Keeper of my Heart (23 page)

She lay down on the bed and put her hand in her pocket, wrapping her fingers around the polished stones until they were warm to her touch. She could not wait until Iain returned to thank him for them.

Màiri sat among the dozen or more MacAlister women working on a new tapestry to be hung in the laird’s chamber. It depicted the peaceful Scottish scene of a meadow bursting with flowers blooming every color imaginable. Màiri stuck the needle through the thick material and pulled it through from the other side. She tried to concentrate but her mind was far from what her fingers were doing. She could not forget Iain or the gift he’d given her.

“That is the first time I have seen black heather,” Janet whispered beneath her breath.

Màiri stopped the needle in mid-air and looked at the last half-dozen stitches she’d taken. Instead of the rich purple everyone else used to depict the vibrant color of blooming heather, she’d used black on the last two blossoms. Màiri looked around guiltily, hoping no one but Janet had noticed, but from the stifled giggles and the half-hidden grins, she knew she was not so lucky.

“My mind is na on sewing today,” she said on a sigh, carefully pulling out the black thread. “I have been thinking of… of the berries that need picking to make jam.”

Her words were a lie, and every woman in the room turned to her with a look of disbelief on her face as if they knew it. If only she would not feel her gift were trying to warn her of something. If only Iain had taken more than just Donald and Lochlan and Hector with him to look for the stolen cattle.

A robust woman with a friendly smile and laughter in her eyes known as Dianna leaned forward and gave Màiri a knowing glance. “Perhaps your thoughts stray because our laird rode out early this morn and you miss him already.”

All the women in the room snickered and Màiri felt her cheeks grow warm. She shouldn’t have joined the women today. She hadn’t really been in the mood to sew, but she needed something to keep her busy until Iain returned.

“Do na let that upset you, mistress,” an older woman called Frances said, nodding her head as if her words held all the wisdom of the universe. “We have all noticed the way you look at our laird. It is a good sign. He looks at you the same.”

There were a few lamented sighs, then all the women in the circle agreed with knowing smiles on their faces that lit the room as bright as sunshine. Màiri lowered her gaze to the tapestry in her hands while her cheeks took on a fire of their own. Her needle went in and out of the material with increasing speed. She had no idea what look they were talking about but such comments suddenly embarrassed her.

“I wish my Edgard still looked at me that way,” a woman called Margaret said on a sigh. She had to be all of sixty or more. “I haven’t seen that moon-eyed look for more years than I care to count.”

“Be thankful he does na,” a younger lass named Mariota said, poking her yellow thread through the tapestry. She had a healthy glow to her face and long, golden hair wound in a thick plait that hung to her waist. There was a seductive glint in her eyes and a warm glow on her cheeks that matched her contented smile. “The nights are short enough without a husband who finds a score of ways to keep you awake until the sun is ready to come up over the hilltops.”

Màiri looked at the sly smile on the girl’s face. The wink she gave Màiri came as a surprise, and told her Mariota did not mind the nights in her husband’s arms one bit.

Màiri dropped her gaze back to her hands to hide her flushed face and kept her needle running in and out of the tapestry at a steady pace. She prayed the women wouldn’t notice the heat creeping up from beneath her blouse. Thoughts of Iain’s lovemaking last night reminded her of the same but she would never have the nerve to admit it to these women. Nor would she admit there was nothing she liked more than lying beneath him making love while the sunlight peeked through the window.

“Oh, to be so fortunate,” a woman named Ardis said. “I do na think my John has ever in his life had such thoughts.” All the women in the room burst into laughter. “’Tis true,” she vowed in a raised voice. “He shows na more of a soft nature than one of the stones placed in the walls of the keep.”

“Oh, my Gilchrist keeps me awake nearly every night,” a plump woman named Isabel said, sticking a magenta thread through the tapestry, “but it is his snoring that is the culprit, not his amorous intent.”

