Page 93 of Maggie and the Pirate’s Son

Taking Jory’s arm, she led her cousin back up the beach where the others had built a great bonfire.

“I wasn’t sure I’d like it out here in the islands,” Jory confided. “It’s quite lovely. You’ve made a wonderful home.”

“You should stay,” Maggie told her. “We could always use a physician.”

“From what I hear, you could fill the role.”

Maggie warmed with pride. “I only know what you taught me. Stay and teach me more?”

“A tempting offer.”

“But your Highlander longs for home.”

“He does,” Jory said fondly, glancing at Finn who turned their way at once, as though deeply in tune with his lady. He smiled shyly, the tips of his ears going pink.

“I never thanked you,” Maggie told Jory.

“For what?”

“Showing me what marriage could be like.”

Jory’s smile held a moment’s sadness, and she squeezed Maggie a little too tight.

“It’s all right,” Maggie assured her. “If one single thing had been different, I might never have run away and found Bash. Now every day’s an adventure. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Her cousin peered into her face, as if making sure Maggie meant it. Then she smiled. “You used to be so fearful of freckles. But they suit this beautiful, adventurous face.”

They joined the rest of the family by the bonfire and Finn, the former Shaw Wretch, embraced Maggie. “Congratulations, Magpie,” he whispered, and so there were five who knew about the baby, despite the loose fitting dress and shawl she had donned instead of her usual breeches.

“This one wants a feed, I think,” old Mrs. Leask said, bringing a fussy baby Freddy over, though she was clearly reluctant to part with him so he could nurse.

More likely he was cranky because the milk didn’t hold him long anymore and he wanted some gruel, but Maggie was happy to let him suckle as long as he would.

“Chamomile will help the teething pain,” Ryna said, joining them and putting a necklace of copper coins over Freddy’s head. “Same as it helped your migraine when you hadn’t had enough to drink.”

“I’ll give him some before I put him down,” Maggie promised, kissing her adopted mother-in-law on the cheek.

They’d been shocked six months before when Bash’s auntie arrived with Constantin, proclaiming that a vision had sent her to help with Freddy’s birth. The labor had been worse than Maggie’s first three combined, and without Jory there, she’d been so very grateful to have Ryna’s steady, calming presence.

Once the baby arrived, Ryna decided to stay through the summer, vowing to return to Kingston when she’d had enough of the cold. Now autumn was encroaching, and still she and Constantin remained.

Maggie hadn’t told them yet they might as well stay another six months rather than leaving and coming back again, but sometimes when she caught Ryna watching her or exchanging a look with Constantin, she supposed they had probably guessed as much.

So perhaps the count was up to seven who knew. Or eight, given the way Mrs. Leask was eyeing her. Mercy, it was hard to keep a secret among this lot.

Then again, anyone who knew Bash could probably tell just by glancing at him. Pure joy radiated off him in delicious waves. If Maggie weren’t already pregnant, that might be enough to make her so.

She glanced around for him, but he wasn’t there at the fire with the rest.

“He took the children up the hill to the stones, right before they came tearing back down again like a pack of demons,” Ellen said, having returned from her solitary walk with Maggie’s letter, eyes rimmed red and cheeks rosy. She kissed Maggie. “Thank you for writing to me.”

Upon seeing his wife, Silas MacKenzie drifted over, away from the conversation he’d been sharing with Mr. Leask and Captain Constantin.

“Ladies,” he said, in his staid way, hugging Len and tousling a dozing Freddy’s wispy hair.

“Do you want to take him?” Maggie asked, and her brother-in-law’s eyes shone with the memory of his own children’s early days, so she handed the baby off once more. “That’s a good boy,” she cooed. “Go to Uncle Si, and I’ll go find Da.”

Atop the hill, in the circle of standing stones, Bash looked down at his firstborn child. Seb was quiet and studious, so different from the others, so much more like himself—the only one of his children to have been conceived at sea.