by Fascination
“There you are, Theodora.” Melony whirled toward her in that irritatingly busy way she had when she was overset. “Where have you been?”
Wouldn’t she like to know? “Out,” Theodora said vaguely.
“Out? Whilst I’ve been worrying myself to death about you?”
“I hardly need to keep you informed of my comings and goings.”
“Oh, you are ... Theodora, I’m beside myself.” Melony produced a kerchief and pressed it to her nose. “Of course I do not wish to know your comings and goings. But, Theodora, something ... something so awful has happened ... or it will happen if we don’t do something.”
Theodora pushed the door shut behind her. “What are you wailing about, Melony?”
“He called her lovie!”
“Who called whom lovie?”
“Why, Mortimer, of course. Who else calls the one he loves most dearly lovie?”
Theodora tugged her bonnet ribbons undone. “Are you unwell?”
“Oh, listen to me before it is too late. Mortimer called that insipid creature, Grace, lovie. He called her that and they said a great deal more.”
“But—” No, Mortie would never use ... No.
Melony sought Theodora’s hands and held them so tightly, the bones hurt. “I will say it all in a rush. Then we shall have to act—or be destroyed by wickedness. Did you know that Mortimer and Grace became ... good friends the very first evening they met?”
Theodora began to feel frightened. “They did not.”
“They most certainly did. Theodora, I believe they have Been Together.”
“Oh!” She tugged her hands away. “How could you say such wicked things? Mortie only intended to find a way to make the foolish chit appear compromised. He would never ... No. You are wrong.”
“I wish I were. Earlier this evening Mortimer came to me. He told me you had a lover. Such foolishness. He tried to make me believe he’d actually seen you with that Hector MacFie. A servant, for goodness’ sake. Anyway, Mortimer thought that would make me understand why he’d decided to accept an offer from Grace.”
Theodora sat down suddenly.
Melony’s hands fluttered. “Grace cannot abide Stonehaven. Who can blame her? But be that as it may, she invited Mortimer to help her dispose of Stonehaven and then to become her husband in his stead. She told him that together they would help administer the estate—for Roger if she has no issue at that point, or for Stonehaven’s heir, should one be produced.”
“But—” Theodora pressed her temples. “But why would Mortie ask you to be a part of this? And anyway, he cannot marry someone else when he is already married to me.” Perspiration broke out on her upper lip and between her breasts.
“Evidently the new Marchioness of Stonehaven is a creature of delicate sensibilities who must be protected from the more sinister elements of her own designs. Mortimer wants me to help him do away with Stonehaven.”
“That cannot be so.”
“It will not be so because you and I shall work together in quite a different manner.”
She felt in danger of swooning. “I must go to Mortie at once. He will reassure me that this is all foolishness.”
Melony fell to her knees before Theodora. “You will not go to Mortimer. You will listen to me and do what I tell you to do.”
“Please stop this ... Why? Why shouldn’t I go to Mortie?”
“Because once Stonehaven is dead, Mortimer wants me to help him to do away with you.”
Chapter 25
If only she didn’t love him.
Grace tore another sheet of paper into small pieces and dropped them on the pile beside her chair. Sketching usually had the power to divert her, but she couldn’t concentrate tonight.
Mairi had not returned to her mistress. Why should she? No doubt she’d been told that Grace would be with her husband.
She dashed lines onto a fresh sheet and tried to concentrate. Very quickly the bold shapes of tree limbs emerged.
She’d taken off the wedding gown and pushed it to the back of the wardrobe, where she need not set eyes upon it. Now she wore the simple dark blue velvet in which she’d first arrived at Kirkcaldy. A gown that made her appear dull and serious was exactly right for the occasion. Married solely for the purpose of safeguarding a man’s estate ... a man who received intimate messages from another female person—a person who was probably a courtesan—on his wedding day.
The door, flying open to admit Mairi, caused Grace to jump.
“Och, miss ... I mean, m’lady. I’d didna expect ye t’be here.”
Grace did not feel like discussing her very personal disaster with anyone. “It’s all right. I don’t need anything.”
Bundled in her gray wool cloak and wearing a simple bonnet, Mairi shifted from foot to foot. She carried a willow basket.
