the bride was nowheres fit to travel south to her new lord. Indeed, she grew thinner and paler with every passing day. A large-eyed, dark-haired wraith whose only show of spirit was the look of hatred she fastened on her parents whenever they came into her view.
“I tried to stop him,” Jasmine attempted to explain to her eldest child as she sat with her one afternoon, trying to reach her. “For the first time in all our marriage, I could not reason with him, India. I am attempting to find out where they have taken your son. When I do, I swear to you that the lad will lack for nothing!”
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