Chapter Six

Alana held Rose tied before her and felt the massive form of Shaw Sinclair riding behind her. She was in the middle of wee and helpless and huge and lethal as she sat on Shaw’s war stallion. After she’d wobbled several times when washing her face and applying the salve to her head, he’d stopped arguing with her about riding with him and just scooped her and the baby up onto his horse.

Her own horse, Rainy, trailed behind Logan, tethered loosely like four of the English soldiers’ horses that followed behind each of the Sinclairs. The regiment had been made up of nine traitors to the king, but they couldn’t lead nine extra horses to St. Andrews without pulling a lot of attention to themselves. So, the other five were stripped of their saddles and bridles and left.

“I hate to leave them,” Logan said, glancing over his shoulder where the horses grazed.

“There is plenty of water and fresh grasses,” Shaw said. “Mungo and ye can head back to Sinclair land along this route. If they haven’t been taken in by a lucky farmer nearby, ye can lead them back to Caithness.”

Shaw’s heat warmed Alana from behind, especially after she’d finally relaxed into him. He threw a blanket over Rose and her to create a nest-like enclosure. “Rest,” he whispered near her ear, his voice sending shivers along her. “I will not let ye fall.”

It was another kindness. She frowned, then surrendered to a small yawn. She still hated him, but damnation, the man was proving to be more honorable than a scoundrel should be. Not that she was complaining. By now she could have been raped and left for dead had she been captured by true monsters. Yet the Sinclairs had shown real concern for the baby when they thought she was ill and concern for herself when they saw the blood from the shot.

Although that worry could have been about losing a nursemaid for the royal baby. She sighed softly, glancing down where Rose slept against her. Would she still be alive if the Sinclairs hadn’t abducted her from the Samhain festival?

Alana slid a finger around the sweet face, feeling the softness of the light hair growing from her head. Hopefully everything inside her skull was well. The baby needed to sleep without moving. Shaw had planned for them to stay in the valley for the night, but after the soldiers had found them, he ordered some distance before stopping.

“Just a bit farther, Rose,” Alana whispered and wondered if she should call her Princess Rose.

A princess? Of England, Scotland, and Ireland. King James had taken over the British crown when his brother, Charles II, died. Where Charles was a secretive Catholic while ruling his very Protestant realm, James was much more open about his popish practices, even building a Catholic chapel inside Whitehall Palace for his Italian queen and himself to worship together. The English people, meanwhile, swore beneath their breaths about the king’s turn against the Church of England. The king spoke of religious tolerance, yet his people feared that he would lead the country back to the Pope’s religion, persecuting the Protestant masses.

The fear grew from mere whispers into assassination plots. Some said that the five babies Queen Mary had borne, all of them dying, had been killed by those ensuring that the Catholic rule would go no further than James. His very Protestant adult daughter Mary, wife of William of Orange, would follow James in the royal succession if James had no surviving son. Apparently, the assassins weren’t taking any chances with him wanting to raise a Catholic daughter, either.

Alana shifted and felt Shaw’s strong arms tighten around her, supporting her. Straight and easy in the saddle, he rode with the confidence of a leader. Beside them, Robert trotted onward without complaint. The poor pup must be exhausted.

“Is the bairn well?” Shaw’s whispered question startled her. “Sorry. I could tell ye were awake. Does the bairn look to be well?”

She nodded. “She should sleep without being jostled, and we need more milk, but she shows no signs of a rattled brain.”

“And ye?” His voice was deep, the rough softness of it sliding along her skin like a caress. “Is your brain rattled?”

Alana cleared her throat. “I…I am well, just tired. A slight headache.”

“We will stop soon for the night,” he said close to her ear, sending chill bumps up and down her arms. Wrapped up before Shaw, warm and protected, Alana began to wonder about the scoundrel turned protector.

“Do you have children of your own?” she asked.

“Nay, as ye could tell from my ignorance around the bairn,” he said. She tipped her face upward and saw him looking down at her. “Do ye?”

“No,” she said, leveling her gaze back over the horse’s head. “Just pups.”

“More like that beast?” he asked nodding downward to where Robert sniffed the ground as he moved along in time with the horses.

“Yes, although Robert has grown the largest.” And he had the most endearing smile and a sweet light in his eyes when he looked at her. “He remains mine while I train the others to help the herders keep the wolves and thieves away from their flocks. In time, Robert will sire more litters for me to train.”

