Page 103 of Wild Wicked Scot
“I know you’re uncomfortable, but we must let them have their day.”
“Of course. But someone else is going to have her day, too.”
Confused, Arran glanced down. Margot arched her brow and pointed at her belly.
Vivienne Mackenzie was born twelve hours later, her little wails so loud that the crier was not needed. When Cailean was brought in to see his baby sister for the first time, he said,“Leamsa.”
Margot didn’t understand at first. Arran told her that the word that sounded likeloomsameantminein English.
“Oh no, she is not yours, my love,” Margot said, catching Cailean’s little hand before he could grab the infant’s hair.
“Leamsa, leamsa!”he crowed.
For the first year or so of her life, Vivienne was known as Loomsa. Arran and Margot tried everything to convince the boy his sister was not his property. They gave him puppies. Ponies. More wooden swords. But the lad would not be persuaded. Little Vivienne, his Loomsa, belonged to him.
When a third child was born, the name Loomsa was passed to the baby boy, and Vivienne was restored her rightful name.
All of the children that would come after Cailean, four more, were, at some point, called Loomsa. And a few dogs. A bird and at least a pair of ponies.
One night after Vivienne’s second birthday, when a gentle snow had begun to fall on Balhaire, Arran drew his wife to his warmth.“Leamsa,”he whispered into her hair.
Margot closed her eyes and sighed with contentment. “I am that,” she assured him. She was exhausted—she was carrying her third child and had spent the day milling soap with Mrs. Gowan. Her lids began to close.
But Margot was rudely awakened by the sudden weight of a beast. She opened her eyes with a cry, and Cailean giggled as he fell onto her, his little arms around her neck. He was followed by his sister and two dogs, all of them crowding into the bed with her and Arran.
“You heathens will no’ sleep here,” Arran said gruffly. “No’ all night, you willna.” But he was covering them with a thick wool blanket as they jostled for position between them, kicking and giggling.
“Quiet now,” Margot said. “Your poor mamma needs her sleep.” She sighed and clung to the very edge of the bed, aware of the little foot in her back. But she smiled. She was safe in the arms of the beginning and the end of her world.
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