They walked the horses along the pebbly beach for a short distance counting the scattered cottages as they went. In the distance, a few gray clouds were gathering but the day was bonny. The sun was shining and it felt good to have Annora on his arm although his stomach was knotted in anticipationof what the old midwife might reveal to him about the circumstances of his birth.
“There.” Annora pointed to a cottage set back close to a thicket of trees at the end of a narrow track. A spiral of blue smoke wound up from its thatched roof in the absence of a chimney.
The cottage was old, its sturdy walls lathed with timber and peat, its roof thick with thatch.
Edmund knocked ont eh door and waited. He could hear children’s voices coming from inside, and the sound of a wean crying fitfully.
The door was opened by a tall, fair-haired lass aged around thirteen with a pretty, sharp-edged face and large blue eyes. She looked Edmund up and down and then her eyes went to Annora.
She tilted her head, blushing. “Me laird?”
Edmund gathered himself and grinned at her. “Mayhap one day.”
With that, she curtsied to him and then to Annora.
“Abby,” called a voice from inside. “Who is there?”
The lass called in response. “’Tis our new laird and his bonnie wife, Mam.”
In seconds a flustered-looking woman appeared.
She looked up at Edmond and her hand went to her mouth. “Oh, dear God, it could be the old laird standing there.” She bobbed a curtsy, wiping floury hands on her apron. “I beg yer pardon milord. Please come in.”
“If ye’re Maria, I’m here tae see yer Mam.”
He held his breath waiting for her response.
“Aye. She’s been waiting many long years fer ye tae find her.”
Maria ushered them inside. The cottage was surprisingly large, with one end portioned off for sleeping, a central space where the fire glowed with a large cooking pot suspended from a trivet over the fire, and a third space at the rear of the cottage where their animals would bide in the cold winter weather. Three children clustered at their mother’s skirt, a tall lad, and two curly-haired weans of around four or five years old.
Maria gestured to Edmund and Annora to sit. She turned to Abby. “Go and bring yer Grannytae see the laird and his lady.” The girl raced off to the sleeping quarters.
They’d not been waiting long before Abby emerged, her hand on the elbow of a straight-backed old woman, whose thin gray hair hung in braids down her back. She was wrapped in a woolen cloak over her kirtle, her feet in sheepskin slippers.
Edmund rose as she entered and Annora also got to her feet.
“Please sit, milord, milady.” She chuckled looking Edmund up and down. “I must say ye’ve grown into a fine big lad.” A missing front tooth marred her tender smile. “I last saw ye as a mewling wean, nae long from yer maither’s womb.”
Maria filled three tankards with ale and passed them around. She turned to Abby. “Come. We’ll leave yer Granny tae her conversation while we go and tend to the vegetables.” She beckoned to the other children who all filed out of the cottage, leaving Edmund and Annora to speak with the mid-wife.
Annora gently placed a hand on his arm. “D’ye wish me tae leave?”
He placed his hand on hers. “Nay. I wish yer presence beside me. I dinnae wish tae have secrets from ye.”
The woman, Catarine was her name, crinkled a smile at them. “I am glad tae see ye happy wi’ yer bonny wee wife, milord.” She dipped her head to Annora. “I wish ye great happiness in yer marriage.”
He felt a tiny squirm from Annora beside him.
“Ye can readily guess why I am here, Mistress Catarine,” he began.
The old woman sighed. “Ye wish tae ken the story of yer birth?”
He nodded, folding his arms.
“I had hoped yer maither would have told ye.”
“I scarce remember me maither. I was but a wean when she left. I thought she died, but I’ve lately learned she took on the contemplative, prayerful life of a nun. I dinnae ken if she still lives.”
