Forgiving Hearts: Duncurra 1-3 (66 page)

Gillian woke much later than she usually did. Fingal was already up and gone in spite of the fact that Agnes told him to rest. “What am I going to do with him, Bodie?” Bodie wagged his tail and nudged her hand. She rose and started to dress. In spite of sleeping longer than usual, she felt tired and a little queasy. She smiled and patted her stomach. She had been taking Rhiannon’s herbal tisane ever since the first night Fingal had made love to her. Maybe it was working. Alana said the first sign she had with both pregnancies was an upset stomach. She also said that Rhiannon’s tisane helped sooth her stomach like nothing else did. Gillian put the packet of herbs in her pocket and went downstairs, Bodie at her heel.

Although the tisane did seem to quiet her stomach for a while, she had a hard time focusing on her work and she still didn’t feel well even after the midday meal.

“Ye look a bit pale, Gillian,” observed her mother.

“I’m fine. My stomach is just a tad upset.”

Her mother’s eyes brightened and she whispered conspiratorially, “Are ye carrying, then?”

Gillian smiled. “Maybe. I don’t know for sure.”

“How long has it been since ye’ve had yer courses?”

“I don’t know exactly. It was sometime before the fire.”

“How long before the fire? That was only three weeks ago.”

“I don’t remember. Maybe a week, or more.”

“Well, it’s early, but ye could be. I knew I was carrying before I even missed my courses when the smell of ramsons blooming made me ill.”

“But ye like ramsons, mother.”

“Aye, I do, but not when I was pregnant.”

Gillian laughed. It felt good to share this with her mother. “I’ve been taking Rhiannon’s tisane. Alana swears it helps with the queasiness.”

“Aye, it would. I’m not sure what all she puts in it, but there is plenty of mint and chamomile. That alone will soothe yer stomach. That wasn’t a very large packet she gave ye. Ye must be nearly out by now.”

Gillian didn’t want to tell her mother she had had no need for a tonic to help her conceive “fine strong sons” until a little over a week ago. “Aye, I suppose I could use some more, especially to help with this sick feeling.”

“I was planning to visit her later today—if
the laird
can spare an escort.”

“Mother, after the Grants raided I would have thought ye’d see the wisdom of having protection.”

“I suppose I do. I just hate having to ask
him
for anything.”

Gillian sighed. She guessed her mother would never change. “Ye needn’t ask Fingal if ye don’t want to. Just ask the guardsman on duty at the gate and he will see to an escort for ye.”

“I know. I just ask
the laird
so he knows how much it irritates me.”

“Mother, ye are hopeless. On the one hand, ye say ye
hate
asking Fingal for anything and on the other ye only ask Fingal to arrange a guard for ye to let him know it irritates ye.”

Lana harrumphed. “Never mind that. Ye should come with me. Rhiannon would love a visit from ye.”

“Nay, mother, not today. I really don’t feel like it. Besides, I wanted to check on Agnes this afternoon.”

“Is something wrong? Wasn’t she just here last eve sewing up
the laird’s
fool head?”

Gillian rolled her eyes. “Mother, please.”

“Well, wasn’t she here?”

“Aye, she was, but she seemed to be taking ill. She is rather old and lives alone. I just want to check on her.”

“Then I will go on my own. Perhaps ye will feel up to a visit with Rhiannon next week.”

Gillian smiled as her mother left the hall. Even with the ever-present barbs, she hadn’t had such a pleasant conversation with her mother in months. Maybe Lana was truly becoming used to all the changes. She clearly was happy about the prospect of being a grandmother.

Gillian walked to the back door of the hall which led to the kitchens, with Bodie loping beside her.

Eadoin called to her, “My lady, where are ye heading?”

“Eadoin, How many times do I have to tell ye not to call me that.”

He caught up to her, grinning. “Several more, I fear. Are ye going to the kitchen?”

“Aye. Ye may as well come with me. I am going to visit Agnes and will need a guardsman with me. She seemed to be taking ill yesterday. I thought I would get a parcel of victuals from Jeanne to take to her.”

