His Heart's Home (19 page)

After supper that evening, Duncan sat down to write. The paper he had with him wasn’t anything nearly so fine as his sister had used, and the bottle of ink he’d brought from New Bern had dried up, so that it had to be scraped out of the bottle, added to water, and then put in a pot to boil before it was fit to be used, but he finally managed to sort it out.  Then, he stood behind the counter and began to write.

Ciaran was sitting at a stool by the fire, teaching Aidan and Liam how to card the bags of wool they’d been saving since the spring. She put down her brushes and left them to it so she could wander over and peek at what he was doing.

It was hypnotizing. Ciaran watched with fascination as he dipped the nib into the ink pot, tapped it against the bottle to get rid of extra ink, and then pressed it against the paper, his hand moving in confident, easy slashes across the page as he filled it with his own neat script.

“What are you saying?” Ciaran asked eagerly.

Duncan frowned. She had picked an inopportune time to ask.  He was just telling his sister about Aileen’s passing and his decision to head west.

“About why I’m not in
New Bern anymore,” he fudged quickly and flashed a smile, “And why her letter took so long to get here.” He pushed the letter aside, finding it uncomfortable to write about his former wife with his new one watching. “Are you ready for your first lesson?” he asked.

Ciaran hesitated, but wasn’t quick enough to tell him no. He went to rummage in the box of items he’d taken off the settlers and retrieved a slate and a chunk of chalk.

“Here now,” he said, opening up the Primer. “We’ll start with just the letters….” He drew the first one. “That’s an A….It’s the first letter in Apple.” He wrote it out, and then handed Ciaran the chalk and asked her to copy.

She took the chalk sheepishly and tried to make the same marks herself, but she was amazed at how difficult it was
. Her lines wanted to come off wobbly.

“And here’s a small ‘a’” he said and explained the difference between small letters and large ones before moving on to B and C.

Ciaran’s head was spinning even from the small amount of information.

“I don’t know if I can do this!” she said anxiously, but Duncan shook his head
.

“Of course you can!” he told her. “All it will take is practice!”

“I suppose so…” Ciaran conceded. 

She diligently practiced the beginnings of her alphabet until it was time to put the boys to bed.  She didn’t really know if she was improving at all, but Duncan was patient and encouraging, and he didn’t make her feel like a complete idiot when she wrote a whole slate full of a’s back to front.

“See, you’ll be writing your own letters to your sister in no time at all,” Duncan grinned, smiling warmly at Ciaran as she put the piece of chalk down for the evening and called to the boys to start saying their prayers.

“Well, we’ll see,” Ciaran said shyly, although she was pleased Duncan didn’t think she was a complete lost cause.

She tucked the boys in for the night and settled Mary down to sleep.  When she returned to Duncan he had gone back to writing to his sister.  Ciaran was ravenously curious to know if he was writing anything about her and the children, but she couldn’t quite pluck up the courage to ask.  She got out some mending instead and sat quietly by the fire, rather enjoying the companionable silence.  She said as much aloud.

“Of course, it won’t last long once the new baby arrives,” she sighed, mentally preparing herself for the sleepless nights that were soon to come.

Behind her, Ciaran heard a sharp snap, and looked around to see that Duncan had just broken the nib of his pen.  She frowned, and made a soft murmuring sound of concern.

“Oh dear, do you have another one?” she asked.  “Can you fix it?”

“What did you just say?” Duncan croaked, sounding truly odd.

Ciaran knotted her brows together in a puzzled frown.  “I asked if you had another pen.  It will be a shame if you can’t finish your letter.”

“No,” Duncan groaned.  “Be- before that?  What did you say?”

“Um…” Ciaran cast her mind back to try and recall what she had been talking about.  “Oh!  I was just saying we should enjoy the peace and quiet while we can, because it will all be over when the new baby comes.”

“What new baby?” Duncan whispered.  He looked rather pale.  He got up from his chair ever so slowly and walked over to where she was sitting.

Ciaran laughed, still completely confused by Duncan’s behavior.  “
Our
new baby of course!” she laughed.  Duncan was staring at her as though she had just sprouted a second head.  “Duncan?” she said uncertainly, and the smile slipped from her face.  “What’s wrong?”

“You can’t be having a baby,” he said bluntly.

It was Ciaran’s turn to go rather pale. 
He didn’t want her to be having their baby?
  Tears pricked at the backs of her eyes.

“What do you mean?” she whimpered.

“I can’t- I can’t have children-”

“Why not?” Ciaran sobbed.  “Why don’t you want children?  You’re so good with the boys!  With Mary!  Why don’t you want our baby?” she cried, never having expected this reaction from Duncan.

He caught hold of her hands, stopping her when she tried to pull away.  He dropped to his knees in front of her and shook his head.

“Ciaran lass, that’s not what I mean.  I would love to be a father, a real father, more than anything in the world, but I- I
can’t
have children.”  Ciaran sniffed uncertainly and looked at him expectantly, wanting more of an explanation.  Duncan gave it, albeit unwillingly.  “Aileen and I, we- we tried for years and years to have a baby,” he said unhappy.  “And we never- we didn’t- I
couldn’t
-”

“Oh Duncan
,” Ciaran whispered, as understanding finally dawned on her, and with it a great helping of relief.  “That wasn’t- it wasn’t because of you,” she said carefully, still jealous of the past he had with his wife.  “It
can’t
have been you,” she said more firmly, pulling his hand against her stomach.  “Because you’ve given me a baby.  I promise.”

Duncan took a deep breath and pressed his palm down through the gathered layers of her skirt until he met the curve of Ciaran’s belly. It was more pronounced than before. He’d noticed it, of course
, but Sean had always kept the woman half-starved! Duncan thought it was no more than the product of having three square meals per day. Now that she had drawn his hand against the curve, however, he could feel how taut and firm it was, and he remembered the mornings that Ciaran had been feeling ill.

