After they left the new clinic they took a drive around the island so Fletcher could once again see the land that belonged to him. They went north; he wanted to see the horses again. Perhaps he’d been mistaken about the number.
As the herd came into view, he counted only what he had counted before. “Can they be grazing somewhere else, do you suppose?”
Rosalyn studied the herd. “I’ve never heard that they were anywhere but here. There certainly don’t seem to be nearly as many as I’d been told.”
“The other day I asked around to see who might be familiar with the herd. Fergie the Burn said that when he arrived on Hedabarr, he was told the herd was nearly one hundred.” Fletcher shook his head as he glanced at the few dozen remaining horses. “I don’t understand it.”
As they rode back toward home, it seemed that word had gotten out that the crofters were no longer to pay for their land, and those who were outside bowed and waved as they rode by.
“They adore you,” Rosalyn said.
“I’m happy to see them more content,” he answered. “There’s more than enough for everyone here.” He pointed toward a small row of buildings. “That’s the new distillery. There was some at our wedding celebration and I had never tasted anything quite so smooth. I want them to succeed.”
They rode along in silence and then Fletcher glanced down at Rosalyn’s stomach. “When do you think you conceived?”
Feeling a little self-conscious, she said quietly, “I think it was that very first night, when you…you were having the nightmare.”
“That was months ago,” he calculated. “How are you feeling?”
“Actually, I’m much better. I did have a bit of queasiness at the beginning, but that’s to be expected.”
Fletcher put his arm around her and she leaned into him. “I don’t want you taking any unnecessary chances, Rosalyn. I don’t want you going off on your own anymore. If I can’t go with you, take one of the boys or Evan. Under no circumstances are you to wander off on your own.”
She cocked her head and looked up at him. “That’s rather high-handed of you, isn’t it?”
“Absolutely. I don’t want anything happening to you or to our child.” He turned and kissed her hair, gently rubbing his nose against her skin.
It was almost more than Rosalyn could stand. The gentleness, the tenderness, the concern…did it mean that he might actually learn to love her?
“Can we still…be intimate?” he asked cautiously.
She bit the corner of her lip to keep from smiling. “That’s rather a sedate way of putting it, don’t you think? After all, you’ve made love to me in some very bizarre places and only twice in a bed, and one of those times you didn’t even know it was me.”
He dropped his gaze to his lap. “How you must have detested me.”
She felt such a rush of feeling for him, she wondered if she could speak. “Believe me, I wanted to. I knew it wasn’t me you had been so passionate with, and to have Geddes walk in on us like that made things oh, so much worse. But I dreamed about you often after that, and you truly had awakened something that I’d long thought was dead.”
He stirred next to her and placed his hand on her thigh. “You’re getting me all worked up, wife. I may have to take you right here in the buggy.”
“And frighten the poor horse? He’d probably take off at a gallop and we’d end up in the bushes.”
Her husband glanced around. “Ah, the bushes. Even better.”
• • •
A week after Kerry started coming to the clinic, things were no better. Fen was examining Nessa MacNab’s two-year-old girl when Kerry slouched into the room, her eyes darting about, her mouth in a perpetual pout.
“Good morning, Kerry,” Fen greeted her. “Would you mind straightening up the medicine cabinet? I have my hands full here.” She watched as the girl slunk over to the cabinet where Fen kept her medicines.
Fen fed small amounts of warm oil into the child’s ear, causing the little lass to scream. “It’s all right, lassie,” Fen said soothingly. She glanced at Nessa, who was trying to quiet her youngest boy while the older one, Clyde, ignored her. With her arm in a sling, Nessa had difficulty handling one of her children, much less three.
Suddenly Kerry was at her side. “What’s wrong with her and what are you doing to her?”
“She has an earache. The oil will hopefully ease her discomfort.” She glanced at Kerry, noting her concerned expression.
“But she’s still bawling.” Kerry frowned, her dark, shapely brows pulled into a furrow.
