Chapter 10
“You like those?” Nancy’s heart melted as she jingled her keys above the baby, Freya’s little hands swiping for them. “They make a good sound, hey?”
She’d have been lying if she’d said that she hadn’t gone into a full-blown panic when Isla was called away from the nursery, leaving her entirely alone with a three-month-old child. But, as it turned out, as long as she wasn’t crying, Freya was pretty easy to entertain.
The baby was lying on her blanket on the floor, challenging her hand-eye coordination rather well, after Nancy had given up on pointing out things from the window. There were only so many times she could say, “Look at that mountain. Look at that sheep.”
“This one is for my lovely little apartment that costs an extortionate amount of rent, but makes up for it with privacy,” Nancy explained, chuckling.
“That one is for the car rental that I’m going to get charged through the roof for.
That other one is for my friend Emily’s apartment, though she’s not there right now. ”
Freya gurgled happily, her tiny fingers trying to grab for the fluffy frog keyring that had seen better days, the fur all flattened from being squished at the bottom of her bag.
“I’d give him to you, but he’s probably not sanitary,” Nancy said with a grimace, suddenly realizing that she herself might be a threat to Freya’s immune system. There were all sorts of sicknesses in her world that didn’t exist here, or so she thought. She wasn’t exactly sure.
She reached into her bag and doused her hands in a few squirts of hand sanitizer anyway, just in case.
“You’d like Emily,” she cooed, making the little fluffy frog dance.
“I said she was my friend, but she’s more like my sister.
I’ve known her since I was nine, when we were in foster care together.
I don’t know if you have fostering here.
Probably not. Neighbors, family, or friends likely just take care of the kids who don’t have anyone. ”
“Anyway, she and I used to get up to all sorts of mischief,” she continued in a brighter voice that Freya seemed to like.
“We’d hide on the bus and let it take us all the way to the depot, where the drivers would give us hot chocolate and cookies, then take us back.
We’d go for these endless walks through places we probably shouldn’t have been, and we’d make up these imaginary worlds.
Well, Emily would, and I’d play along… and it was pretty magical, until we’d eventually get chased off. ”
Freya’s arms moved slowly, desperately trying to figure out how to grab the frog.
“You’re not even listening, are you?” Nancy laughed. “You don’t want to know about the year our foster parents took us to see Santa, and I pulled his beard off? Don’t worry,” she added quickly, “he wasn’t the real one.”
She was about to jump into another story, one of her happiest memories of her and Emily riding the ferry all day long, when the baby’s adorable smile no longer struck a happy note in Nancy. Instead, the note was discordant, so at odds with that sweet smile.
You’re going to end up like me.
The thought was ugly and painful, like a drill through the skull.
Of course, Nancy didn’t mean literally. There were probably countless people who would see to it that Freya was loved and never felt alone in the world, but that didn’t change the fact that she would be parentally alone. That awful word: orphan.
“I wish I’d never seen it,” Nancy croaked, her throat tight. “That tapestry… It was real, and… I can’t see a way that it could exist in my world if it wasn’t created in yours. It happens in a month, and I can’t do anything to stop it.”
This precious little girl would grow up without a mother or a father. Even if other people stepped up to give Freya the love and affection and care and support that she needed, there would always be a missing piece, a wrongness that was hard to explain but could do a whole lot of damage.
If it hadn’t been for Emily, Nancy knew she probably wouldn’t be alive anymore.
At the very least, she wouldn’t be living properly.
She’d be existing, getting into more and more trouble to try to fill that gaping void inside her.
All the thrills and risks and stupid actions, testing to see if anyone cared.
Tolerated in a child, to an extent, but not in an adult, even if they were just that scared, abandoned kid inside.
“I could sneak you out?” she suggested. “How about some 21st-century luxuries, huh? You wouldn’t believe the toys we have.”
Provided that I can return…
The thought had been bugging her nonstop. If the tapestry was the linchpin in all of this, then she was more or less marooned here in the 18th century. Until some weaver went ahead and crafted that tapestry on a loom, she was stuck… and stuck watching it all play out, too.
“Your father is… a brute, and he definitely should learn to keep his hands to himself, but… I don’t think I want him dead,” she whispered, shuddering.
Her mind drifted back to that grisly tapestry that began with such hope and light, a loving bride and groom standing at the altar, ready to pledge themselves to one another forever. And then the blade through the Hawk’s heart in the last chapter of the woven story.
The blade through Hunter’s heart.
Not some abstract entity from history, but a man she had met, a man she had spoken with, a man who had made her feel things she hadn’t felt in years.
Ever, probably. She’d certainly never experienced anything close to the excitement, the feverish rush of heat, the need to be kissed and to feel his hands on her, the yearning that had overwhelmed her.
Was it Stockholm Syndrome? Possibly. But she was fairly certain that that took longer to kick in than whatever animal passion had almost seized her that morning.
Just then, Nancy heard a sound that struck more fear into her heart than any intimidating Scotsman ever could—the droning buzz of a bee.
Her gaze darted to the window, cursing herself for not closing it. She’d thought they were safe so high up, and she’d figured the weather was too cold for bees to thrive here.