“What is it, Mairi?”
“Well ... Deary me.”
“Mairi? Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. Och, I’ll just out wi’ it and take the consequences. I’d come for that.” She pointed to a tray on a table beside the bed.
In the middle of the day, when Grace had arrived from Edinburgh, an array of delicious-looking food had been delivered. She’d been too excited to touch it. “The food? You came to take the food away?”
“I’m not given to falsehoods,” Mairi said stoutly. “I came to put the food in this basket and take it to someone who could use it. I’d have gone to the kitchens for something, only Grumpy would have found out and dismissed me. There. Now y’know I’m a thief.”
“Oh, don’t be silly. If you need—”
“I don’t need anythin’. And I wasna only about to steal your food. I was goin’ t’take the blanket ye’re not usin’. And maybe even one o’ the nightrails ye’ll probably not be needin’ now ye’re a marchioness—on account o’ ye’ll have too many fine things to—”
“Mairi. “ Grace got up and pressed her fingers to the girl’s mouth. “Stop blatherin’ and tell me what this is all about.”
Huge tears sprang into the girl’s eyes.
“Oh, Mairi.” Grace pulled her into a fierce hug. “What’s the matter? Has something happened to your family?”
“N-No. It’s Gael Mercer. She’s the sweetest thing ye’d ever be likely t’meet, and it’s likely she’s dyin’.”
“Hush,” Grace said, rocking Mairi. “Tell me about her. Let me help you.”
“Well, she’s Robert Mercer’s wife. And they’ve a dear wee lassie named Kirsty. They’re tenants here at Kirkcaldy. Gael’s havin’ another babbie and she’s not strong enough. One o’ my sisters told me. She said Gael’s time has come and she’s ... The baby doesna want t’be born.”
“Surely there’s someone who knows about such things who can help.”
“Aye. The midwife, only she’s been called away to help wi’ another difficult birth and she canna leave t’be wi’ Gael. I dinna know what t’do except take somethin’ to tempt Gael to eat. She’s but a weak thing hersel’. And I thought a soft blanket and a pretty, delicate nightrail ... Och, I know I was wrong.”
Grace released Mairi and retied her trailing bonnet strings. “Enough of that. Put all of the food in the basket while I get the blanket. I think there may even be two. And I’ll get a nightrail. I’ve a little woolen spencer, too, in a pretty rose color. We’ll take that.”
Mairi hurried to do as she was told. “Thank ye,” she said, sweeping small sandwiches and little cakes from beneath a silver cover. “But I canna let ye come out into the night. It wouldna be right or proper. And what would his lordship say?”
“That’s the blankets,” Grace said, ignoring the reference to Arran. “And I think the nightrail with the embroidered poppies would be just the thing. Wait whilst I put on my boots. Kindly remember that I’m the mistress of Kirkcaldy now, and its people are my responsibility, too.”
Grace had never before been out beneath the stars in wild country where she did not know the way. She sat beside Mairi in an anci
ent cart pulled by an equally ancient-looking shaggy pony. Ignoring Mairi’s pleas to the contrary, Grace had slipped in through the kitchen gardens and entered the castle dairy to grab up a wheel of yellow cheese and a crock of fresh cream.
“There it is,” Mairi said, when they broke from a stand of trees and started down a hill. “Ye can see the cottages from here. Och, poor Gael and Robert. Their love is somethin’ to make ye cry wi’ longin’ for the same yoursel’ .”
When they rolled to a stop before one of a cluster of cottages at the foot of the hill, Grace realized for the first time that she was afraid.
Mairi jumped down and began gathering the supplies they’d brought. She paused and glanced at Grace. “Och, look at ye. Fair pinched, ye look. I shouldna have let ye come wi’ me. Stay where ye are and I’ll be as quick, as I can.”
“I’ll do no such thing,” Grace said firmly, and climbed down from the cart. “They’ll need whatever help they can get.”
A murmuring group of people clustered about the cottage door, but they parted to allow Mairi and Grace to enter. Once inside, Grace wrinkled her nose in pleasure at the pungent scent of peat burning in the fireplace.