When Gillian and Eadoin arrived at Agnes’ cottage, she was no better. In fact, she lay huddled in her bed and her catarrh was worse.

“Agnes, it’s freezing in here. Yer fire has gone out.”

“Aye, lass, I was just too tired to tend it.”

Eadoin went straight to the hearth. “I’ll take care of it, Agnes. We’ll have it toasty in here soon.”

Gillian was worried. “At least ye took yer own advice and rested today. I brought ye a crock of soup from Jeanne. Let’s see if ye can eat a bit of it.”

Getting Agnes to eat was harder than Gillian expected. Although she tried, she was only able to take a few sips before becoming exhausted. Even Bodie sensed something was wrong. Instead of making himself comfortable by the hearth, he stood near the bed, watching vigilantly.

“Eadoin, I fear she is desperately ill. We can’t leave her here alone.”

“Aye, we could send for Rhiannon or maybe Eleanor.”

Gillian frowned. Agnes had never liked Eleanor, but it would take much too long for Rhiannon to get here. “Eleanor is closer. Go get her. I’ll stay here until ye return. We should probably move her to the keep then where there are more hands to care for her.”

Eadoin became very serious. “I can’t leave ye alone Gillian, but I’ll send for her.” He stepped out the door and called to someone. Moments later he was back. “Tarmon’s son was playing in the lane. He is running to fetch Eleanor, then he will find the laird.”

Fingal arrived first, having met the lad before he reached Eleanor’s house. “Gillian, what’s wrong?” he asked softly so as not to wake Agnes.

“She is much sicker than she let on yesterday. I sent for Eleanor. She is a midwife but she knows some healing skills.”

“Does the clan not have another healer?”

“Rhiannon, but she lives so far out of the village I feared it would take too long. I’m very worried.”

Eleanor arrived before long. Clearly Tarmon’s son had conveyed the urgency because Eleanor, short and plump as she was, looked as if she had run the whole way. Gillian told her what she knew about Agnes’ illness before Eleanor approached the bed, taking Agnes’ thin bony hand in her own plump one. With her other hand she brushed the silver hair off Agnes’ forehead and crooned, “Agnes, love, Lady Gillian tells me ye are feeling a wee bit poorly.”

Agnes opened her eyes, coughed, and said weakly, “Eleanor, I’d say that’s an understatement.”

Eadoin chuckled at the acerbic old woman’s dry wit but Eleanor became serious. “I know, Agnes. Lady Gillian and I want to get ye up to the keep and see if we can make ye feel a bit better.”

“I know ye spend more time bringing souls into the world,” she wheezed, struggling for breath, “but surely even ye can tell when a soul is ready to leave, Eleanor. I’d just as soon be in my own bed for that.”

Gillian gasped. “Nay, Agnes. Yesterday ye said it was just a bit of a catarrh.”

“I was wrong.” Agnes lapsed into another paroxysm that left her gasping for air. When she could breathe again, she motioned for Gillian to come closer. Eleanor stepped aside. Gillian left Fingal’s side to kneel by Agnes’ bed, taking the old woman’s hands in her own. Agnes nodded towards Fingal, whispering, “He is a good laird. I know this was hard, but I’m proud of ye. Now, I want ye to go. I don’t want ye here when I die.”

“But Agnes—”

“Don’t argue with a dying woman.” She succumbed to yet another spasm.

Tears slid freely down Gillian’s cheeks. She leaned forward and kissed Agnes’ leathery cheek. “I love ye.”

Agnes whispered, “Ye’re a good lass. Laird, take her home now.”

“I will, Agnes. Rest easy now.” Fingal lifted Gillian from the floor.

“Nay, Fingal, I can’t leave her.”

“Wheesht, love. ’Tis what she wants and I understand why. Come now.” He ushered her, weeping, from the little cottage. Bodie whined and followed.

Once outside in the lane she turned on him. “Fingal, why? I can’t stand the thought of just going back to the keep as if nothing is wrong. Why can’t I stay with her?”

“Because she doesn’t want yer last memory of her to be as she gasps and struggles for breath. It is a hard way to die, and even harder to watch. She knows this and she wants to spare ye. It is her last gift. Let her give it to ye.”

