Page 79 of The Devil of Clan Sinclair
A moan from the man on the floor answered that question.
He wasn’t going to think. He wasn’t going to say anything. He wasn’t going to feel anything. He refused to render judgment until he had additional information.
He felt encased in stone as he climbed the stairs behind the silent, trembling girl.
On the third floor she stopped in the middle of the hall and pointed to a white painted door. She didn’t look at him, merely clutched her apron with both hands, staring at the floor.
“Thank you,” he said.
She nodded, stepping away. He didn’t try to stop her as he opened the door.
He saw the girl first. A young thing, merely a child, with dark brown hair caught up in a bun, she was dressed in a blue uniform with a white apron. The other woman was taller, older, and had the largest bosom he’d ever seen. She sat in a large chair and in her arms was an infant.
“Are you the doctor?” the young girl asked.
“No.”
“Then you shouldn’t be here,” the older woman said.
He entered the nursery, closing the door behind him, taking time with each task. A curious odor of vinegar and spices scented the air, coming from squat white pots placed throughout the room, one of which was close to the door.
Was this their way of keeping smallpox away?
With measured footsteps, he advanced closer, his attention not on the woman but the infant she held. Her eyes never moved from his face, almost like she thought she would stop him by a look alone.
God Himself couldn’t stop him at this moment.
“He’s asleep, sir.”
The sound of her voice woke the child. His hands were abruptly raised in protest. A second later he gnawed on one fist, his eyes opening as he stared balefully at Macrath.
In that instant he knew. This child was his. A son, a little boy who scowled at him with a face so like his own.
Could you hate a woman you loved? Could the two emotions live side by side?
“How old is he?” he asked softly.
“Five months and a few days,” the nursemaid said.
He reached out one bloodied finger and touched the infant’s cheek. How could skin be that soft?
The baby turned his head, blue eyes fixed on Macrath.
His next question was to the older woman. “What’s your position here?’
She looked like she didn’t want to answer him, but after a quick glance at his bloody hands, evidently changed her mind.
“I’m the wet nurse. Mary’s the nursemaid.”
He nodded, turning to the girl. “How old are you?” he asked.
“Twelve, sir.”
“I can offer you each a salary double what you earn here. But you need to choose now.”
Each female looked at him wide-eyed.
“I’m leaving for Scotland with the child. Come with me.”