The laughter was so loud it echoed off the walls in the solar. Màiri couldn’t believe the women were so open about such personal things.

“Aye,” Dianna said, wiping a tear of laughter from her cheek. “Personally I am thankful my Stewart na longer looks at me with such a burning look as our laird wears. I would be more tired than I already am and blessed with more than the nine babes he’s already given me.”

Màiri stuck the needle in the material. She could not think what the woman meant. Iain had no burning look when he looked at her. Not that she had ever seen, anyway.

“We’ve been watching for signs of a babe, mistress,” a woman with wrinkles puckering her face said. She looked like she was old enough to have been there for the planting of the first trees in Scotland’s ancient forest and her question brought everything to a halt. “Have you been restless of late?”

“Or have you had a fondness for something salty?” Frances asked enthusiastically.

Màiri’s head snapped up as she stared at the woman. She could not believe she knew of her craving for salt.

“Or been ill when you get out of bed in the mornings?” Ardis said.

Janet nodded in agreement. “That was how I first knew I was to have a babe. My stomach would na hold anything I put in it.”

“A true sign,” the woman Isabel said as questions and opinions shot out from around the circle. “I slept with a bucket beside my bed the entire time I was carrying each one of my five babes.”

Màiri lifted a startled gaze to Janet, wondering if she’d seen the bucket she’d had to keep by her bed the last two mornings before she’d had a chance to empty it. Surely it was only something she’d eaten that had upset her stomach. Surely she could not be having a babe.

“I knew I was with child when I could na last the afternoon without layin’ down,” a woman called Eleyn chimed in. “I felt as weak as a babe until Granny told me why I was so tired.”

Màiri remembered the nap she’d taken just that morning because she was too tired to stay awake until noon. Her cheeks turned hot as fire. She was thankful when every eye in the room turned to Donald’s mother, the woman everyone called Granny. The kindly old woman nodded her head in agreement to all the comments without missing a stitch on the clouds she was putting in the sky on the tapestry.

“And don’t forget the tears,” Margaret said, shaking a finger at the circle of women.

“Oh, by the saints, the tears,” Dianna exclaimed, leaning back in her chair and laughing. “I cried so much my Lorin left our home each morn and came through the door each night with the words, ‘I’m sorry, lass,’ on his lips. Granny finally told me to stop acting like a simpering child and told Lorin to ignore me until I acted like a wife.”

“’Tis nothing,” Margaret said, sitting up as if her story held more import than the rest. “I did na even know I was going to have a babe until Granny told me. I had been sick each day for a fortnight and more, but I had no notion what that meant. I was scared to death that I had some sickness even old Yseult could na cure. Granny came to see me and she asked when I’d had my last monthly. I told her not since my Dunslaf and I said our vows.”

All the women smiled as if some remembered the same experience.

“I was such a featherwit,” the woman continued. “I thought it was the normal way of things. I thought all women’s monthlies stopped the moment they said their vows. I couldn’t understand why I had waited so long to say the words.”

Another round of laughter erupted in the room.

“Wouldn’t that be a blessing,” a middle-aged woman named Joanna said, crossing herself as if praying for such a miracle. “We’d make each lass say the words as soon as she could talk.”

“Oh, aye,” Dianna said. “Have you missed your bleeding yet, mistress?”

Màiri’s hands froze in mid-air. Silence hung in the air like a heavy cloud and every eye in the room focused on her answer with rapt anticipation. She had to close her gaping jaw before she could begin to make a sound. “I… I… Oh…”

She tried to remember when she’d last had her monthly and couldn’t. What if she was with child? What if she was going to have a babe? Iain’s babe? Her heart soared in her breast, the feeling of elation and happiness almost bursting alive within her. She had never experienced such a feeling, such wonder and overwhelming joy.

