The Betrayal of Maggie Blair - By Elizabeth Laird Page 0,61

running up the track, her shawl blowing out behind her, before the rest of us had moved. I saw her stumble, Uncle Blair catch hold of her, and Ritchie take her other arm. They almost carried her between them back to the house. I didn't know which to look at first, my aunt's deathly pale face or the blood pouring down my uncle's forehead.

"It's nothing! Nothing!" he said irritably, as the little girls set up a wail, and Grizel and I stood gaping at him. "A tiny nick in the skin, that's all. The real damage is to my hat, which the musket ball blew clean away. A good hat it was too."

"We shook them off, Mother, just as Father said we would," Ritchie burst out exultantly. "Seven troopers, mounted, and a captain, but they were floundering around in the bog and they couldn't come near us! The others got Mr. Alexander away. He's hiding at Whinnerstone."

"It was a grand sermon he preached, Ritchie, that's the main thing," his father said with a frown.

A gasp from Aunt Blair made him turn around.

"What is it, Isobel? Oh, my dear, you're not—it's not..."

"It is," she said, panting. "The pains have come. Help me inside, Hugh. Ritchie, get away to Barnaigh. Fetch Mistress Barbour to come and help me. Ah! Hurry, now!"

Chapter 18

The birth of my little cousin Andrew was quite different from that of Ebenezer Macbean. There were no wild clouds racing across the moonlit sky, no drunken Granny to curse and stumble, no furious rages, on the one hand, or plaintive, weak cries, on the other. And, of course, there were no mumbled charms around the fire. My aunt, so particular in all her ways, had everything ready.

Ritchie must have run all the way to fetch Mistress Barbour from Barnaigh, because she was back almost at once. She was a round-faced woman, sober and clean. I took the little girls into the rarely used best room, wrapped them in a plaid, and sang them to sleep. Grizel, unconcerned, was already snoring in a corner. Then I opened the shutter at the window and leaned out.

It was a calm evening. The sun had set, but a late glow of red blushed across the sky, casting glory on the land. From the barn nearby, I could hear the cows chewing their cud and a snuffling sound as my uncle's horse blew the dust out of his nostrils. From the next room came Mistress Barbour's quiet, encouraging voice and the occasional groan from my aunt.

Why am I not happy ? I thought. Why am I so restless? Why do I still feel like a stranger here?

Baby Andrew's first cry was more like a bellow than the mewing that was all Ebenezer had managed. I heard the outer door squeak open as Uncle Blair, who must have been waiting outside, hurried in to see his new son. I wanted to go myself, but I thought, They won't want me in there. I'm not really one of them.

Uncle Blair was praying now. I could hear the familiar rise and fall of his special worship voice. Then there was a splashing of water, Mistress Barbour's voice crooning, and the baby's shocked scream.

For the first time since I'd been at Ladymuir, I felt a pang of regret for Granny. But the very thought of her brought a prickling to my scalp at the memory of her cruelty and her violent rages.

It's better here. I'm better here, I thought, pulling in the shutter to close off the starlit darkness that had blotted out the splendor of the evening sky.

I lay down on the floor beside the little girls, tired out. I didn't miss the closed-in bed, the loose nightgown, the springy heather, the smooth linen sheet, and the soft pillow. It was almost a relief to lie as I always had done, on the hard floor in my day clothes with my head resting on my arm. I slept better that night, I think, than I had for a long time.

When I woke, I was alone. Voices and the clatter of pots came from the next room. I jumped up, smoothed my dress and hair, and opened the door.

"Maggie!" cried Martha, running forward to take my hand. "I've a wee brother! He's all red. Come and see!"

She began to drag me across the room. Uncle Blair was bending over the fire in the chimney place, coaxing heat from the peat. Ritchie was coming in from the yard outside, pink