Page 3 of Echoes of a Forgotten Warrior (A Highland Ruse of Love #2)

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B laire had just delivered a baby girl, and as usual when she completed a successful birth, she felt both exhausted and exhilarated. There was nothing like the feeling of holding the warm, squirming little bundle in her hands as the baby took its first breath, and when she let out her first heart-rending wail, Blaire always felt a surge of triumph.

She placed the baby girl on her mother’s stomach while she cut and tied the umbilical cord, then left them to rest for a moment. The mother was very young, a nineteen-year-old called Peighi Russell, and while her face was red and sweating, and she was obviously exhausted, she shone with happiness.

Blaire delivered the afterbirth, then went back to take the baby from Peighi to wash her. The young mother gave a little gasp of distress and involuntarily held on more tightly to her child.

“I must wash the birth fluids off her,” Blaire told her. “She must be clean, and so must you. Then you can feed her, and I promise that both of you will be joined together so tightly by bonds of love that no one will be able to take her away from you—ever.”

After another second’s hesitation, Peighi surrendered her baby into Blaire’s careful and capable hands, and Blaire’s assistant and friend Rosina came to clean up the young mother.

“You did very well, Peighi,” Rosina said, smiling. “Congratulations! How do you feel now?”

Peighi shifted uncomfortably. “A bit sore,” she confessed.

“Quite normal,” Rosina told her. “But it will pass, and later you will not be able to remember it at all. It’s hard to believe now, I know, but it really is true.”

Peighi smiled, but her gaze kept turning towards Blaire, who was sponging down the protesting little infant while speaking soft soothing words of comfort to her. However, the baby was having none of it; she wanted her mother—and she wanted her right away!

Blaire smiled as she finally wrapped the little girl in a woollen shawl, handed her to her mother, and then watched as Rosina helped her guide her tiny daughter to the breast. She began to suckle vigorously, making endearing gobbling sounds that always made Blaire want to giggle.

“Do you have a name in mind for her?” she asked as she washed her hands.

“Aye,” Peighi answered. “We are goin’ tae call her Margaret, or Maggie for short. My mammy says it means ‘pearl.’ A pearl is a precious wee jewel, an’ that is what this wee lassie is to me. I only wish her da could have seen her.”

She looked down at her newborn infant with such love in her eyes that it brought a lump to Blaire’s throat.

Peighi had a sad story to tell, and it was even more so because it was not uncommon in an area where two clans were at each other’s throats. Her husband had been killed while fighting the highly skilled soldiers of the Lovatt clan, so baby Margaret would have to be raised without a father.

The thought of this made Blaire boiling mad because not only had the life of a fine young man been brutally cut short, but this young woman would now have to struggle to raise her daughter on her own. Blaire often wished that she could take all these young mothers and put them in a big home where she could feed them, look after them and safeguard their growing children. That was impossible, and Blaire knew it, but it did not stop her from dreaming.

“Is there anything else you need, Peighi?” she asked.

Peighi shook her head, smiling. “Me an’ Maggie are fine, thank ye,” she replied.

“Call me if you need me,” Blaire told her, then she went out, leaving the door ajar so that she could hear if Peighi needed her assistance.

When she went into the room where she mixed the medicines for treating her patients, she found Rosina there washing her hands with a slab of rough soap. She was not so much washing as scrubbing, and Blaire imagined that any particle of dirt on them would be too afraid to remain!

Blaire ran her eyes over the woman who was her closest friend and colleague. She was in her late fifties, the same age her mother would have been if she had lived, and was small and neat in stature, with dark straight dark hair that was now turning grey. Her eyes were deep brown and so direct and focused that it seemed as though she could look into a person’s soul when she stared at them.

She had been Blaire’s mother’s best friend and confidante, and had nursed her through her final illness. Lorraine had died when Blaire was only ten years old, and Rosina had adopted her, not legally, but she had taken her in since then.

She had provided food, clothing and shelter. Rosina had helped to mould the firm character that Blaire had to the present day. In fact, she had educated Blaire so well that she had a better education than nearly every girl her age. She was responsible for the fact that Blaire could read, count and reason, as well as mix herbs, potions and salves, set broken limbs and deliver babies, amongst many other functions.

Rosina had always said that cleanliness was next to godliness, and that a clean soul would be disgraced by a dirty body. She was not a particularly religious person, although she did believe in God, but there was a great wholesomeness about her. She was one of the few truly good people Blaire had ever known.

