When one of the men walked by with the gutted carcass of a stag, Mairin’s stomach revolted. Her cheeks puffed out as she sucked air through her nose to keep from vomiting there in front of Ewan and Laird McDonald. There’d already been far too much drama the last time the laird visited, and she had no desire to start another fracas by losing the contents of her stomach all over his boots.
She hastily made the excuse that she needed to see Gertie so she could supervise the storing of the provisions and bolted before Ewan could remark.
Once inside the keep, she took in long, steadying breaths and then made her way to the kitchens. It wasn’t a complete fabrication. She did want to know Gertie’s plans for the sudden surplus of food, and she also thought it would be a nice surprise to plan a special meal for the occasion.
Predictably, Gertie was grumbling over a large cauldron of stew when Mairin entered the kitchen. Gertie stopped periodically to taste, then she’d groan and add another vegetable.
Gertie looked up and frowned when she saw Mairin. “You’re looking peaked, lass. I saved you a bowl from the morning meal. Are you still feeling poorly every time you eat?”
Touched by her thoughtfulness, Mairin placed a hand on her stomach. “Aye, I’m afraid so. ’Tis the truth, not much seems appetizing to me these days.”
Gertie tsked and shook her head. “When are you going to tell laird that you’re carrying his child?”
“Soon. I wanted to be sure.”
Gertie rolled her eyes. “Lass, no one retches as much as you have for as long as you have if they’re ill. By now they’d either die or get better.”
Mairin smiled and put a hand to her middle. “Aye, ’tis true, still I didn’t want to chance telling the laird something that was false. So much rides on this little one’s shoulders.”
Gertie’s expression softened. “You have a good heart, lass. Our clan has much to be thankful for since you came to us. It almost seems too good to be true.”
Embarrassed by the other woman’s praise, Mairin directed the conversation to the matter at hand.
“I thought to plan a special meal since Laird McDonald made good on his wager. It seems all we’ve eaten of late is rabbit stew. I’m sure the men would love to have fresh venison and vegetables. Surely we could spare a little for celebration without depleting our stores to dangerous levels again.”
Gertie smiled broadly and reached over to pat Mairin on the arm. “I was thinking the same thing myself, lass. I already had in mind to make venison pies, with your permission, of course. With the salt that Laird McDonald provided, we no longer have to spare every grain for preserving. ’Twill make the meal taste delicious.”
“Wonderful! I’ll leave the planning in your capable hands. I’ve promised Crispen that I’d throw skipping stones over the loch with him this afternoon.”
“If you wait but a moment, I’ll give you some bread to take. It will settle your stomach and give you and Crispen a snack for the afternoon.”
Gertie wrapped several small loaves into a cloth sack and handed it to Mairin. “Off with you now, lass. Go and have a good time with Crispen.”
“Thank you,” Mairin said as she turned to go.
Her heart light, and giddy over the idea of telling Ewan of her pregnancy, she went outside to find Crispen.
The sun’s rays shone bright and she turned her face up, seeking more of their warmth. She paused for a moment to watch the McDonalds file across the bridge to the other side of the loch. Her gaze sought Ewan but he was already off on another duty.
She headed around the corner of the keep, searching the shores of the loch for a sign of Crispen. He was standing on a rock outcropping a distance away, his small body outlined in the sun. He stood alone, throwing stones across the surface of the water. He’d watch as the stone traveled, seemingly mesmerized by the way it progressed across the loch. His laughter rang out so pure and untarnished that Mairin’s heart seized. Was there anything more beautiful than a child’s joy?
She looked to the day when Crispen would lead his brother or sister to the loch to throw stones. The two would laugh and plaogether. Like a family.
Smiling, she started forward, looking on the ground for appropriate stones as she went. She gathered half a dozen before arriving to where Crispen stood.
“Mama!”
There was no description for the sheer joy that gripped her whenever he called her mother.
He ran into her arms and she hugged him close, spilling her rocks in the process.
Laughing, he bent down to help her retrieve them, exclaiming over the perfection of one or two stones as he examined them.
“I want to throw this one,” he said, holding up a particularly flat rock.
“Go on then. I wager you can’t make it skip more than eight times.”
His eyes lit up as she knew they would at the challenge she’d set forth. “I can do nine,” he boasted.
“Oh ho! How you boast. Deeds are much stronger than words. Let me see your prowess firsthand.”
His chin set and concentration knitting his eyebrows, he lined up his shot and then set the rock flying. It struck the water and skipped in rapid succession toward the other bank.
“One! Two! Three!” He paused for breath but his gaze never left the progression of the rock. “Six! Seven … eight … nine!” He turned. “Mama, I did it! Nine times!”
“Surely a record,” she said, acknowledging his feat.
“You try now,” he urged.
“Oh, I can’t hope to best someone as skilled as you.”