Yet, there it was, buzzing through the air. Not the fat fluff of a bumblebee, but the sleek, aerodynamic shape of a honeybee. It didn’t matter, not to Nancy, but at least bumblebees were cute.
“It’s just a bee,” she said to Freya, while she sat perfectly still, reminding herself as she had done a thousand times before that a bee wouldn’t attack as long as it didn’t feel threatened. “Just a buzzy little bee that got lost on its way to a flower.”
Her heart lurched as the bee landed on Freya’s leg.
Stay still. Please, stay—
The insect must have tickled the baby as it walked down her chubby thigh. One moment, Freya was perfectly, unbelievably still; the next, she was thrashing and giggling.
Nancy lunged, swiping with her hand, fully prepared to take the sting if it meant sparing Freya from the pain. She was too late, the bee curving its abdomen downward, no doubt panicking as much as Nancy was.
Swearing under her breath, she pulled her finger back and flicked the bee, her heart rate sky-high as she watched it sail across the floor. As soon as it hit the ground, it began to crawl away to find a quiet spot to die.
“I’m sorry,” Nancy gasped, anxiety turning her stomach into its very own tapestry of twisting knots and too-taut strings. “I’m sorry, Freya. I’m sorry, little bee.”
Guilt writhed in her veins as Freya let out the most pitiful cry.
Guilt for the baby and the bee that had just given its life for nothing.
But Nancy could only help one of them, and though she still hadn’t gotten used to holding babies, she carefully scooped Freya up off her blanket, rose to her feet, and held the child close.
“You’re okay,” Nancy murmured, rocking the baby as she’d seen Isla do. “You’re okay. I know that was a nasty shock, but you’re okay.”
Maneuvering the child, she glanced down to check for the stinger, but it seemed to have fallen out. All that was left was a livid red spot.
“We’ll put some cream on that, shall we?” Nancy said, pausing as she tried to figure out how to pick up her bag and hold a baby at the same time.
She had just managed to hook the handle of the bag with her foot when she realized that Freya wasn’t crying anymore.
Rather, it wasn’t the startled scream of a moment ago, but a horrible, gagging sound.
And all across the child’s skin, nasty red hives were beginning to pop up.
Meanwhile, one of her eyes was already swelling, as well as her bottom lip and the bottom half of her sweet, chubby cheeks.
“Oh my God,” Nancy choked out, as if she were the one who’d been stung. “Oh my God… no, no, no…”
Freya was allergic. Yet another thing they had in common.
Swearing colorfully, Nancy rushed the baby over to her crib and lay her down before sprinting back to fetch the bag she’d left on the floor.
She scrambled for her Epi-Pen and recited the saying in her mind: Orange to the thigh, blue to the sky.
She might have carried one always, but it had been a while since she’d actually had to use it.
Just as she was about to use the autoinjector, however, she paused. A horrible thought crept into her head. The epinephrine in the pen was enough for an adult, but Freya was a baby. How on earth could she reduce the dose?
It wasn’t like there was time to think. Freya’s gurgling sounds had become rasping breaths, her tiny face scrunched up as she struggled for breath.
“Not as long,” Nancy whispered.
With a desperate prayer to any ancient Scottish gods that were listening as well as the one she sometimes prayed to, she jabbed the Epi-Pen into Freya’s thigh and twisted to watch the medicine window. When around a third was gone, she swiftly removed the injector.
Shaking and still muttering a prayer under her breath, she rubbed the area.
It’s not enough. She needs a doctor. She needs a hospital. And I’m three hundred years away from being able to properly help her.
The epinephrine would open her airways and get her breathing again, but she needed aftercare and observation and—
“I hate this place,” she hissed.
“What are ye doin’?” a low voice asked.
Her heart jumped violently as she whirled around to find Jack walking toward her. She hadn’t heard him approach.
“A bee came in,” she managed to croak, trembling. “It stung the baby. I was just trying to help. I...”
“I saw what ye were doin’,” Jack replied, his mouth twisting. “I heard what ye said.”
He looked down into the crib, and even Nancy knew that, by 1710 standards, this didn’t look good for her. Freya seemed to be drawing breath again, but the swelling hadn’t stopped, and the hives must have been terribly itchy, which only made the child writhe and whimper more.
“I promise, I was just trying to help,” Nancy rambled.
Jack grabbed her by the wrist. “Ye’ll nae harm anyone in this castle, lass.
I kent ye couldnae be what ye said ye were, for who would want the position that ye took?
Nay one answered the summons. Nay one but ye.
” He shook his head, his eyes blazing with fury.
“And a day before our men were ambushed, too. That’s nae a coincidence, lass.
Och, I kent MacLeach regretted it! I kent he wouldnae just let Hunter have her! ”
With a fierce grip that made her wince, he dragged her away from Freya and out of the room.
“The baby! We have to take her! She needs help! She’s allergic, and she needs help!” Nancy yelled, drawing the attention of a maid who came running down the hallway.
Jack glared at the maid. “Take the bairn to the Laird and tell him to send word for a healer. Quickly.” He paused, baring his teeth. “Tell him a witch has done somethin’ to his daughter, and that witch is goin’ where she belongs: the dungeons.”