“A worthy endeavor for ye,” he said, and his praise bloomed warmly in her stomach. Och, she must be tired to let him lower her guard and smooth her anger.

Two of Shaw’s men rode up next to her. “Your sgian dubh,” Alistair said, holding her dagger up by its tip. It was clean of the English soldier’s blood.

“Thank you,” she said. Her stomach had churned too much to claim it as they dragged the dead man toward the hole they’d dug with a few sharp rocks and a pickaxe. “I thought it had been buried with the man,” she said softly, reaching an arm out of the blanket to take it. It shook slightly, and she pulled it back to her lap.

Mungo rode on Alistair’s outside. She could still see him in the splashes of moonlight that made it down through the leaves. He waved his hand and pointed a finger to his forehead, jabbing it where she’d hit the enemy. He smiled and gave her a nod, the pretense of lunacy gone for the moment.

“He says that your shot was good,” Alistair said. “Seems ye can throw even with distractions like someone aiming a lit musket at ye.” He gave her a nod, too.

The praise from the men, combined with Shaw’s words, brought on a warm feeling inside her chest, filling her there in the chilled darkness of the autumn night. “All Highland Roses are taught to throw with accuracy.”

“Taught, aye,” Shaw said above her. “But likely they do not all learn to use it accurately in the heat of battle.”

Alana blinked, feeling her face flush. “A discovered talent, which I hone,” she said, keeping a coolness to her voice. Pulling the blanket aside, she lifted her skirt to sheath the sgian dubh in the scabbard built into her boot and caught Alistair looking at her leg. Dropping her skirt back in place, she spoke with a warning tone. “I can skewer a wandering eye as easily as a forehead.”

Alistair grunted a chuckle, his glance shifting from her to Shaw and back to her. “Ye, lass, have too kind a heart to kill a man for taking a peek, but aye, I believe ye could.” The man slowed his horse, and he and Mungo fell behind them, leaving Shaw and Alana leading the group.

“I will talk to them, but they know not to touch ye,” Shaw said. Anger made his voice sound dangerous, especially in the dark. They rode onward, weaving between trees and shadows.

“Has he never spoken?” she asked Shaw. “Mungo?”

“His mother died young, and he had no father willing to claim him. As far as I know, he has never spoken.”

“Was he able to nurse? Has anyone looked inside his mouth?”

“He has a tongue,” Shaw said, still sounding sour. “And I have no idea if he nursed.”

“But is the tongue attached properly?”

“I do not look in the mouths of my warriors,” he said, his large body swaying with the powerful gait of his horse. It was rock hard behind her yet also a soft place to rest. Everything about Shaw Sinclair was a contrast. His shocking abduction of her but his gentleness with Rose. His determination to only help his clan but then his desperate actions to stop the English soldiers from firing on her and the babe.

“Well, I can look in his mouth. A tongue-tie would prevent him from speaking. He would have been born with it.”

“Like the one in your group who does not speak?”

“No. Izzy is physically able to speak and used to. The death of her parents has muted her, although we are trying to help her find her voice again.”

“We? The Highland Roses School teachers?” he asked, sliding his gaze to her. “They care about her?”

“Not just the teachers but the students as well. We are very close, each one finding her place to help the whole.”

“A clan, then.”

“I suppose so. Yes.”

They rode farther without talking. The babe was sleeping soundly, and Alana’s eyes closed and blinked open, her chin nodding forward. Shaw’s lips brushed near her ear. “Ye can sleep, lass,” he whispered. “I will not let ye fall.”

“I know,” she whispered back and then sniffed, frowning. That meant she trusted him. No, she argued with herself. She trusted that he wouldn’t let her fall with the princess. Leaning back into him, her arms around the sleeping baby, Alana drifted into a warm sleep surrounded by Shaw Campbell.

The darkness surrounding Alana lightened to the glow of firelight. She sat before a hearth, its heat radiating out, sending a tingle through her. But then she realized it wasn’t the fire making her tingle, but the large man sitting behind her, holding her to him. Alana tipped her face up to stare into Shaw’s face, so rugged and majestic. She reached up a hand to trace the scar sitting like a border along his hairline. “How did you get this?” she asked, her words like a whisper.

“A fire. It burned me.”

His words sent fear through her limbs. “But that is not a burn mark,” she said. Pain scraped along her head, and she raised her hand to it, feeling the wet heat of blood. She pulled her fingers back, gasping at the sight. Not of blood but of fire, licking up her fingers. Yanking back, she screamed, but there was no escape as the flames surged upward around her.

