Chapter 7
The doors to the Lesser Hall squeaked open, and Hunter’s eyes snapped toward the sound.
His aunt came into the room first, looking rather pleased with herself. A moment later, he understood why, as a vision in a gown of purple and green tartan swept in behind her.
They weren’t his clan colors—in truth, he wasn’t sure who they belonged to—but they became her well, complementing her dark hair and sun-browned skin.
Now, that’s a Scottish lass.
A tight bodice finally allowed him a full picture of Nancy’s curves, her ample bosom rising and falling with obvious nerves, while an overskirt seemed to have widened her hips, a crisp white petticoat showing through the gap between.
Draped sleeves gave her slender arms a certain elegance, though she moved as if she wasn’t quite comfortable.
He set down the leg of pheasant he’d been about to bite into, and as his eyes roved over her hourglass figure, and the glimpses of bare skin at her throat and bosom and forearms, he had a sudden craving for something altogether more satisfying. To sink his teeth into something more tender.
Ye should have let me chain ye up, lass.
She looked at him then, her dark blue eyes shining, her cheeks flushed a pleasant pink hue—the kind he couldn’t help but imagine in a more intimate setting, without all those layers hiding what he’d so admired in those inappropriate trews, that honeyed skin slick with sweat.
He bit into the pheasant anyway, hoping the taste would distract his mind from wandering where it shouldn’t. But if the lass had been sent here as a trick, to entice him and slit his throat while he slept, he sensed he was in a little more danger than he’d realized.
Then again, he could think of worse ways to die.
“Go on, lassie,” Isla urged, gesturing to the seat beside him.
An imperceptible growl rumbled in the back of his throat, threatening to turn into a protest. But he couldn’t do that in front of everyone; they’d wonder what on earth his problem was with the lass, and that would ruin the entire ruse in an instant.
There were five others at the table that morning: Elsie and Jack, his cousin Beathan, and two of the more tolerable members of the council, Iain and Robert.
Jack grinned. “Nice to see ye again.”
“And you,” Nancy mumbled.
The man-at-arms yelped as Elsie jabbed him hard in the ribs with her elbow.
“What, love? I was just bein’ polite.” He chuckled and pressed a kiss to his wife’s brow. “Ye’d have elbowed me twice as hard if I hadnae been courteous.”
“Ye may be right,” Elsie replied, smiling as he kissed her again.
Hunter relaxed as Nancy took the seat beside him, though the pheasant was doing nothing to help distract him. The scent of her… It struck him like a punch, sweeter than anything he’d ever smelled, as if she were a dessert that demanded slow and satisfying consumption.
“This is Nancy Kane,” Hunter said, as gruffly as he could. “She’s to be me daughter’s new nursemaid.”
At that, Beathan perked up. The slightly younger man had been grumpy all morning after learning that he wasn’t going to be sent eastward to help with trade negotiations.
As the clan’s envoy, he’d been looking forward to it, but with a council meeting coming up, Hunter hadn’t wanted to spare him for such a long excursion.
“Nancy, this is Elsie, Jack, Isla ye already ken, Beathan, Iain, and Robert,” Hunter added, gesturing to each in turn.
“Have ye raised many bairns, Miss Kane?” Beathan asked, with a look of interest that made the back of Hunter’s neck prickle.
Nancy fidgeted with the spoon set out in front of her. “No, not many.” She cleared her throat and raised her head a little higher. “I… I had to raise one, and I think I did a decent job. They’re still alive and don’t have too many complaints, so I’ll take it as a victory.”
“Ye daenae sound like ye’re from any of the villages,” Beathan noted, tilting his head to the side, an admiring shine in his eyes.
Nancy smiled. “I’m not. My mother was a… um… midwife, and we traveled all over, so my accent is a little bit of everywhere.”
At that, Hunter cast a discreet look at his aunt. Evidently, between their parting in the dungeons yesterday and now, there’d been a few necessary adjustments to the story of who Nancy was and why she was here.
Isla smiled back at him with a proud little nod, and he had to admit it covered a lot of the gaps that he’d been concerned about.
Although he’d have been lying if he said that getting the story right was the reason he hadn’t slept much last night.
Nancy’s odd attire and fiery demeanor had crept into his thoughts unbidden, as had the way her lips parted when he’d whispered to her.
“Ah, so ye must be used to wee bairns, even if ye havenae raised many.” Beathan nodded as if that made perfect sense.
Nancy expelled a nervous breath. “Exactly.”
“What made ye want to do it again?” Elsie cut in, her hand on the swell of her belly. “I might have to borrow ye for when me own bairn arrives, if ye do well with Freya. Och, and if ye ken about midwifery, then maybe ye can help deliver the bairn!”
Nancy froze at Hunter’s side, no breath whispering in and out of her chest, her eyes wide and unblinking, like a rabbit catching the scent of something on the breeze.
He could sense she was on the brink of ruining all the good work she’d already done. Perhaps saying that her mother had been a midwife hadn’t been the best idea, but there was nothing to be done about that now.
Pretending to reach across Nancy to pick up a jug of weak ale, he murmured low enough so that only she would hear, “Be convincin’, because if ye cannae protect yer secrets, I willnae have to protect ye anymore.”
