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Chapter 1
Chapter 1
Morag pinned her shawl around her shoulders as she made her way to her garden patch. She’d covered her seedlings the night before, fearing another late spring frost. “How are ye, wee things? Did you survive the night?”
She carefully peeled back the cloth and inspected the tomato plants that looked as droopy as a pile of pulled weeds. Her breath caught as a memory hit her, sharp and cold. Queen Cadha, barely able to breathe, leaning against her headboard during those last days before she succumbed to her illness. Morag had stood just so at her side then, steadying what she could, knowing some things were not hers to mend.
“Och, you can do better than that.” She set down her small wooden trowel to pick up a stick. She pressed it into the soil close to the stem of the nearest plant, guiding the fragile stem to lean against the support. “Aye,” she murmured, “you’ll improve with me here watching.” She selected several more sticks, anxious to give the seedlings their best chance at survival.
When she reached for the small trowel, it was gone. She glanced around, confused for a second, before muttering to herself, “Och, not again.” She straightened, her right shoulder dropping as it always did when her wing began to ache. She pressed into the pressure points, working out the sharp pains that traveled up through her shoulder and into her neck—a constant reminder of Ainsley Castle and the Kelpie Wars.
Of the harm that still plagued her, she didn’t know which was worse—the pain or the unpredictability of her magic. She was tired of being sore and equally tired of losing objects. That was her favorite trowel, and who knew when she’d see it again.
“Auntie Morag!” a tall youth waved as he approached.
Cooper, a lad with fair hair and a freckled complexion, ambled toward her. He was not her nephew, but his family owned the land and the cottage she currently called home. She’d met him at his birth and watched him grow up to be the young man he was today. She turned his way, lifting the brim of her rather large hat to see him better. He wasn’t in a hurry, but his expression revealed concern. “You’re needed at the birthing,” he said.
Hallelujah. “Excellent timing.”
Morag picked up the larger trowel and shoved it into his hands. Babies were her specialty. Tomatoes and tubers, less so. “See what you can make of this garden while I’m gone.” Her eyes drifted to the weeds in the furrows and around the small yard. “And if you’ve an inclination, I wouldnae mind if you set your hand to those weeds. Naught but a scant rain and they’ve already taken advantage of me old bones. Even a surprise frost doesnae scare them.”
Cooper’s smile dimmed. “How long will you be?” He glanced at the open door to Morag’s stone cottage.
“As long as it takes.” She chuckled to herself as she walked away from her garden. “Dinnae worry. I’ll tell her I’m going. You won’t have to do a thing.”
Morag stepped into the darkness of her cottage to pick up a few supplies. Jean’s pregnancy had given her no cause for worry, but one never knew how a birthing would turn out. Morag reveled in every birth. Each wee bairn brought a special promise of newness and hope for the future.
“It’s time,” Morag called into the cottage gloom on her way out the door. “I’ll be back soon.”
“Please don’t,” said a quiet voice from inside.
Morag paused, her voice softening. “We talked about this. It can’t be helped. The bairn must come first.” She began to leave, then turned back. “Unless you want to come with?” Morag waited a beat before she tapped the door frame. “That’s what I thought.” Morag glanced back at the shadowed corner where the lass hid. “Young Cooper is tending the garden. Don’t give him any bother.”
The lass curled up on her pallet seemed to relax with the knowledge she wouldn’t be alone. Cooper had a way about him that let a person know he would stand by them in their darkest hour.
Morag shifted the strap of her large midwifery bag to a more comfortable position on her shoulder as she set out on the dirt path. The bag was woven from the sea-marsh grasses found near the village of Brae. It was a gift she’d received years ago from a novice crafter. The pattern was simple, and the weave uneven, but she loved it.
The bag reminded her that everyone needed to learn a trade, and that perhaps the girl sheltering with her might want to pick up something similar. Not weaving, since this dry land no longer had soft, pliable grasses. The grass here was sharp and unforgiving, like much of the landscape since the Kelpie Wars changed the water flow.
Perhaps the girl could learn pottery. There was plenty of clay to dig out of the dry riverbeds, but the girl seemed wholly unfit for work of any kind at the moment. All she did was sit on her pallet in the darkest corner of the room and stare at the door. All the more reason to set her hands to something to help her get past her fear.
Decided, Morag nodded to a small brambling bird picking at seeds along the path with its short, chunky beak. “We’ll start the girl’s education when I get back from the birthing.” The brambling’s head tilted as if considering Morag’s statement before it went back to looking for food, and she resumed her walk to Jean’s house.
“Morag’s here.” She announced herself at the threshold before stepping into the stone cottage. While her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she followed the soft groans of a mother in labor. “I see I’m just in time.”
The modest house was well lived in. The breakfast bowls had been piled in the sink to be tended later, and the table had been hastily wiped down—by one of the children, if the streaks of spilled goat’s milk were any indication. A few scattered rag rugs covered the stone floor and lent a cozy feel to the cottage.
“Aye. The bairn is stirring. Thank ye for coming.” Jean pushed herself up on the bed as if wanting to greet the midwife.
“Och, you stay where you are. You’re no stranger to birthing. It’s all about you and the wee one right now. You can serve me tea on the next visit.”