“Alana? Lass?”

She jerked awake, her eyes flying open to see Shaw’s gray eyes staring into her own. His brows were pinched. “Ye let out a small scream.”

Lips parted, she sucked in breath, her heart pounding as she lifted her hands, but there was no fire. She turned her head to the side. “Where…?” The side of a canvas tent lay a foot away.

“Ye were asleep when I laid ye in here last night. It is dawn and time to rise.” Shaw studied her as he sat back on his heels in the tight confines of the tent. “Alistair rode ahead and said he smelled cook fires. A village perhaps. Somewhere to get the bairn some fresh milk.” He glanced outside over his shoulder. “Logan is feeding Rose the last of the milk we had, and Mungo is making sure your beast has a ration of our food.”

She cleared her throat. “Yes.” She pushed herself up, her hand rising to her head, and she grimaced when she touched the gouge. But her fingers came away without blood.

“It needs to be cleaned, but it will not require stitching. Although ye may end up with a warrior’s scar and make young Rabbie jealous.” His lips crooked upward on one end in a grin.

Alana raked a hand through her tangled hair on the other side, nodding. She took a deep inhale to clear her mind of the nightmare. Glancing up, her gaze fell on the white mark along his hairline. “How did you get your scar? Battle?”

His grin fell away, leaving a blankness. “Nay. Nothing so glorious.” His smile returned, but it lacked happiness. “Acquired when I was a boy.” She watched his jaw work as if it was stiff. “We will leave as soon as ye are up and ready.” He backed out of the tent, leaving her with more questions than answers.

…

Shaw swayed with the gait of his warhorse, Alana riding her own mare next to him as they wove through the dense golden forest. She held the bairn wrapped against her. Without more milk to fill the bairn’s belly, Rose had been fitful but finally fell asleep to Alana’s gentle singing.

Hush, the waves are rolling in, my bairn.

Hush, the winds roar hoarse and deep, my bairn.

Hush, the rain sweeps o’er the knowes, my bairn.

But ye sleep safe in my arms.

The men remained silent as her sweet melody floated on the crisp morning breeze. Alana’s voice wasn’t without fault, the notes off at times, but they soothed the bairn. Her voice soothed him as well, and his men from the looks of it as they rode through the quiet trees.

Their group came out of the woods onto a stretch of moor that led to another forest half a league away. A large hawk flew down, its talons outstretched, wings pulled back to swing them forward. The predator snatched a mouse from the ground, soaring upward, never having made a sound. Robert ran forward as if to catch the bird, but the hawk’s powerful wings shot it up into the sky, and it disappeared over the tree line. This was the hawk’s territory, where he lived and hunted and grew old riding the wind over his land. Envy for a bird. He snorted softly to himself at the hollow feeling.

“Smoke ahead,” Alistair said, bringing his horse up to ride level with theirs. He pointed above the trees where a low haze of smoke rose like a fog. “I spotted several homes before I turned back to get the rest of ye.”

“A village or even a farm will have milk for the babe,” she said. “A wet nurse perhaps.”

Shaw shook his head. “Nay. If we ask for a wet nurse, word could get back to anyone interested in following the princess. She will need to be your own bairn.”

“’Tis good ye wear a ring,” Rabbie said, nodding toward her hand.

Alistair’s face snapped around to Alana. “I can be your husband.”

“I will be her husband,” Shaw said, frowning at his man. Alistair preferred lasses with an edge to them, girls who found his tattoo thrilling and dangerous. Alana was not a lass for him. Alistair’s brows rose before he gave a nod in understanding. “In fact,” Shaw said, “we should enter alone, a small family acquiring food.”

“And lodging,” Alana said, motioning to Rose. “With a bath. I need to wash her.”

“Logan and Rabbie can find fresh milk and get it to me without attracting notice,” Shaw said, meeting their gazes. “And buy bread and meat, as if ye are on your own journey to bring these horses to market. Remove their shoes, with the royal seal on them, outside of town and have the local farrier re-shoe them. Ask if he knows of anyone who would like to buy them.”

He turned. “Alistair and Mungo will remain on the outskirts. Hunt if ye can, but I will also purchase more rations for the rest of the journey.” The men nodded, all signs of the jester gone from Mungo. Still, with Alistair’s skull tattoo and Mungo’s usual act, it was best to keep them away from eyes that would remember them. “Be as ordinary as ye can if ye are seen. We will meet tomorrow morning, due east, just outside the edge of town.”