Nancy should have said that her mother was a nurse, but she hadn’t known the 1710 equivalent of the word. Healer, perhaps? The last thing she wanted to do was trip up on vocabulary that didn’t exist yet, when she was already treading on a timeline she shouldn’t have been in.
She managed to take a breath and stared down at her hands, as if she might find the answers in the lines on her palms.
He’s right.
These people didn’t owe her anything, and the ones who knew the reality of the situation were putting themselves at risk just by knowing.
This wasn’t 2026. They’d call her a witch or worse if she didn’t play along, and that probably only ended one way: burned at the stake, ducked in the river, or some other twisted medieval torture method.
Emily would have known exactly what might have befallen her, ever a fountain of historical knowledge, but she wasn’t here. That meant erring on the side of caution in everything she did from now on until she figured out how to get home.
Come on, Nancy. You’ve done harder things before, and there was a time when you could lie better than anyone.
She thought of herself all alone as a child, years before she met her foster family and Emily, surviving because she had no other choice. She was scared then, and she was scared now, but survival was paramount yet again.
She took a deep breath, looked Elsie in the eyes, and played to her strengths.
“What made me want to do it again? Well, I believe no child deserves to feel alone or scared. Being a nursemaid, I believe I can help little Freya never feel any of those things.” She relaxed her mouth into a smile.
“As for helping you deliver your child, I’m afraid my mother…
died before she could teach me properly. I wouldn’t dare to try.”
All of a sudden, Elsie burst into tears, one hand on her belly and the other on her chest as she choked out between sobs, “That’s so… lovely. Och, I couldnae… agree more. Nay bairn should feel scared or alone.”
The man called Jack chuckled and put his arm around her, kissing the top of her head. “Our bairn willnae be,” he said softly. “Ye’ll be the finest maither there ever was.”
“What if I die, like her maither?” Elsie snuffled.
“Impossible. I willnae allow it. I’ll chase down the Lord himself and demand to have ye back if he ever dared to take ye from me,” Jack replied.
Nancy’s heart fluttered. She’d never heard a man say something so heroically sweet before.
In fact, she couldn’t imagine anyone in her century saying something like that with such sincerity.
Or maybe she couldn’t imagine someone saying it and her not rolling her eyes.
But between these two, it was a sweet thing to hear.
The two of them were clearly besotted with each other.
With her first real smile that morning, Nancy turned to look at Hunter… and jumped to find him staring back at her, his green eyes ablaze with something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. Whatever it was, it was fierce.
He’s probably just pissed off that you nearly wrecked the whole thing.
What else could it be?
She turned her gaze away and reached for a bowl of fat, glistening blackberries. Nerves had robbed her of her appetite, but she could at least eat a handful of those.
“It’s all bairns though, is it nae?” the man called Beathan remarked with a pensive look. “There’s nae much else a woman can do but birth bairns, help birth bairns, and help look after bairns, and then look after the elders. Important, aye, but it all comes down to bairns.”
Nancy nearly crushed a whole blackberry in her hand, glaring at the blond-haired, blue-eyed man. “Excuse me?”
“I mean nay offense, lassie,” he replied, his hands up. “Ye cannae fight battles. Ye cannae lead. All ye can do is raise bairns, either yers or someone else’s. It’s just how it is.”
Even though she was seriously considering launching a jug at his head, she couldn’t hear any malice or mockery in his voice. It truly sounded like he meant no ill will by it. And, to her dismay, Isla and Elsie nodded in agreement.
“Och, it’s the most important thing there is,” Isla crowed. “Although it’s probably nae the only thing. Queen Elizabeth would have had yer neck for sayin’ that. And our Mary, Queen of Scots. I willnae say Elizabeth did much good for us, but she was a fine leader of England.”
“Aye, but that’s an exception,” Beathan argued. “Queen Elizabeth would’ve done well to have some bairns, so her sons could be kings one day, but she didnae. More of a cautionary tale, if ye ask me.”
Nancy had heard enough. If she stayed here any longer, she would undoubtedly say something that would land her in trouble. To them, it likely was just the way of things, but that didn’t mean she could sit and listen to women’s contributions in society being boiled down to being broodmares.
I bet no one here has ever heard of invisible labor and how nothing runs without it.
She pushed back her chair and got up. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m not feeling so well. Long journey.”
She didn’t wait for permission, though she figured she was probably expected to ask for it.
With her head down and her hands balled into fists, she walked briskly out of the hall. Just past the doors, she paused, uncertain which was the right way back to her room.
Screw it. I’ll wander ‘til I find it.
She picked a direction and started walking again, vibrating with such annoyance that she could feel her own ire radiating off her.
At the foot of a staircase that might or might not lead her to where she wanted to go, she took a deep breath, too tired because of so much exercise so early in the morning.
She’d barely made it a few steps up when a deep voice echoed from behind her, “Wait.”
The tone was rough and commanding, and though she was half-tempted to try and run away from Hunter, that wasn’t what she’d agreed upon with her younger self. So she halted and turned, and waited for the scolding that his gruff voice let her know she was about to receive.