“Hello, Mistress Tabby,” Mairi said to a rotund woman placing a kettle over the fire. “We’ve come t’do what we can to help.”
Wiping her hands on her apron, the woman turned around, saw Grace, and appeared to lose the gift of speech.
“This is ... this is the new Marchioness of Stonehaven,” Mairi said, and to Grace, “Ye dinna look like one o’ us in your fine clothes, y’see. She’d notice that.”
Mistress Tabby bobbed a curtsy, and her florid face glowed even redder. “Your visit’ll be royally received, I’m sure,” she said, and bobbed again.
“I’m not here to be royally received,” Grace said, but she smiled. A lot of this curtsying could become most trying.
The cottage appeared to have two rooms. The one they were in served all of the family’s needs but sleep. Mairi approached a low door. “Is it all right for me t’go in?” she asked Mistress Tabby.
The woman was too much occupied with a curious assessment of Grace to respond.
A sudden shrill moan from the other room stopped Mairi where she stood.
Mistress Tabby’s lips set in a firm line. She poured boiling water into a basin, gathered a pile of clean cloths, and bustled past Grace.
As the woman opened the door, there was another sound, a wail that went on and on; then, as abruptly as it started, it faded away.
“Mairi?” Grace whispered. “What is that?”
“It’s—” Mairi made a silent “ooh,” and shook a hand for silence, and they listened to a grating cry that was part hiccup, part outrage. “The babbie! It’s the babbie.”
Grace had heard whispers about women who were increasing—and had noted voluminous, heavy gowns associated with the condition. “Why is it crying?”
“It’s just the way o’ it,” Mairi said. “My mother used t’say a wee babbie cried because it was born wi’ sense.”
To her surprise, Grace felt a bubbling excitement. The baby’s wail grew louder and she heard another noise, the sound of men’s laughter and a woman crying—crying happy tears between calling a name Grace could not make out.
“It sounds like Gael,” Mairi said, smiling while tears slid down her cheeks. “God’s good. He’d no take one so needed.”
“Tell me about the sense a baby’s born with,” Grace said, deeply fascinated.
“Och, it’s just women’s talk. She meant a babbie knows that when it’s born, it’s left the best place it’ll ever be and that all the hardest times are yet t’come.”
“Oh,” Grace said, although she did not understand at all. “Mairi, the baby’s inside the mother till it’s born, isn’t it?” She’d never before had the courage to ask such a question.
Mairi stared at her. “It must be hard to be a gentlewoman,” she said. “I’m probably not supposed t’say, but yes, the babbie’s inside its mother.” She put a hand on her own stomach. “And they say it’s the most wonderful feeling, the feeling o’ your own babbie movin’ within ye.”
“And then the baby is born.” Grace puzzled over what that might mean.
“Your mother didna tell ye anythin’, did she?”
Grace shook her head.
“It’s a pity and a shame. But ye’ll learn soon enough when ye have babbies o’ your own. Hush, now.” She put her head inside the bedroom, then went all the way in.
Grace’s heart beat hard and fast. What could it all mean? She put her hands on her own stomach. A baby inside? How?
“Miss ... I mean, my lady.” Mairi’s head stuck out of the bedroom door. “They’re all busy here, but I reckon ye could see the wee bairn.”
At first Grace shook her head. She filled her fingers with her skirt.
“He’s beautiful,” Mairi said, smiling. “Do come and see.”
Grace went slowly, hesitantly, until she stood just inside a room where the only furnishing was a roughly fashioned bed and a single chair. In a distant corner stood a small cot upon which sat a little girl with blond hair that rose around her head like spun white gold.
“Come on.” Mairi beckoned, but Grace only ventured a few steps closer to the bed. A red-haired young woman lay against the pillows, her face very white, her big eyes very blue. And she smiled up at a slender, blond man who leaned over her and whispered words Grace could not hear.
Another man, this one exceedingly tall and with wild dark hair, stood with his back to Grace and Mairi. He rocked and made clucking sounds.
“The worst came and went,” Mairi said in low tones. “She dinna lose the blood this time the way she did wi’ Kirsty.” She indicated the little girl.
