Highland Angel by Hannah Howell Page B

Kirstie. She considered it a sure sign that he was healing. He sounded exactly like any other little boy stuck in a sick bed.
    “’Tis best to heed what Wee Alice says, lad. Now, eat what she has sent ye. Ye need to put some fat on those bones. David, Alan, and William assure me that these are the best oatcakes they have e’er tasted.”
    “They are in the kitchens with Wee Alice again, arenae they?” Callum said between bites of an oatcake.
    “Aye. They like her,” replied Kirstie.
    “I think they like her a lot. Her and Strong Ian.”
    “Weel, they are verra good people.”
    “Oh, aye. Strong Ian isnae teaching them how to fight, though. They are still too wee for that.”
    “Aye. ’Twill be a few years yet ere they can be taught the monly art of fighting.”
    Kirstie almost smiled when Callum replied with a solemn nod. He was jealous of his position as Ian’s student. Every morning he and Ian went down into the surprisingly spacious cellars of the house to practice fighting. As she had watched Callum grow less wary, less angry at the whole world, she had lost her uneasiness about that training. She had a suspicion that there had been a few man-to-man talks as well, talks undoubtedly aimed at taking away his guilt and shame. Kirstie sensed a blossoming pride in Callum and it thrilled her.
    She stayed and talked with the children until they had finished the cider and oatcakes. Callum assured her that he was able to help Robbie if the boy needed anything so Kirstie took the tray back to the kitchen. She peered out the window and saw the three other little boys helping Alice in the garden.
    “My Alice is verra fond of the lads.”
    A little squeak of alarm escaped Kirstie for she had not heard Ian approach. She turned to look at him. He was a very big man, dark, none too handsome, and scarred, yet she had quickly seen the kindness in the man. At the moment, however, he looked uneasy, almost nervous.
    “I believe the lads are verra fond of her as weel,” Kirstie said.
    “Aye.” Ian ran his fingers over the large, jagged scar on his cheek, then sighed. “Did ye have any plans for the children? When ’tis safe, I mean.”
    “Oh, weel, no firm ones. I was going to send them all to my brother Eudard, as I did the others.”
    He nodded. “I remember ye saying that.”
    “Of course, it then grew too dangerous to do so. None of these children has family so I rather think I shall keep them. Mayhap when we are all safe and with my kinsmen, I will find families who want them or e’en apprentice them to someone.” She shrugged.“There is no hurry to decide.”
    “Nay, nay.” He looked out the window at his wife and the boys. “I wed Alice near fifteen years ago. She was but fourteen and I was seventeen. She was soon carrying, but lost the bairn. Lost two more in the two years that followed. The midwife said something was damaged when she lost the last one. ’Twas for the best, I think, for she grieved so and was near death each time. The midwife must have been right in saying Alice was now barren for there has ne’er been another.”
    “How verra sad,” she murmured, her heart aching for the couple.
    Kirstie also felt uneasy for she knew what the man was struggling to ask her and, for a moment, she battled a selfish urge to hold fast to the children. She had not had such a feeling with the others, but suspected that was because she had sent them away so quickly. These children had been in her care far longer, had nudged their way into her heart. It took only one quick glance out the window to banish the feeling, however. She could see the bond between the three little boys and Alice. The boys had found their home and she would be the worst sort of wretch to deny it to them. When Ian finally looked at her again, she smiled encouragingly at him.
    “Weel, if ye have no plans for the wee lads out there, mayhap ye would let them stay with me and Alice. Now, I havenae said a word to my Alice or the lads,” he