Alistair grinned, giving the lass a wink. “Don’t know if I have ever been ordinary. Extraordinary is what I am usually called.”

Shaw had the strongest desire to punch him.

“We will come in from the north,” Logan said. “A different direction from the two of ye and the bairn.”

“Leave one horse with Alistair,” Alana said. She looked at Shaw. “For my mother to ride home.”

Her mother and a horse in exchange for her help saving his clan and castle. It seemed a fair trade. Shaw nodded, signaling for one to be handed off. “Mungo,” Shaw said, and the man caught the reins that Rabbie tossed him. A gray mare.

“Thank you,” Alana murmured.

A “thank you?” From a captive. He shoved the small seed of hope down inside and cleared his throat. “As a common man and wife, traveling with their newborn bairn, ye should ride in front of me holding the wee one,” Shaw said. “Your horse can stay with Alistair, too.”

Alana opened her mouth as if to argue.

“If anyone in the town is suspicious of us, and an English troop comes through, they will tell them about everyone stopping in town,” Shaw said before she could reply. “We could send Logan and Rabbie in town to buy some milk and supplies, but if ye want to wash and sleep in a bed tonight, we must act the married couple.”

“Married couples can ride separately,” she said.

After the attack and Alana’s injury, Shaw wanted to keep her as close as possible. For the sake of the mission, of course. “Aye, but it would be more convincing if we rode one horse.”

Her breath came out long as if surrendering. “How will I act like I am nursing the babe? Will you sneak the milk to me up in the room?”

Shaw nodded. “I will either get fresh cow’s milk or find a way to warm it. It will work, and ye can wash the bairn. And yourself if ye wish.”

Her beautiful green eyes lifted, a slight smile touching her mouth. “I could wash?”

“If we find lodging with a bathing tub, aye,” he said.

Hope lit her features, bringing a slight pink to her cheeks and an alertness to her eyes. If it was possible, Alana became even more beautiful. No one moved, and Shaw glanced at his men, who were all staring at her as if they’d never seen a lass before.

Blast. It had apparently been too long since his men had found ease with a woman, for a simple smile was enthralling them. He frowned, his voice gruff. “Your decision, Alana.”

She exhaled in a huff. “Take good care of Rainy,” she said, looking to Alistair.

“As if she were my own, milady,” he said, bowing his head and holding his fist to his chest like some ridiculous gallant knight of legend. Aye, Shaw definitely wanted to punch him. The man jumped down from his mount, striding toward Alana, obviously planning to lift her free of the saddle.

Without hesitation, Shaw dismounted, his two strides taking him right up to Alana before Alistair could reach her. He raised his hands to her waist and heard a low curse behind him.

Alana had already thrown one leg over her saddle with Rose tied to her chest. Her boot tossed around in the air as if waiting for some mounting post to magically appear beneath it. “I have ye, lass,” Shaw said, reaching up to clasp Alana’s waist at the gentle curve inward above her hips. “Watch the wee one,” he said.

He pulled her back against him, setting her down, and heard her say something. “What was that?” he asked, turning, his gaze meeting the frown on Alistair’s face as he took the horse’s reins.

“Bloody hell,” Alistair murmured just under his breath and looked to the horse.

“I said,” she continued as she walked to his horse, “a gentle landing. It is what the babe needs right now.” She bent her head to brush her lips against the bairn’s covered head. “No more throwing you around if we can help it.”

Logan and Rabbie gave a nod and headed north, trailing three horses behind them. Coming to the village to sell them would be a good cover, and they could then use the money to buy food. Mungo and Alistair would stay in the woods with their horses, Alana’s horse, and the addition for her mother. They would hunt for game and watch for encroaching English or suspicious activity.

Shaw lifted Alana and Rose up onto Rìgh and left them to walk over to where Alistair stood with the horses. “Alana and the bairn are my responsibility,” Shaw said, his voice low.

Alistair turned to stare back, mutiny on his marked face. “She hates ye for taking her. Why not give one of us a chance with the lass?”

The idea of one of his men with Alana tightened Shaw’s chest. This was not a place to think about winning the heart of a woman. “I am the chief of the Sinclairs, the one to ensure our clan regains its honor and home. Alana Campbell is for none of us. She hates us all, except for that wee bairn.”