“But she shouldn’t be alone.”

“Gillian, she isn’t alone. Eleanor is with her and so is Eadoin.”

“She has never liked Eleanor much.”

Fingal smiled. “That was obvious. Still, this is the way she wants it.” He gathered her in his arms and kissed the top of her head. “I’m sorry, love.”

She began to sob. Hot tears fell in rivers and she could barely catch her breath. He lifted her in his arms and she buried her face in his chest, unable to stop weeping. She was vaguely aware of Bodie whining as Fingal carried her to the keep. When he reached their chamber, he sat in a chair, continuing to cradle her in his lap. His work roughened hands felt cool against her cheeks as he brushed her tears away.

When she could finally speak again she said, “I-I’m sorry. I don’t know wh-what came over me. I didn’t cry like that f-for Aunt Meara. I-I didn’t even l-let myself c-cry like that for D-da.”

“Gillian, sometimes sorrow just builds up until it all bubbles over. These were all of those tears ye have kept locked away. Ye needed to let them go.”

~ * ~

Gillian was clearly exhausted, but Fingal could not get her to go to bed. Even though Agnes wouldn’t allow Gillian to stay at her bedside, she kept a vigil all the same. It the wee hours of the morning when Eadoin brought them word that Agnes had passed. The news brought on a fresh wave of tears but when her tears were spent, she slept.

Fingal didn’t leave her when he woke the next morning. He continued to hold her in his arms until she finally stirred.

She blinked sleepily against the bright morning light. He expected her to jump up instantly, complaining that she had overslept as she usually did if she woke past dawn. However, she moaned and pulled a pillow over her head.

Concerned, Fingal gently rubbed her back. “Are ye feeling ill, love?”

“Aye. My head aches something fierce and I feel sick to my stomach.”

“Yesterday was a hard day and ye had very little sleep last night. Perhaps ye should stay in bed for a while.”

She rolled on her back and pulled the pillow away from her face. “Nay, it isn’t that. Well, all of my tears and lack of sleep may be adding to the headache, but I have been queasy for a few days now. Rhiannon’s tisane helps a lot.”

“Ye’ve been sick for days? Gillian, ye should have told me.”

“I don’t think it is anything to worry about, Fingal. My mother thinks I might be expecting.”

Fingal grinned. “Really? That’s wonderful. But, sweetling, it hasn’t been very long, are ye sure?”

“Not completely. My monthly courses are due. Perhaps overdue a day or so but mother says she knew she was pregnant almost before she had missed her monthly because things made her sick immediately.”

“Gillian, I couldn’t be happier.” He rested his hand on her flat stomach, filled with awe. “A bairn.”

She smiled, but then groaned and rolled to the edge of the bed. Fingal was beside her instantly, supporting her as she heaved several times but brought nothing up.

He helped her wash her face and rinse her mouth before saying, “Stay in bed and rest until ye feel better, love.”

“Nay, really it isn’t necessary. As soon as I drink the tisane and eat something, I will feel better. Besides, there is much to do to prepare for Agnes’ funeral. She served this clan well and we must bid her an appropriate farewell.”

~ * ~

Gillian and the other women of the clan did work to prepare a fitting farewell for the beloved healer. She worked no harder than usual, but was utterly exhausted at the end of the day. As soon as the evening meal was over, Fingal ushered her from the hall.

“We should have stayed a bit longer,” she scolded half-heartedly as they reached their chamber.

“My darling, ye look ready to drop. Ye need to rest. Besides, there is something I have been meaning to speak to ye about but with Agnes’ passing I haven’t had the opportunity.”

“Is something wrong? Has something else happened?”

“Nay, love. Nothing is wrong. I have just been thinking about yer mother’s desire to arrange a betrothal for Fallon.”

Gillian sighed. “I thought ye agreed it was too soon.”

“I did, but I have considered it a bit more.”

“Fingal, I don’t think Fallon particularly likes Coby. Don’t let mother talk ye into this.”

He grinned at her. “I am not considering a betrothal for Fallon to Coby. I was thinking perhaps Quinn MacKenzie would be a good husband for her.”