Black Richard's Heart (The MacCulloughs #1) - Suzan Tisdale Page 0,127
that she had Marisse fetch Hattie to see if there was something she could do about her exhaustion and upset stomach.
The three of them were now in Aeschene’s bedchamber. She had just recounted all of her symptoms to the older woman and prayed she wouldn’t insist she see the healer. While she did like Donald, she knew that if they sent for him, Richard would find out and she didn’t want to cause him any concern. She was worried she had the wasting disease or some other deadly illness.
Marisse was right beside her, patting her hand to offer comfort and a bit of strength.
Hattie was the one to break the news to her. She had to, for Aeschene wasn’t arriving at the conclusion on her own. “We dunnae need the healer,” Hattie said, dismissing her worries. “Ye dunnae have the wasting disease, lass. Ye be carryin’ the laird’s bairn.”
Stunned, Aeschene sat frozen in the chair in front of the hearth. “What?”
Hattie rolled her eyes. Youth is often squandered on the young.
Marisse stopped patting her hand.
“I said ye do nae need the healer, ye need the midwife.”
Aeschene couldn’t move. The words rattled around in her head as if Hattie was speaking in a foreign tongue.
“Why do ye look so surprised?” Hattie asked with a cluck of her tongue.
Marisse watched her friend closely, concerned because she hadn’t moved a muscle. She just sat there in stunned and muted silence. “Aeschene, are ye well?”
“Are ye sayin’ ye think I am with child?” she asked for the sake of clarification.
“Aye, that is what I am sayin’.” Finally, she mused resisting the urge to laugh.
Were she able, Aeschene would have seen the broad smile, the pride and sheer joy in the old woman’s eyes. “I was there when Richard was born,” she said with a sniff. “Now I will be able to help bring his own bairn into the world. ’Tis a good day, indeed.”
Aeschene smiled, the importance of this news just beginning to sink in. “Should we call the midwife? Just to be certain?”
Hattie nodded in agreement. “That isn’t a bad idea,” she said. “But we must keep it a secret.”
“Why?” Aeschene asked with a raised brow.
Hattie thrust her hands on her hips. “Do ye want to tell yer husband or let him find out from someone else?”
The thought of Richard finding out from anyone but herself made her cringe. “Marisse, will ye please fetch the midwife and do so discreetly?”
Marisse agreed, smiled, and hugged Aeschene once again. “I am so happy for ye, Aeschene! ’Tis a blessed day, a blessed day!”
Betimes, the speed at which news travels in the Highlands can be downright terrifying.
Frances happened to be visiting Mrs. MacFarland who lives three cottages down from the midwife, Mrs. MacAllen. When Frances and Mrs. MacFarland saw Marisse sneaking around Mrs. MacAllen’s cottage, well, one could only arrive at one conclusion: the poor unmarried lass was in a family way.
By the time Marisse returned to the keep with Mrs. MacAllen in tow, Seamus MacCullough was relaying the news to Farley Newsome, the stable master, who in turn told his wife. Now, Farley’s wife, Mable likes to think of herself as the moral compass by which all others should fashion themselves after. She went straight away to her laird, to complain.
Richard, Lachlan, and Rory were on the training fields, watching their men train when Mable marched right up to Richard.
“Far be it from me to tell ye how to act as chief and laird of this clan,” Mable said, her triple chins rippling contemptuously. “But an unmarried lass who finds herself in the family way is completely unacceptable, laird. Completely unacceptable, I say.”
Richard hadn’t any clear notion to what she was referring to. Crossing his arms over his chest, he remained quiet, for he knew from past experience that interrupting Mable Newsome wouldn’t do a damned bit of good. Eventually, she’d get to her point.
As Richard stood listening to Mrs. Newsome complain about the lack of morals running rampant within their clan, Loreen and Alyce came rushing up. They looked just as appalled as Mable Newsome.
“Is it true?” Loreen asked in wide eyed amazement. Her question, of course, was directed to Mable Newsome.
“Aye, I am afraid it is,” Mable said with a tsk of her tongue and a shake of her head.
Loreen turned then to her laird and the two men standing beside him. “I knew it!” she exclaimed. Turning her piercing glower towards Rory, she said, “And I suppose ye are the father?”