“Thanks for coming, Morag. Me husband filled up the pot with water from the well before he took the children out to field with the sheep. They’ll be home shortly to meet their new brother or sister. I figure this bairn will be as quick as the last.”
“Well, you should ken. This makes number seven, does it not?” The mother nodded, lips clenched as another birthing pain took hold. “Your Cooper is growing into a fine lad.” Morag stoked the peats in the hearth to get the water boiling. “I’ve got him tending the garden whilst I’m away. Should keep his hands busy and the curious away from my cottage.”
“We’ll no’ keep him here much longer, I’m afraid.” Jean’s voice came out breathy, as if she was already tired.
“That’s the way of things. You birth ’em, you raise ’em, you love ’em, then they go out into the world to do some good.” Morag pulled up a chair. She held Jean’s hand. “And that one will do some real good. You can be proud of him.”
“Aye. We are. He and his betrothed will make a formidable force. If we could only get them to move on with the wedding.” Jean closed her eyes and breathed through the next pain.
Morag took stock of Jean’s countenance, her breathing, her energy. Once the pain was over, Morag said, “In due time they’ll wed. They’re still on the young side, and her guardian has been loath to give her up.”
“Aye.” Jean pulled up her legs with the next pain, which came on fast from the last. “It’s time, Morag. Are you ready?”
In the end, the birthing was not as quick or uneventful as expected, but with an experienced mother and midwife, the bairn arrived after the sun hit its peak. Soon after, Kenneth and the young ones burst into the cottage.
“Is she here?” asked the youngest girl, who was hoping for a baby sister. She lunged for the bed, and Morag stopped her short before she could cause any damage.
“Aye, she is.” Jean, face still too pale, looked down at the bundle tucked at her side, then, having all her family but Cooper back under her roof, she closed her eyes and allowed herself to sink back into the pillow.
Kenneth’s gaze met Morag’s. He lifted his eyebrows in an unspoken question.
“She’s tired, but fine. Lost some blood and should stay abed as long as you can keep her there. I ken ’twon’t be easy, but your Lexi is well fit to run the household whilst Jean feeds the bairn. That’s the only task she can handle right now. The rest of you can do the nappy changes and the soothing. I’ll be round to check in every morning.”
Lexi, a girl of fourteen, stood taller with the praise and began assigning tasks to the others, starting with the dishes. “Never you mind, Collin. Ma and the wee bairn need our help. You heard Auntie Morag.” She stared down her complaining younger brother until he turned to the sink with no further grumbling.
Satisfied all was in order, Morag said, “I’ll be off. Congratulations, Kenneth, and all of youse. You’ve a fine addition to your household and our community.”
* * *
Walking home, Morag watched a twist of black smoke rise in the distance like a long, dark snake stretching heavenward. She furrowed her brow, calculating the distance southwest.
“What were you looking at?” Cooper asked when she arrived back in her yard.
“Nothing,” she said, suddenly exhausted after a long day. The lad doesn’t need this worry. Not yet. “How is my garden?”
He brushed the dirt off his hands. “A waste of time, if you’re really wanting my opinion. This dry land isn’t meant to grow such things. You’d best stick to herbs and beans.”
“When you love something, you keep at it,” said Morag.
He eyed the sad group of plants. “You love gardening?”
“No. But I love tomatoes. Nothing better on a hot summer day.” She set down her midwife’s bag. “Everyone’s back at the house. You haven’t asked about the birthing.”
He grinned. “I know it went well, otherwise someone would’ve sent for me already.”
“’Tis true. You’ve another baby sister.”
His grin widened. “Collin will love that. He’s been talking about a baby brother for weeks now. Says he doesn’t like being outnumbered at home.”
“Lexi has him in hand. When I left, he was doing the dishes.”
Cooper laughed. “I’ll be sure to take him trap hunting with me on the morrow, then. He’ll be itching for a walk in the copse. He loves the woods, scant as ours are.”
Morag nodded. Collin would not be one to stay close to home once he came of age. He and the land here didn’t get on. But Cooper, on the other hand, as the eldest, shouldered certain responsibilities and high expectations.
“What is it that you love, Cooper?” she asked. Morag thought she knew the answer but wondered if the boy had it figured out yet.
He shrugged. “My family. Oatcakes for breakfast and a good tea by the fire in the evening.”
“Glad to hear it. It means you’re content. But what about your future? Your betrothed will be ready one day, and then you’ll…?”
Cooper’s expression sobered, and for a moment he looked less like a youth and more like the man he was becoming. “Och, Morag. You know there are things we can’t say aloud in this kingdom.” He crossed his arms and stared unseeing in the direction of the smoke rising out of Glenmoor as if he sensed something was happening there. “I want what we all want. For them to leave us alone. And when the time is ready, I won’t shirk my duty.”
“Hmm.” She started back toward the cottage, pleased with his answer. “Better get home. Your mam will be needing help with those wild siblings of yours while she tends the wee one.”
He sauntered off down the lane and then broke into a run.
“Until next time, Cooper Munro.” Morag pulled her shawl tighter against a sudden chill, though the sun was warm. She’d welcomed new life today, but she felt her old life breathing on her neck more than ever.
