but I believe he meant to stop off at home to drop off his purchases. I’ll have tea ready at five-thirty. That should give him plenty of time.”
Twenty minutes. I had twenty minutes to collect my thoughts and plan how I was going to tell him about the baby without sounding desperate for a wedding ring. I knew not to underestimate Ian. He could be very persuasive when he wanted something and I was the last person to withstand his personal appeal especially when it was something I very much wanted myself.
In the bathroom, I pulled back my hair, secured it with a barrette, and splashed water on my face. The hollows under my eyes looked like giant bruises against my skin. I frowned and studied my reflection in the mirror. Fatigue had done its worst. Where was the glow pregnant women were supposed to radiate? I looked every bit of my thirty-seven years. Releasing the clip, I finger-combed my hair into its usual neat bob. How was I going to make it through the next hour?
Glancing at my watch, I saw that I had ten minutes. Ian was never late. I debated between changing my clothes or putting my feet up. As always, comfort prevailed over ego. With a sigh of relief, I climbed up on the high bed and pulled the pillows into a comfortable position behind my head.
Almost immediately I felt it, the aching temples, the dizziness, the pull of the past. Across the centuries, Jeanne Maxwell called to me. Her thoughts, her words, her laugh, were so like mine, she no longer appeared as an apparition. The dreamlike quality of my earlier visions had completely disappeared. I saw and heard and smelled and touched with the brilliant, diamond-edged clarity of a never-to-be-forgotten moment in time.
Eighteen
TRAQUAIR HOUSE
July 30, 1513
“How does it flatten out so easily for you?” Jeanne asked as she pulled impatiently at the clumps of wool balling up on the spindle. “I’ve two good eyes, and all I get is a sticky mess.”
Grania Douglas smiled indulgently. “Ye ha’ no patience, lass, and with a hundred servants, ye ha’ no need.”
Jeanne frowned and rescued the ball of yarn from her daughter’s berry-stained hands. “I hate it when you say that. It makes me feel as if I were a stranger.” Her eyes held a curious, hunted look, like that of an animal caught in an awkwardly sprung trap. “I’m the same person I always was.”
Grania chuckled. “Aye, tha’ ye are, lass. But I canno’ remember that ye e’er enjoyed spinnin’.”
Jeanne looked down at her oily hands and laughed. “I never did,” she admitted. Throwing aside the pin, she lifted her daughter to her lap. “’Tis time you joined your brother, my love.” She glanced over at the crib, hidden behind a hanging blanket that divided the living quarters from the sleeping area.
“He sleeps like the dead,” she whispered to Grania. “There were times, just after he was born, when I would rest my head on his chest to be sure he still breathed.”
Grania nodded. “The bairn is a restless lad. He sleeps t’ renew the blood in his veins.” She nodded toward the black-haired child in Jeanne’s arms. “Do no’ make the mistake o’ believing wha’ is righ’ fer the lad is the same fer Isobel. Mark my words, yon lass is different.”
A chill ran down Jeanne’s spine, and she hugged the tiny girl to her breast. “You’ve said that before, Granny, but I cannot believe it. She is no different than I was. Mother told me so.”
Grania’s sightless eyes narrowed. “Ye were no’ in the common way yersel’. Yer mother ne’er wanted to see it.”
Jeanne changed the subject. “John doesn’t like it when I come here.”
“Does he forbid ye?” Grania’s skillful fingers continued their task as she spoke.
“He would never do that,” Jeanne was quick to assure her. “But the talk about your healing grows uglier by the day.”
Grania sighed. “Do no’ concern yersel’, lass. ’Twas always the way.”
“The king is very superstitious,” Jeanne continued. “Now that he plans to invade England, you must be more careful than ever. Stay home,” she pleaded. “There are healers to care for the villagers. In every corner, spies wait like vultures to pick over the carrion. Do not give them a reason to question you.”
“Yer a dear lass t’ be so concerned, but here in the hills, nothing changes. Do no’ worry so.”
Jeanne sighed. This argument between the two of them was an old one. As usual, Grania