Now, as she caught Blaire studying her, she looked up and raised her eyebrows. “Have I grown two heads?” she asked.

Blaire giggled and gave her friend a playful swipe on her arm with the back of her hand. “No,” she replied. “But you know, I always feel a little bit unsettled when I deliver a baby. I’m afraid of the kind of world I’m bringing them into.” Then she sighed and moved to the window. “That little newborn in there, for example—what kind of life will she have without a father?”

“You feel like this every time,” Rosina said. “Yet you keep on healing people and delivering babies, Blaire. Why? Why not just let everyone die?”

“I could never do that!” Blaire was shocked as she looked open-mouthed and outraged at her mentor.

“Of course you couldn’t,” Rosina agreed. “You have just answered your own question, Blaire. You heal because you are a compassionate human being. Every baby born means hope for the future.”

Blaire smiled widely at Rosina. “How did you become so wise?” she asked.

“I am not wise,” Rosina answered as she began to chop up some lavender for a soothing tea. “But I am old enough to realise that the more you know, the more there is to know.”

Blaire shook her head in wonder. “I am glad you looked after me all these years, Rosie.”

She would forever be sorry that her mother had died, but she doubted that she would ever have had this close, tender relationship with this wonderful woman if she had not. She stepped towards Rosina and wrapped her arms around her friend from behind. Rosina stopped what she was doing and turned around to hug Blaire.

“You are the daughter I never had, Blaire,” she told her warmly, then she became brisk. “Now, enough of all this mushy stuff. I am absolutely ravenous, and there is a leg of venison there waiting to be roasted.”

Blaire laughed inwardly. Rosina was always uncomfortable when talking about her inner feelings, but a venison roast was a rare treat, no doubt a present from one of their wealthier patients.

They lived close to each other, and often ate their meals together. Blaire did most of the cooking, since she enjoyed it. Rosina felt exactly the opposite, so now she carried on chopping medicinal herbs while Blaire attended to the meat. However, she did not get the chance to cook it as three soldiers came into the treatment room at one time.

None of them was seriously injured, but they squabbled amongst themselves as to who was to be treated first. The situation was made worse by the fact that two men belonged to the Lovatt guard, and the other belonged to the Sutherlands.

Rosina and Blaire never took sides; they always saw to the sickest person first, and there was no exception to that rule. That was why their huts were located on the village’s outskirts, to accommodate more soldiers or travellers from both clans. Rosina and Blaire’s mother had made clear that their hut was a safe haven for everyone, and, fortunately, there were no conflicts when people from different clans happened to visit at the same time. Blaire saw it her duty to keep it that way—not always, though.

Now a spat broke out because the Sutherland soldier, who had a long slash in his thigh, and who was the most seriously injured, needed to be treated at once. However, the two Lovatt soldiers complained that the healers were showing favouritism.

Blaire saw red. She was the taller of the two women by far, and had a correspondingly imposing presence. Now she stepped up to the Lovatt man and hissed into his face, “This is my place of healing.” She thumbed her chest for emphasis. “And if you are not happy with the way you are being treated here, I suggest you go somewhere else.”

For a moment the man hesitated, swithering between another show of bravado and acceptance of his fate, then he nodded and his shoulders slumped.

Rosina and Blaire washed and stitched up the Sutherland soldier’s wound, then bandaged it. The man yelled with pain, but Blaire administered some laudanum, and he was loaded into a cart to take him home to Rosskern Castle, home of the Sutherland family.

They dealt with the Lovatt soldiers’ less serious injuries more quickly, before Blaire got up to see to their meal. Rosina had been tending to the young mother on and off all afternoon, and it seemed that she and the baby were doing well. When Blaire served up the roast venison, she made sure to include a healthy portion for Peighi.

The young woman’s eyes grew round with astonishment and gratitude as she saw the heap of food on her plate. “Is that venison, Blaire?” she asked as she eyed the juicy meat and the little mountain of potatoes appreciatively.

“Indeed it is,” Blaire replied. “And if you finish that, there is plenty more. Now eat up because you need to make a lot of milk for your growing girl!”

She smiled, and as she left, she looked back to see Peighi eating enthusiastically, and felt a stab of pity, then one of anger. She likely did not see as much meat as that in a fortnight. It was so unfair that she had to subsist on a diet of grains and vegetables when lesser, but wealthier, mortals than she could eat what they liked.