Grace heard, but still had little idea what was meant except that the bringing forth of a baby from a woman’s stomach was a complicated thing. She watched the mother’s face and decided it was also a wonderfully happy thing.
Something brushed her leg and she jumped. Looking down, she saw that the child had left her bed and come to stand beside her. She stroked the velvet of Grace’s dress and gazed up at her.
“She’s not seen anythin’ so fine as your gown,” Mairi said.
A fresh wail snatched their attention. The big man laughed and rocked harder.
“He’s a bonny wee laddie,” the fair young man said. “A bonny son.”
“Aye,” his wife said softly. “But not as bonny as his father.”
“Oh,” Mairi said softly. “Y’see how they love?”
A tug returned Grace’s attention to the little one at her side. She smiled down.
“Kirsty’s babbie,” the child said. Tight beneath one arm she held a small, jointed teddy bear.
“Kirsty’s baby,” Grace agreed.
“He needs feedin’,” the woman in the bed said, and a fretfulness entered her voice. “I should nurse him.”
“You don’t have the strength,” the big man said.
Grace clasped her hands tightly together. It could not be. It could not.
“Dinna worry your head,” Mistress Tabby said, spreading cloths on the bottom of the bed. “There’s a good woman who’ll take care o’ that for ye.”
“I want to nurse my own—”
“It’s for the best.” The man who must be Robert Mercer smoothed his wife’s glorious hair and kissed her brow. “The sooner ye’ve your strength back, the sooner ye’ll be takin’ care o’ all o’ us again.”
The big man turned and bent over the bed, carefully lowering the tiny, spindly-limbed creature he’d held against his chest. “There, my fine boy. You’ll do very well now.” Deftly he folded the soft cloths around the baby, then lifted his fragile bundle so that Mistress Tabby could swathe a white wool blanket about it. “You did well, Gael. You and Robert did well. It’s time you showed Kirsty her brother.”
He put the baby into his father’s arms and looked around for the girl. “Kirsty—” His eyes met Grace’s, and the smile o
n his face became fixed.
Surely ... Grace pressed her hand over her heart. The man wore rough clothes and heavy, worn boots. His tousled black hair fell to his shoulders, and although the tone of his voice had alerted her, he spoke with a softly Scottish brogue that was never heard in the clipped speech of the Marquess of Stonehaven. Yet it was into Arran’s clear green eyes that she looked.
“What will ye call the babbie?” Mairi said. “Will it be Robert, like his father?”
“No,” Robert Mercer said at once. “It’ll be Niall, after the man who helped birth him.”
Grace found she could not move, could not breathe.
“Gael and Robert,” Mairi said, moving forward. “This is Lady Stonehaven, the Savage’s—I mean, the marquess’s new lady. She became his bride today. She heard about your trouble and came t’see if she could do anythin’.”
There was complete silence before Robert Mercer came around the bed to bow. “I ... We thank you.” He bowed even deeper. “We’d heard the marquess was t’take a wife.”
“Thank you,” Gael Mercer said. Her smile made her eyes luminous. “I’m sure ye’ll make the marquess a happier man. Will ye look at our babbie?”
It was “Niall” who placed the baby in Grace’s inexperienced arms. The soft bundle wiggled and stretched. “Oh, look,” Grace said. The wrinkled little face jerked back and forth until a tiny fist found a place against the baby’s mouth. “Look!”
“Aye. Nature’s wonderful.”
She looked up into Arran’s face, her dark angel’s face, and saw such deep gentleness there that she felt its impact like a glowing blow deep inside.
“Niall’s as good as his name to all o’ us, m’lady,” Robert Mercer said. “Champion. There’s never a hardship at Kirkcaldy that Niall doesn’t find a way to help us. Not that I’d expected him to be a practiced hand at birthin’ babbies.” He laughed.
“With a good mother’s help and common sense, it’s not such a problem,” Arran said, never looking away from Grace. “You can thank my horses for giving me the practice.” Making certain no one else saw what he did, he put a single finger to his lips.
Grace nodded faintly and their pact was sealed. He could not know the joy she felt. Regardless of how she’d come to him. Regardless of why he’d wanted her as his wife—this man was so much more to her than any other.