Page 5 of Plaid Attitude
Nicola blinked and grabbed her son’s flailing arm, moving it out of her mouth. “Nay, I’m no’ pregnant.”
“Are ye certain? In one of these stories, whenever a woman complains of a stomachache, she’s pregnant. That and tender breasts.”
“What are ye—pfft, nay, Relic, mama doesnae want to taste yer fingers right now, love.” She raised a brow at Coira and stepped into the room. “I’m no pregnant. In fact, I’m busy beingno’ pregnantright now, which explains the stomach troubles.”
Och, now that she consideredthat, Coira—who’d shared this chamber with Nicola for years before her marriage—remembered how her sister suffered during her monthly cycle.
“Sorry,” she mumbled, propping her shoulder against the door frame and folding her arms across her chest. “I’m just…”
“Worried. Aye, I ken.” Nicola smiled softly. “None of us want our husbands to be the laird, Coira. I keep telling ye that.”
“Aye, and Wynda and Fen have both told me they’re doing all they can to keep from conceiving.” Coira scuffed her bare foot against the floor, beginning to suspect she should’ve put her boots back on. “But this cannae last forever.”
“It doesnae have to.” The one-year-old in Nicola’s arms suddenly threw himself backward and she lurched to catch him. “We’re all just waiting for someoneelseto get pregnant first. Any word from Robbie or Leanna?”
“No’ on that front. They both sent word that they couldnae come to this grand Easter celebration Mother and Da are planning—or rather, having me plan.” She sighed. “I’m no’ complaining. We barely have room for everyone as ‘tis! We’ll see them this summer.”
“As long as none of us have sons, ye dinnae have to worry about Da handing the lairdship over to one of our husbands.”
Aye, that was Da’s ultimatum. Whichever son-in-law presented him with a grandson first would become the laird. When Ramsay and Nicola had adopted wee Relic last year, Coira had half-expected Da to name Ramsay his heir…but Ramsay was the newly made Laird McIlvain, since his father had stepped down to oversee his vast,vastbrood.
Coira smiled wryly, trying to change the subject. “How’s Ramsay liking the responsibility? Different from being one of the King’s Hunters, I imagine. When ye were here at Hogmanay ye said yer father-in-law is hanging over his shoulder.”
“He’s glad to escape, which is why we come to visit ye so often. But thank the saints we were home last month when my mother-in-law’s bairn came! She had a verra difficult birth, but Ramsay’s youngest brother was born hale and hearty. I think I’vefinallyconvinced his parents to listen to some of the wayswe’vebeen avoiding pregnancy.”
“Thank the saints,” Coira repeated. She’d met Ramsay’s parents at Nicola’s wedding and kept forgetting how many children they had. Was it fourteen now? ‘Twas strange to think of Relic being older than his youngest nephew…
Nicola had turned to see what her son was staring at. When she realized Bessetta was making faces and entertaining the lad, she raised a stern brow. “Bess, aye?”
“Bessetta, Lady McIlvain,” the lass corrected with a cheeky curtsey. “I’m just trying to move this coo out of Lady Coira’s chambers. She really does keep the strangest bedfellows, does she no’?”
As Coira sputtered, Nicola’s lips tightened to hold in her laugh. “I remember ye as being the one who tried to convince my husband we needed a pair of kittens when we were here last.”
“Och, aye, they were sweethearts, were they no’, milady? I foisted them off—I mean, Ipresentedthem to wee Wren, the falconer’s daughter. Lady Wynda says they make her sneeze, but Wren loves them.”
“She really does,” muttered Coira. “Pherson spends half the time protecting them from his hawks.”
“Their names are Tally and Wags,” offered Bessetta. “Which aremuchbetter names thanHagrid.”
“I didnae name the cowardly thing.” Coira pointed a finger at the lass. “Yedid. And ye havenae brought him any worms lately.”
“’Tis because the ground isfrozen.” It was amazing how a thirteen-year-old lass could make her tone sound as if she were rolling her eyes. “There’s nae worms for him. Ye have to feed him table scraps. Where is he, by the way?”
“Who is Hagrid?” Nicola interrupted. Then, before they had a chance to answer, she held out a squirming Relic. “Here, Bessetta, he’s obviously enamored of ye.”
As the girl took the bairn and began to bounce him happily, Coira answered her sister. “Hagrid is a puir-tempered hedgehog who spends most of his time snorting and huffing and hiding from guests.”
Nicola hummed. “A lot like ye, then?”
“I told ye,” Bessetta sung out, “I’m an expert at matching pets with their destined owners.”
Coira had to admit that one of Bess’s talents—aside from her sketches and her sword skills—didseem to be foisting pets onto unsuspecting humans.
“Ye have ahedgehog?” Nicola repeated, shaking her head. “I never saw ye as a pet-owner.”
“I’m no’,” grumbled Coira. “The damn thing’s hiding under the bed.”
With that, Bessetta dropped to her knees and put Relic beside her. “Come on, love, let’s find a prickly friend.”