She lifted her gazed to the circle of women, wondering if the glow she felt on the inside radiated on the outside. She resisted the urge to put her hand to the place where there could be a babe growing. Could it be true? She thought of what it would mean to have Iain’s babe. A sudden rush of trepidation raced through her, storming to every part of her. What if the babe was a girl?

She couldn’t resist any longer. She placed her hand on her stomach, feeling the instinctive need to protect the babe growing within her. Just as her mother had protected her.

“Leave the lass be,” Granny said. “Canna you see how uncomfortable y’ve made her? If there is a babe, what makes you gabbing fools think our mistress would tell you before our laird even knows he is to have an heir?”

With cheeks that burned hotter than the fire in the hearth in the middle of winter, Màiri stuck her needle back through the material then halted when she realized she’d made the leaves of her mighty oak blue.

“Is your babe near?” the woman called Isabel asked Janet. Màiri was thankful when all eyes moved from her to Janet.

“I pray it is,” Janet said, rubbing her huge stomach that barely let her reach the tapestry. “I thought the babe would make an appearance long before now, but Yseult tells me that boys are sometimes not in a hurry to arrive on schedule.”

“Does Yseult think it is a boy?” Adris asked.

Janet nodded. “She thinks so because it’s taking so long, but is na sure.”

“It could be, though,” Dianna said. “I thought my Hugh would be full-grown when he finally came, so long did he keep me waiting.”

Janet made another stitch then stopped in thought. “I do na mind the wait if I can give Lochlan a son first, but I would na mind if all the rest to follow were girls if they would na make me suffer so long.”

“Will you have Yseult come when it’s time?” Frances asked.

“Aye. Loclan promised he would go for her right off. I would na want to have a babe without her.”

“She was there when I had my William,” Eleyn said, “and it was a blessing she was. The lad caused me naught but trouble that night. Without her I fear I would na be here today to tell of it.”

“She was with me for all eight of mine,” the woman Ardis said.

“And mine.”

“Mine too.”

The talk around the circle gradually turned to the babes born to each woman and the antics of each child growing up. Màiri kept her needle busy making the small leaves of the mighty oak. She could not talk of such intimate subjects. Including her monthly that was long overdue.

“I have been meaning to ask you, mistress,” Janet said softly, leaning closer while she made her small, delicate stitches. “I would like it very much if you would be with me when my babe is born.”

Màiri stopped in the middle of her stitch and focused on Janet.

“Lochlan thinks me a fool, but I do na want to be alone, and you were the first to reassure me all those months ago when you first came that I had nothing to fear. Perhaps I am being foolish, but it would ease my mind greatly if you would be there.”

“Of course I will be there. Send word as soon as you know your babe wants to be born and I will come.”

Janet’s face opened to a wide smile. “Thank you, milady. I feel better already.”

Màiri gave her friend’s hand a gentle squeeze then looked across the room. “Who is the girl?” Màiri asked, nodding to the quiet lass sitting at the far end of the row. She was beautiful. Her long hair, as black as midnight, hung down the middle of her back. It reflected the sunlight shining through the window like the moon shining on a stream at night. When she looked up, which wasn’t often, Màiri noticed the depth of her brown eyes. The color and their oval shape set against the beautiful tone of her skin had a mesmerizing effect. She was truly a picture of beauty; a very happy beauty. She had done nothing but smile shyly all afternoon.

“That is Marjorie. She is sweet on our Rauri, and he on her.”

Màiri smiled. She liked all of Donald’s sons, but Rauri was the youngest and was special. She did not know he had his eye on a girl. “I have na seen her before,” Màiri said, watching the girl steadily work her needle in and out of the material with practiced speed. Màiri could tell though, her mind was far from what her hands were doing. The smile on her face said it was on Rauri.

Janet leaned closer. “Her father is the blacksmith, Muriach. He’s a big, burly man with a friendly disposition. Lochlan says you’ll na find anyone who does better work than our Muriach.”

“I’ve seen his work. It is excellent, but I have na met his daughter before. I will have to speak with her before she leaves.”