Page 82 of The Devil of Clan Sinclair
Once back at Drumvagen, Brianag confounded him. She took one look at his son and said, “Ach, he’s an ugly one, he is.”
When he instantly disagreed, she frowned at him. “Hauld yir tung, or ye’ll forespyke the bairn.”
As he was to learn, his child had to be guarded by a series of rituals he found not only odd but superstitious to the extreme. To keep Brianag calm, however, he agreed to as many as he could.
He was never to say anything complimentary about Elliot, for fear he would be cursed, or forespoken.
A brooch in the shape of a heart was pinned to the back of Elliot’s petticoat. No one could place him back in his cradle—an old one borrowed from Brianag’s sister-in-law—without speaking the words, “God be with you.”
After she instructed Mary that every time Elliot was dressed he was to be turned over, heels over head, then shaken with his head downward, Macrath reached his limit. He waited until Brianag left the room before turning to Mary.
“I’ll dismiss you on the spot if you treat my son that way.”
The nursemaid only nodded, and he caught a glint of humor in her eyes. Maybe she thought him being cautious around his housekeeper was amusing. What wasn’t funny was feeling like he had to protect Elliot constantly. When he said as much to little Mary, she shook her head at him, a gesture mirrored by Agatha.
“It’s what a mother does, sir,” she said, her soft little bird voice flailing him with the truth. “If you’ve taken him from his mother, you’ll have to be both now, won’t you?”
He could only stare at her in silence, wondering how a girl of twelve had more sense than he possessed.
London
July, 1870
Virginia perched on the edge of the bed, feeling the room spin around her.
She focused on the far window, willing the dizziness to pass. When the world was finally stable again, she stood, gained her balance, and made her way to the door of her bedroom.
“Please, your ladyship,” Hannah said. “You can’t do this. Please, don’t hurt yourself. You’re not strong enough.”
She didn’t answer, concentrating on reaching the staircase to the nursery.
Hannah sighed but thankfully put an arm around her waist. If she hadn’t supported her, Virginia wasn’t at all sure she could make it up the stairs.
The last few steps, she nearly had to pull herself up the stairs with both hands. At the top, drenched in sweat, she was so weak she wanted to collapse.
“You need to rest, your ladyship.”
Virginia only nodded.
At the doorway, she stopped, staring into the nursery.
The room was empty, the silence stark.
Elliot was truly gone.
Mary wasn’t there. Nor was the wet nurse she’d never met. Nothing was in any of the bureau drawers or the armoire. Elliot’s empty cradle rested in the corner of the room. She went to stand over it, stroking her fingers over the carving at the top, feeling every indentation and curve.
His pillow was still here, the lavender inside it perfuming the air. Why hadn’t they taken his pillow?
“How long?” she asked. “How long have they been gone?”
“This afternoon, your ladyship.”
Why hadn’t Hannah alerted her earlier?
“Tell Hosking to ready the carriage,” she said, sinking into the chair by the door. Somehow, she would have to get to Scotland.
“I don’t think this is wise, your ladyship,” Hannah said. “You haven’t yet healed.”