“What if she changes her mind about hating us?” Alistair said, his teeth set in a determined line.

Would Shaw order his friend to stay away from Alana, just because the thought of her with any man made his blood race and his fists clench? He had no right to say anything about the woman and where her heart might wander. “Then the lass may choose whomever she wants,” he said. Shaw bent so that he was within inches of Alistair. “But for now, ye will keep your distance from the woman. This is not a rowdy Beltane festival; it is a bloody mission.”

“That goes for ye, too,” Alistair said, his brows rising in challenge. “We are here for our people, our families, and to revenge sweet Reagan.”

As if Shaw did not know that. He understood his responsibilities as chief and thirsted for revenge as much as his men. His fingers curled into tight fists.

“Not to woo a Campbell lass,” Alistair continued.

Maybe he should punch Alistair, just to remind him who was the chief. Shaw had kicked his arse when they were young men. Perhaps it was time to knock Alistair back down before his cockiness got him skewered.

“If you two can finish your whispering, Rose has woken and needs milk as soon as possible,” Alana said from behind. “We need to get to that village quickly.”

Without a word, Shaw turned, striding toward Alana. With an easy lift, his foot in the stirrup, Shaw rose to sit behind her. He nodded to Mungo. “Keep to the woods and tether the dog to stay with ye if ye must.”

“Stay with the men,” Alana said to Robert, raising her palm toward him in a signal. Mungo hopped down, scratching the dog’s head, and tied a rope around Robert’s neck. “I sure hope he is strong,” she murmured.

Shaw tapped Rìgh with his heels, and the mighty horse walked smoothly forward through the woods. Leaves fell from up high, the wind picking up. He could hear Rose fuss.

“As soon as we reach any sort of home, we need to ask for milk or broth,” Alana said.

“Aye, though it would be best for them to not know it is for the bairn, as ye should be nursing her.”

“Not every mother produces milk very well,” she said. “I have seen new mothers whose milk never comes in.”

“Ye have an ample bosom,” Shaw said. “People will be suspicious if you are not nursing your bairn.”

She tipped her head back to frown at him. “It has nothing to do with the size of a woman’s breasts.”

If a year ago someone would have told him that he’d be discussing milk production with regards to breast size, while holding a beautiful Campbell lass and a newborn bairn, Shaw would have laughed out loud at the drunk fool. But a year ago, he didn’t think he’d have a chance to legally reclaim his clan’s seat.

Girnigoe Castle had belonged to the mighty Sinclairs for three hundred years. After Oliver Cromwell’s men used it and finally withdrew, his drunken uncle, George Sinclair, sold the castle and lands, and even his earldom to the Campbells of Glenorchy in order to pay his debts to them. George, his mother’s brother, had been an abusive fool and drunkard. Shaw had been too young to challenge the bastard at the time, but now that he was a man, he was determined to reclaim all that George squandered away in the name of whisky, foolish endeavors, and cards.

“Some are large, but some are quite small. It is not an indication of milk production.” Alana paused as if waiting for his response, but Shaw had absolutely no response in exchange for this new knowledge.

She tipped her head back to look at him, and he returned her frown. “I cede to your knowledge of breasts and everything pertaining to them since I have none.”

“Actually, you do.”

“I do not.”

“Yes, you do. Men have breasts. They are just undeveloped. I read about it in a human anatomy book at our school.”

“I do not,” he repeated.

“You have nipples,” she said. “So, you have breasts.”

“Look,” he said, never quite so happy to see a house through the trees. He pressed Rìgh into a faster walk, winding through the forest, the trees clearing the closer he got. The narrow path turned out onto a pebbly road with houses beyond.

Thatched cottages lined the road, leading to a center clearing with a well pump and trough. A blacksmith and farrier were working with a horse to the left, and a two-story common house stood several buildings down from it. Shaw felt the stares as they rode up to the well pump in the middle of town.

“Stay on Rìgh,” he said to Alana and dismounted. The starkness of the cool morning air against him, where Alana had leaned, pulled his focus. Without her warmth, he’d have never noted the cold, but her heat and then absence was…noticed. He led the horse to the trough, pumping the water into it for him to drink.

“The common house might have lodging,” he said, nodding to the second story.

Alana twisted in the seat. “And milk, I hope.”