When supper was finished, Blaire and Rosina sat before the fire for a while, drinking warm ale and relaxing after their particularly busy and stressful day. Rosina’s cottage was only a few doors away, so Blaire could shout for assistance if she needed to.

Blaire liked this arrangement, since she was independent but not alone, and the ability to stand on her own two feet was very important to her. Her house had been owned by her mother, and she had been born there, as had many other children. Wild horses could not have dragged her out of it.

She had no relationship with her father, and had never had one. Rosina respected this, and never tried to force Blaire into speaking to or even seeing him, since both of them despised him.

Now, Blaire sighed and rubbed her hand across her forehead, yawning. “I feel as though this day has been about ten years long,” she remarked.

Rosina patted her knee. “You did well,” she told Blaire warmly. “I was very proud of you for standing up to that little bully. He should have known better than to argue with you—your reputation for always winning an argument precedes you, Blaire!”

“I had a good mentor who taught me how to do that,” Blaire replied. “What would my mother have done without you when my father disowned us? You were the one who brought me up, Rosie.”

“But you did not lie down and let your fate crush you, Blaire,” Rosina observed. “You survived and thrived. Some other people would have been crushed, or wasted their lives in resentment and bitterness, but you did neither of those, and despite your father’s cruel treatment, you became a good and decent human being.”

“I hate him sometimes when I think of him,” Blaire admitted, frowning, then her expression changed to a smile. “Then I remind myself what you taught me; that every minute of our lives is precious, so why waste any of them on someone who is not worthy of my time?”

Rosina leaned over and hugged Blaire. She had loved Blaire since the days of her infancy and had watched her grow from a tiny baby to a strong-willed girl and finally to the solidly independent woman she was today. Despite chastising herself for being conceited, she could not help but feel that she was partly responsible for the excellent woman Blaire had become.

“I think I’ll have to go to bed.” Blaire yawned. “I cannot remember the last time I felt so tired!”

Rosina stood up. “Sleep well, my dear,” she said gently. “I’m also feeling the need for some rest, but call me if you need me.”

She hugged Blaire once more and left, but just as the door closed behind her, the baby began to cry.

No rest for the wicked. Blaire thought wryly.

T HE NEXT DAY, Blaire was chopping herbs for a soothing tint for heartburn when a little girl of about seven years old with a shock of bright red hair burst into her workroom. Normally, Blaire would have delivered a stern lecture about good manners and sent her away, but there was something in the child’s face that told her that she needed Blaire’s help urgently.

“Mistress Blaire!” she cried, tugging at her dress. “Come quick! Jimmy at the blacksmith has just burnt his arm! He’s moanin’ an’ cryin’ out, an’ it looks really sore!” Her little face was a mask of distress.

“Can he not walk?” Blaire asked irritably.

It was only a hundred yards to the smithy, and James had hurt his arm, not his leg, so he was perfectly capable of having come to see her himself. She tutted, but packed her small bag of medication and bandages before following the little girl to the blacksmith’s forge.

James was walking up and down, holding his left arm just below the elbow with his right hand. He looked at the little lassie, shaking his head. “I told you not to bother her,” he said peevishly.

“Leave her alone!” Blaire snapped, making James widen his eyes in surprise. “She is concerned about you, and you should be thankful for that. It seems to me that you have every girl in the village in the palm of your hand.”

She walked up to James and gently took his hand away from his arm. Underneath was a long band of seared, shining flesh, and Blaire flinched as she saw it, almost feeling the pain of it herself. James’s face was screwed up in agony, and his teeth were gritted with the effort of restraining his cries of pain. Like all men, he did not wish to appear weak in front of women, even if they were only seven years old!

“What did you do?” she asked, as she cleaned the raw flesh. “This looks dreadful.”

“Leaned on that bit of metal.” He nodded towards an iron bar that was lying on the floor. “I knocked it off the anvil with my arm.”

Blaire washed the wound and applied a soothing salve to it, then bandaged it gently. “You must rest for a day or two—and don’t tell me your boss won’t allow it.” She frowned fiercely and went on, “If he has anything to say about that, tell him to come and speak to me!”

“I will,” James said wearily as he accepted the bottle of sleeping draught and the painkiller Blaire gave him, then smiled. “Thank you, Blaire.” Then he kissed her softly on her cheek. “I will pay you as soon as I can.”

Blaire shook her head. “There will be no charge,” she told him, shaking her head and smiling. “But I will not be so generous next time.”