Chapter Nineteen #2
“I-I cannae give my husband another child,” she said. “Not since…”
She glanced at Brodie, her eyes glistening with moisture.
“Evie lost a child last winter,” Brodie said. “A boy. Stillborn—after her pains came early. She’s not been strong since.”
“And did anything happen to make your pains come early?” Mia said.
“I fell,” Evie said. “I’m not strong enough to…” She curled her fingers around the blanket, then lifted her gaze to Mia, and Mia’s heart broke at the plea in her eyes. “I-I was wondering if ye had something to make me strong, so I could give my husband another child.”
Mia tempered the anger boiling in her gut, and fear flickered in Evie’s eyes.
“Oh, forgive me, ma’am—I know it’s sinful to speak of such things, a-and I’m not speaking against my husband, b-but I’m not a good wife to him, and I w-want…” Her voice wavered and Mia took her hand.
“If you want my opinion, I think it’s Murdoch who’s not being a good husband to you.”
“B-but I love him. I vowed to obey him.”
As, no doubt, Murdoch had vowed to honor and cherish his wife.
But the rules of society and the church were intended to perpetuate the advantages of men and maintain the distinction between them and the women those men believed they had ownership of.
And nobody could help with whom they fell in love—even if the object of their love would never return it.
Mia glanced over the young woman—the pallor of her cheeks, and the dark rings beneath her eyes.
“Do you tire easily?” she asked.
“Aye, ma’am.”
“And sometimes feel faint when you stand?”
Evie nodded. “H-how did ye know?”
“I suspect you have anemia.”
Evie’s eyes widened with fear. “Am I going to die?”
“No,” Mia said. “It’s easy to treat and doesn’t require medicine. Do you eat much meat?”
“I’m always cooking a bit of venison, though Murdoch likes to take his share. But he’s a man, so he needs it.”
“So do you,” Mia said. “You should take more for yourself—set some aside when he’s not looking?”
“Och, I dinnae know if I could…”
“Think of it as your way of ensuring that you get better. Murdoch wants you better, doesn’t he?”
Mia could still see uncertainty in the other woman’s eyes, so she plucked a jar from her shelf filled with dried leaves.
“These will help,” she said, “either taken as a tea, or you could add them to a stew. And”—she hesitated, unwilling to cross the boundary between patient and friend, particularly if she was to leave Glenblath—“you can visit me any time for tea—or luncheon, on a day like today when your husband and son are not…in need of you.”
“I-I dinnae know, ma’am. I’ve no money to pay ye.”
“There’s no need for payment,” Mia said, and Evie’s mouth creased into a grimace.
“I dinnae need charity.”
“I’m not offering it,” Mia said. “I made an agreement with Hamish that while I remain here, I’ll treat anyone who needs me at no cost.”
“Aye,” Brodie said. “I heard Master Hamish say that myself.”
At length, Evie nodded. “Thank ye, ma’am.”
“And you promise to visit me when you can?” Mia said.
“Aye.”
“Make sure ye do, cousin,” Brodie said. “Ye can always tell Murdoch ye’re visiting me.”
Mia took a handful of leaves from the jar and wrapped them in a cloth. “Here you go,” she said. “There are plenty growing hereabouts. I’ll point them out next time you come if you’d like to gather them for yourself.”
“I-I’d like that,” Evie replied, then, as the clock over the mantelshelf struck six, she rose to her feet and teetered to one side, and Brodie caught her arm. “Oh!” she cried. “Murdoch will be home soon.”
“Come along, cousin,” Brodie said, offering his arm. “I’ll take ye.”
He steered her to the door, Mia following. As they stepped outside, Mia caught sight of a figure approaching the cottage. The figure stopped and Mia called out, “Who’s there?”
It was Hamish’s sister.
“Iona? Is that you?” Mia said.
Brodie drew in a sharp breath.
“What’s it to ye?” Iona sneered.
“Iona—” Brodie began, but the girl let out a laugh.
“What are ye doing here, Brodie?” she said. “Wanting a potion to turn ye into a man? I doubt even she’d have something for that.”
“Iona, there’s no need—” Evie began, her voice carrying an undertone of steel in defense of Brodie, but Iona merely laughed.
“There’s nothing for ye here, Evie MacLennan—I thought ye knew better than to visit the Sassenach witch. Does Murdoch know ye’re here?”
“No—please…”
“Iona, that’s enough!” Mia said. “Insult me all you like, but you’ve no right to insult others merely for wanting a little help.”
“I’ll say what I like!” Iona cried, her voice tight with emotion as if she were about to burst into tears. Then she turned and fled, and Mia could swear she heard sobbing.
“Brodie…” Evie said, but he shushed her.
“There’s naught to worry about,” he said. “Iona won’t say anything to Murdoch.”
“What if she does?”
Brodie let out a sigh. “She’s a little wild, that’s all—and she’s wild because she’s unhappy. But there’s not a wicked bone in her body. She’s like an animal cornered in a trap, begging to be free, who says more than she means. Isn’t that right, ma’am?”
“Yes,” Mia said. “She’s an unhappy girl. I wonder why?”
“I wish I knew,” Brodie said, a sigh in his voice that betrayed his own emotions.
Yes—nobody could help with whom they fell in love, whether it were a brute, a wild young girl…
…or a husband who wished for an annulment.