Tying Rìgh to the hitching post by the trough, he reached up to lift her and the bairn down. She slid toward him, her arms out to rest her hands on his shoulders, trusting him to carry her safely to the ground. She trusted him. It should make him content, knowing the mission would be easier, but it gnawed inside him instead.

They walked together across the village square to the common house, Alana holding Rose close as the bairn whimpered, obviously hungry. “We are being watched,” she whispered as they stepped up to the door.

“Stay close to me,” he replied and pushed through.

“Don’t worry, Shaw,” she said. “I am armed and will not let anyone hurt you.”

He glanced at her, catching her slight grin. It reached her eyes, giving him pause. The corner of his mouth twitch upward. “Glad ye will have my back,” he said, stepping before her as they entered. There was little threat with just one patron hunched over a steaming cup in the corner and two women behind the high bar, setting cups out and drying them with their aprons.

“Goodness,” one of the women declared, wiping her hands on her apron. “We have visitors, Fiona.” The other woman was already staring at them, a scowl on her face. They looked quite similar, full faces and light brown hair, probably near a score and ten years old.

“I see that,” the second woman said. “Welcome to Kinross. I am Fiona Murray, and this is Willa. We run this place.”

“Jasper owns it,” Willa said, glancing toward the silent man watching from the corner, but Fiona ignored her.

“We are in need of lodging,” Shaw said. “Do ye have a room to let?”

“Aye, for three shillings, another if ye be wanting food,” Fiona said.

“And a warm bath,” Alana added.

Fiona frowned, bending closer to them over the bar. “Ye have blood on your head,” she said to Alana. “What is that about?” Her sharp eyes cut to Shaw in obvious assessment.

Alana touched her hairline and smiled. “Foolish me, walked right into a sharp tree limb yesterday. Sliced right through my skin, but I have cleaned it and slathered it with salve. It should heal just fine in another week.”

Willa came out from around the bar as if to inspect the gash. She gasped, her face opening into a broad smile. “Look, Fi, they have a little bairn with them. A fresh one at that.” She leaned over the bairn’s face, inhaling as if sniffing a flower. “I just love the smell of new bairns. How old is it?”

He hadn’t noticed anything sweet smelling about their bairn, except for her name. “He is five weeks old,” Shaw said. Better for them to think the bairn was a boy since the English were looking for a three-week-old girl.

“So tiny still,” Willa said. “Nothing like my Lizzie. She is a bit older, though, almost a full year.”

“You are still nursing, then?” Alana asked. “I have had so much trouble with that, perhaps you could nurse little…George here?”

Both sisters frowned. “I just have enough milk for little Lizzie,” Willa said, taking a step back and crossing her arms over her bosom like the bairn might leap across to suckle.

Alana blinked rapidly, and Shaw swore he saw a shine come to her eyes. She nodded, forcing a little smile. “I understand.” Her voice wobbled. “I just…I am so worried about h…him. Is there cow’s milk nearby so I could feed…George some pap made with it and bread?” She wiped at her eye as if she were trying to stop the tears. “I fear he is not growing fast enough.”

Shaw stared, mesmerized by the amazing performance. Both women were instantly at her side. “What a precious little boy,” Willa said. “I am sure he will do fine.” She glanced at Shaw. “What a strong papa he has.”

“We will make certain to get ye some milk, straight away,” Fiona said. She turned her narrowed eyes toward the man in the corner. “Jasper,” she yelled, making the man, as well as Alana, flinch. “Get off your arse and find some fresh, warm milk for this wee bairn.” The man pushed out of his seat, stuffed a hat onto his head, and hurried out the door without a mumble.

“Thank ye, love,” Willa called after him and frowned at her sister. She turned a bright smile on Alana. “And I will make ye some lovely nettle and chamomile tea. It will help bring in more of your milk,” she said in a lowered voice. Shaw wasn’t sure whom she was hiding her comments from. She glanced his way, so he supposed the father wasn’t supposed to hear talk of milk-producing tea.

“Have ye had enough stimulus?” Fiona asked, and Willa’s eyes widened with another glance toward him. Fiona grabbed her own breast through her apron. “One must rub all around it in circles and then slide your hands…” She glanced at Shaw and shrugged. “Or his hands, down to the nipple to get the milk to come down.” She nodded. “Sometimes it starts when the bairn cries.”

Alana’s mouth opened and closed without answering. Finally, she nodded.

“I can show ye how,” Fiona said, making her eyes open wider as she clutched the bairn against her chest almost like a shield.