Was it
really
possible? Was she
really
carrying his child?

Duncan couldn’t explain how he was feeling, a mixture of happiness, awe and disbelief. He’d wanted to be a father for long, but had finally accepted that the goal was beyond his reach. Was he willing to take the risk of hoping again? He’d been so certain he
couldn’t
have a child of his own.

What if the baby wasn’t his
?

Unbidden, the thought popped into his mind- although, blessedly, he was able to push it away.

Ciaran’s devotion to him had never wavered. He’d
never
popped home unexpectedly to find her idle or away. If she were the sort of woman who wanted to cheat, she would have come to him before Sean had fallen and, besides, she didn’t exactly have much opportunity to meet other men.

Soothed, Duncan finally allowed a tentative smile
- a look which magnified a hundred fold when he felt a tiny, fluttery kick.

“There he goes then,” Ciaran said, feeling the jab as well. “I knew he’d not be still for long
, an active little fellow, this one.”

“A boy?” Duncan asked, finding it difficult to speak with the huge, ridiculous grin that was plastered on his face.

“Aye,” Ciaran said, nodding firmly.

“You can tell?”

“I’ve never been wrong yet,” Ciaran said with a proud smile, “For myself or my mother or sisters. I just know. This one’s going to be a boy. You can count on it.”

A son
… Duncan fel.He pressed on Ciaran’s belly a little firmer, waiting to feel the baby kick again.

“How long have you known?” Duncan asked, reluctantly stepping away when Ciaran began to squirm.

“Oh, for a few months now,” she replied.

“But you never mentioned it
?”

“Well, I thought you knew!” she fired back. “Besides
, it didn’t bear mentioning. You’ve got enough on your mind.”

“Yes, but-!” Duncan stammered, dumbfounded Ciaran could find the matter so mundane, “But-
a baby
!”

“Well, I take it you’re not displeased?”

“No!”

“Well, that’s good then…and you know now- and there’s still a bit of a wait
.”

“How long?” Duncan asked eagerly, trying to remember how long it was before his mother or Maisie had been able to feel their babies kick.

“Oh…I wouldn’t expect him to come along before March or so.”

March
.

Duncan counted backwards in his head. It was already nearing the end of November, so that was barely four months away. The baby was more than halfway here!

“How are you feeling?” Duncan asked, aghast to realize Ciaran was on her feet. He pushed Ciaran down onto the most comfortable bench, hating that there wasn’t something better.

“I’m fine
,” Ciaran assured him, popping up again to finish the dishes. “A bit tired, and a bit unwell in the mornings, but that’s all to be expected.”

“Are you sure?” Duncan pressed, certain that it couldn’t be good for her to be on
her feet so much. He remembered very clearly when his mother had been pregnant with his brother Cameron and he was certain she’d cut back her activities quite considerably while she was. Then, when she’d been pregnant with Cora…

Duncan shivered to remember how close his mother had come to death in bringing her final child into the world. Nothing would happen to Ciaran
, would it?

A black cloud crossed in front of the bright sunshine that the idea of the baby had brought. It was true that Ciaran was much younger than his mother had been at the time of Cora’s birth, and she
seemed
as fit as a fiddle: lean, deep bosomed and broad-hipped, the perfect type for bearing children. He assumed that she’d come through it all fine three times before. Still, Duncan didn’t trust his luck enough to dismiss
this
fear. He wanted a child desperately, but what cost was he willing to pay?

“Is something the matter?” Ciaran asked, tipping Duncan off to the fact that he was now wearing a frown.

“No,” he answered quickly. “I was just thinking that you ought to sit down. Better yet, we should go to bed. I don’t want you working so much.”

“Well, the work won’t do itself!” Ciaran retorted.

Duncan nodded his head, and then looked thoughtful. “Perhaps you could use some help?”

“Help?” Ciaran quirked a brow.

“Aye,” Duncan said, warming to the idea. “My cousin Connor’s got a pack of lassies round about fourteen…or there’s the Ross girl…” he scrolled through his memory, picking out the tenants with extra pairs of hands to lend.

Ciaran snorted, “The likes of
me
with a servant!” She shook her head, laughing at the idea, “Saints preserve us!”

Duncan didn’t say anymore
- but he didn’t drop the idea in his mind.

The MacRaes had never been an especially wealthy clan, but Duncan’s father (and later Duncan himself) was
still
the laird. He’d been waited on his entire life. There had been cooks and chambermaids, nannies and nurses, butlers, stable boys and scullery girls. He had taken them for granted. When he and Aileen had been forced to flee, they still kept house with a maid to clean and a cook to keep them fed.

Duncan might not be
quite
as prosperous as he had been (after buying up the land, his gold was more or less gone), but he still didn’t think it was right to keep his new wife to a lower standard than he had the first. Besides, regardless of what Ciaran said, he knew she did very hard work. If, by some miracle, he’d been blessed with a baby, he wasn’t going to take any chance of it being snatched away. So, with the aim of finding a helper for Ciaran, he made the rounds the next day, trying to find a helper for his wife.

The Ross’s wouldn’t help.

He didn’t get very far into explaining his situation before Ross shook his head.

“I’m sorry, Duncan,” Mr. Ross said respectfully, “But we need
all
of the girls right here. You know how it is with such a large family - so much washing…and there’s the spinning and the weaving to do. I’m sure your young lady can manage on her own.”

And the MacNab’s wouldn’t send a girl either.

“Oh! You wouldn’t want Becky. She’s more trouble than help, and we simply couldn’t spare her sister.”