“Aye,” said Fen, “and she may cry until the pressure eases up.” She watched as Kerry studied the child, taking in her ragged clothing, chafed cheeks, and snarled hair. Then she saw the girl glance at Nessa and the two boys, all of whom were in ragged clothing. Both of the boys had red and runny noses and both sniffled and coughed, wiping their noses with their fists.
There was no chance to chat the rest of the day. One patient after another came to Fen with anything from boils ready to burst to broken arms to bruised ribs. She kept Kerry busy boiling water, bringing her clean cloths and unguents, and cleaning up after the patients.
At the end of the day, Kerry stood by the window, just as quiet as she’d been all day.
“You’ve been a big help today, Kerry,” Fen said. “I hope you’ll continue to help me.”
Kerry turned, her face creased with distress. “How did that girl get those bruises on her ribs?”
Fen straightened the medicine cabinet and closed the glass door. “Her da was unhappy with the meal she prepared for him.”
“But she wasn’t even as old as I am.”
“Aye,” said Fen, “but her mam died some time back, and the lassie is the only girl in a house with four brothers. It’s up to her to carry on where her mam left off.”
Kerry’s frown deepened. “But it’s unfair of him to hit her. She’s probably doing the best she can.”
Fen remembered Roz telling her that Kerry, too, had cooked for her family. Obviously she had not been abused. Thank God. “Fairness has nothing to do with life on the isle, Kerry.”
Kerry chewed on her thumbnail and returned to staring out the window. “And the little boy with the broken arm?”
Fen smiled sadly. “I’m sure you want me to tell you he fell from a tree while playing with his brothers, or while sneaking apples from a neighbor’s yard.”
Kerry turned toward her again. “How did he break it?”
“His uncle broke it for him.”
Kerry gasped. “Why?”
Fen wondered how much to tell the girl. She decided that the truth, as harsh as it was, was what Kerry needed. “The little fellow didn’t bring home enough money.”
“Doing what? He couldn’t have been more than seven or eight years old.”
“He’s a pickpocket, Kerry. Do you know what that is?” Fen crossed to the alcove near the door, picked up a broom, and began to sweep the floor. “His uncle sends him out every day, especially when ships come in and the crew rushes toward the pubs. He isn’t to come home until he has stolen what his uncle thinks is enough.”
Kerry swallowed hard. “And he broke the boy’s arm because he didn’t come home with enough? What good does that do? Now he won’t be able to do anything.”
“Life is hard here, Kerry. Money is scarce. Children are often just possessions. Merchandise. Something to be used and bartered with.” She stopped sweeping and gave Kerry a solemn gaze. “It’s not pretty and it’s not fair, but it is life on this island.” She didn’t mention the children who were turned out into the streets to whore for their fathers, and sometimes even their mothers.
• • •
Kerry left the hospital, not quite believing everything the woman had said. After all, Rosalyn had probably told her to put a scare into her, trying to make her realize just how easy she had it. She missed Dorcas. Even though Dorcas had sat her down the night before she sailed to tell her that all would be well, she hadn’t wanted to lose her. She had no one to confide in, no one to share her pain with, and even though adults probably didn’t believe children felt emotional pain, they really did. How was Kerry to cope if she had no one to talk with? Where were the girls her age?
She would find them. She didn’t need any help. She would walk into the village and find someone her own age who could become her friend. And even though she had seen some bad things at the hospital, the children with their bruises, breaks, and ragged clothes, she still wasn’t convinced that she hadn’t seen the worst of it today.
She would do it tomorrow. Who would know? Rosalyn would send her off to the clinic once again, and she would leave the castle and pretend to go in that direction. Or maybe she would actually show up and hang around the clinic for a few hours, then leave. But when she was sure no one was watching she’d hike into the village. Or maybe she’d take a pony. She could ride as well as the boys. It would sure beat hanging around the depressing monster of a fortress as well as having to look at any more sad, sorry children.