“My wife is rather private about her…bosom. And feeding our bairn,” Shaw said.

Fiona set hands on her ample hips. “’Tis nothing to be embarrassed about, feeding your bairn. A woman should be free to pull out her milk whenever it is needed.”

Willa’s face was growing pink. “This is one of my sister’s favorite topics. It got her banned from the chapel one day when she told the pastor’s wife to lower her gown right there to feed their new bairn. People are not used to Fiona’s progressive talk.” Willa’s wide gaze seemed to issue an apology.

“Well, we should talk about it,” Fiona said. “Anything to help a woman and bairn survive in this harsh world.”

She turned sharp eyes on Shaw. “And ye look like a vigorous husband,” Fiona said, sliding her gaze up and down Shaw. He didn’t move even though he had the strangest desire to guard his jack. “Are ye leaving the lass alone?”

“Alone?” he asked, the single word coming slow.

“Not touching her below the waist for a full two months or longer if it was a ripping kind of birth.”

Willa slapped both hands to her cheeks and murmured an apology to Alana.

“I have put three husbands in the ground, so I know a thing or two about randy men,” Fiona said, nodding, her chin tipped high. “Do ye take care of yourself like a good husband?” Her sharp eyes fastened onto Shaw’s gaze.

“Take care?” he asked.

Fiona looked to Alana. “Does he just repeat everything ye say back as a question?”

Shaw looked at her, too, and noticed her merry expression. “Not usually,” she said. “I think he is just confused.”

Fiona turned back to Shaw. “Your jack,” she said slowly, pointing to his kilt. “Do ye take care of your needs by yourself?” She made a motion with her hand as if she were stroking a jack. Shaw was dumbfounded. He’d never seen a woman talk so openly about any of this. His jaw unhinged slightly, but no words came out.

Alana snorted softly, covering her mouth. She lowered her hand. “Apologies, Mistress Fiona. My husband is rather private about the care of his…jack, but rest assured that his urges are taken care of, and he is not damaging me in any way.”

“Fiona is quite open and vocal about the health and welfare of women,” Willa said. “She is the midwife in town and helps any of the lasses if they are being treated roughly.”

The lasses of the town were in excellent hands, and Shaw was starting to think that Fiona may have put her three husbands in the ground prematurely.

Shaw fished a handful of shillings from his sporran. “I would see my wife and bairn to our room.”

Fiona counted the money twice while Willa hurried off. “I will brew the tea.” The haggard Jasper ran inside with a small pail. “Fresh from the cow,” he said, handing it to Shaw.

“I will find ye a bottle to use,” Willa called back from the doorway that must lead to the kitchen.

“Thank ye,” Shaw said, handing Jasper a shilling. “Would ye also shelter my horse? He is right out at the water pump.” The man hurried off again as if thankful to have a task that kept him out from under his sister-in-law’s critical eye.

They followed Fiona up a narrow set of wooden stairs to the second level. With only one entrance, Shaw was glad to see a window in the room. Small, but with a large double bed, the room had a wash stand and a cold hearth. It smelled of cleaning lye.

Fiona let them pass her into the room. “Since ye have a bairn with ye, the peat to burn comes with the room. Don’t want the little fellow to go cold.”

“And a bathing tub with warm water?” Shaw asked.

“I will send Jasper up with the tub and some buckets of water to heat in the hearth,” she said, her gaze critical. “Do not let the bairn be bare in a draft if ye bathe him.”

“Thank you,” Alana said. “I will take care.”

Fiona glanced back and forth between them and made a little snorting sound. Willa’s hurried footsteps announced her arrival with tea and a glass bottle. It would make feeding Rose so much easier.

“Try the breast first,” Fiona said, pointing to Alana’s chest. The woman then pointed at Shaw. “And ye should help her care for your son.” She wagged her finger. “I cannot abide a man who thinks he is done helping with a bairn after siring it.”

With a parting glare from Fiona and a smile from Willa, the sisters left, closing the door behind them.

After a mutual pause, Shaw and Alana looked at each other. Shaw let a grin grow on his face and rubbed his stubbled jaw. “Are ye needing my help? With your bosom perhaps?”

She threw a hand over her mouth, laughing silently. She slid it off partway. “About as much help as you need with your poor, neglected jack.”

He chuckled, meeting her laughing gaze with one of his own. A heat grew in his chest with his smile. It was a feeling he hadn’t known in a very long time.