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Authors: Anna Belfrage
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with them today.”
“Aye,” Simon said, “and then…” He grabbed at his throat and made strangled noises.
“It was a coincidence that they should come when Sandy was here,” Matthew said. “They don’t know – no one knows about me helping Sandy.”
“Don’t be daft! Of course someone knows, and information is always for sale – in periods of unrest especially,” Simon said.
“Besides, someone told Luke.” Alex said.
“I’ll be more careful,” Matthew said, but that was as far as he’d go. Alex pushed away from the table and left the room without a word.
“You have responsibilities,” Simon said, “and first and foremost to your family – your wife, who travelled the world to bring you safely home, the bairns she’s given you. They must come first. Even God would agree with that.” He followed Alex out of the room, leaving Matthew to sit with Joan and the wean.
Matthew stared off through the little window, tracking Joan’s reflection in the thick glass. Mostly bones and very little else, Joan tired easily, and wee Lucy was often found nursing in the arms of whatever voluntary wet nurse was at hand.
“You think I’m wrong too?”
Joan sighed. “Of course I don’t; it’s our faith you’re protecting. But if Luke knows, and if there are dragoons riding in regularly, then you must be more than canny, take as few risks as you can.” She cupped Lucy’s little head. “Simon’s right; the bairns must come first.” She smiled at Matthew. “And there will be one more soon.”
“What?” Alex pregnant and she hadn’t told him? He frowned, attempting to recollect when last she’d bled. Joan jerked her head in the general direction of the kitchen.
“You should spend some time with your wife; this last month has been very much about other people than her.”
Matthew found her in the kitchen. “Will you walk out with me?”
Alex threw a look at the dark night. “Now?”
He just nodded, holding out his hand to her. He was silent when they walked across the yard, she trailing him as he closed doors, scratched Ham between the ears, and even offered a carrot to the pig.
“She doesn’t need that,” Alex said. “She had cake today.”
Every shed he inspected before leading her to the laundry shed, a new addition to the outbuildings.
“There’s a light!” Alex hissed as they got closer. “Someone’s in there.”
“Not yet, but soon.” He swung the door open, very pleased by her exclamation of surprise.
The water in the laundry cauldron was steaming, he had lit lanterns and hung them from the roof. The new, enlarged hip bath had been scrubbed and he had brought down quilts and spread them on the broad bench that ran the full length of the small space.
“When did you do this?”
“While you were off being angry with me for being an irresponsible man.” He was already undressing her, and then he helped her in, murmuring that it was about time someone washed her properly. When he began washing her hair she groaned, eyes closed as his fingers worked their way across her scalp. So much hair – so much naked skin to wash and rinse, his fingers doing the occasional detour to inspect her shapely thighs, the curve of her hip and the ticklish instep on her right foot. By the time he was done they were both very wet and very warm.
“Lie down,” he said. Her skin glowed pink after his efforts with the towel. She stretched out on the bench, he kicked off his breeches and drew his damp shirt over his head and joined her, holding a flask of lavender oil. When the oil dribbled onto her stomach she shivered. He stroked her flank and goose pimples broke out all over her thighs. It made him smile, and he repeated the motion, thinking as he always did that it was odd that his woman should pimple as if cold when in reality it was heat she was feeling, her skin blushing under his touch, her pupils dilating as he increased the pressure of his hands.
“You haven’t told me,” he said,
“Aye,” Simon said, “and then…” He grabbed at his throat and made strangled noises.
“It was a coincidence that they should come when Sandy was here,” Matthew said. “They don’t know – no one knows about me helping Sandy.”
“Don’t be daft! Of course someone knows, and information is always for sale – in periods of unrest especially,” Simon said.
“Besides, someone told Luke.” Alex said.
“I’ll be more careful,” Matthew said, but that was as far as he’d go. Alex pushed away from the table and left the room without a word.
“You have responsibilities,” Simon said, “and first and foremost to your family – your wife, who travelled the world to bring you safely home, the bairns she’s given you. They must come first. Even God would agree with that.” He followed Alex out of the room, leaving Matthew to sit with Joan and the wean.
Matthew stared off through the little window, tracking Joan’s reflection in the thick glass. Mostly bones and very little else, Joan tired easily, and wee Lucy was often found nursing in the arms of whatever voluntary wet nurse was at hand.
“You think I’m wrong too?”
Joan sighed. “Of course I don’t; it’s our faith you’re protecting. But if Luke knows, and if there are dragoons riding in regularly, then you must be more than canny, take as few risks as you can.” She cupped Lucy’s little head. “Simon’s right; the bairns must come first.” She smiled at Matthew. “And there will be one more soon.”
“What?” Alex pregnant and she hadn’t told him? He frowned, attempting to recollect when last she’d bled. Joan jerked her head in the general direction of the kitchen.
“You should spend some time with your wife; this last month has been very much about other people than her.”
Matthew found her in the kitchen. “Will you walk out with me?”
Alex threw a look at the dark night. “Now?”
He just nodded, holding out his hand to her. He was silent when they walked across the yard, she trailing him as he closed doors, scratched Ham between the ears, and even offered a carrot to the pig.
“She doesn’t need that,” Alex said. “She had cake today.”
Every shed he inspected before leading her to the laundry shed, a new addition to the outbuildings.
“There’s a light!” Alex hissed as they got closer. “Someone’s in there.”
“Not yet, but soon.” He swung the door open, very pleased by her exclamation of surprise.
The water in the laundry cauldron was steaming, he had lit lanterns and hung them from the roof. The new, enlarged hip bath had been scrubbed and he had brought down quilts and spread them on the broad bench that ran the full length of the small space.
“When did you do this?”
“While you were off being angry with me for being an irresponsible man.” He was already undressing her, and then he helped her in, murmuring that it was about time someone washed her properly. When he began washing her hair she groaned, eyes closed as his fingers worked their way across her scalp. So much hair – so much naked skin to wash and rinse, his fingers doing the occasional detour to inspect her shapely thighs, the curve of her hip and the ticklish instep on her right foot. By the time he was done they were both very wet and very warm.
“Lie down,” he said. Her skin glowed pink after his efforts with the towel. She stretched out on the bench, he kicked off his breeches and drew his damp shirt over his head and joined her, holding a flask of lavender oil. When the oil dribbled onto her stomach she shivered. He stroked her flank and goose pimples broke out all over her thighs. It made him smile, and he repeated the motion, thinking as he always did that it was odd that his woman should pimple as if cold when in reality it was heat she was feeling, her skin blushing under his touch, her pupils dilating as he increased the pressure of his hands.
“You haven’t told me,” he said,
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