“Magnus? He’s out partying, taking a fond farewell of Mrs Malone.” Alex made a dismissive sound and went back to inspecting Matthew.
“Are you sure you’re alright?” She kissed his broken mouth gently.
“Now I am.” He snuffed out the headboard candle with his fingers and pulled her close. “Sleep, aye?”
*
By the time Magnus was capable of uttering more than single-syllable words next morning, they had already left Providence far behind.
“I’ve found Jacob an apprenticeship,” Matthew said. He looked terrible, half his face one huge bruise.
Alex nudged her mount closer. “You have?”
“A lawyer, Mr Hancock.”
“The lawyer,” Alex corrected. “He’s the only one in town.” Maybe-Esther’s husband was a grave man with far too much hair sticking out from his ears, but on the whole a nice, soft-spoken person with eyes a most unusual and quite attractive light brown colour, like brandy, or whisky.
“Educated at the Inns, no less,” Matthew went on with some awe.
“You’re supposed to be an obdurate Scot,” Alex reminded him with a smile. “Not at all given to being impressed by anything English.”
Matthew made an amused sound.
“So why is he here, then?” Not the most obvious of career moves, in her book.
“Mr Hancock is of staunch Puritan leanings, so staunch that his wife is the niece of one of the men who signed the death warrant of Charles that was.”
“A regicide.” Alex nodded.
“Regicide? Aye, but what manner of a king goes back on his sworn word?”
“One that has his back against the wall?” Alex smothered a smile at the irritated look Matthew threw her. “And Jacob?”
“He’s willing to take the lad on as clerk and ensure he gets some hours of schooling each day. I assured him Jacob has a strong clear hand and a good head on his shoulders.”
“When?” It came out more breathless than she’d intended, and Matthew gave her a concerned look.
“The lad is nigh on ten; it’s time he’s set to learn a trade.”
“But not yet, not for some years more.” Her Jacob; how would he cope without her? Who’d make sure he had clean shirts and darned stockings, that he ate properly and... Her eyes filled with tears that she blinked way. “We need him at Graham’s Garden. You said so, didn’t you?” And even more now with Jonah gone, no matter that Peter had promised Matthew the loan of one of his hands over the harvest.
“He’s owed the opportunity to make his own way, and he’s by far the brightest of our lads. He deserves more than to be a farm hand on his brother’s farm, don’t you think?”
“Yes, but not for some more years.”
Matthew smiled down at her. “We’ve accorded the summer of next year. Do you think you’ll be able to let him go then or will you want to keep him tied to your apron strings for longer?”
“Do I have a choice?”
“Nay.”
She prodded her horse into a trot and for the coming hour rode some distance ahead of him. She didn’t want him to see she was crying.
*
Jacob didn’t say much when Matthew explained what arrangements had been made for him. If anything, his eyes lightened with excitement, an expression replaced by a concerned frown when he understood he’d be living so far away he’d only see them a couple of times a year.
“Will you come to see me?” he asked Matthew later that evening. For once, it was Matthew who was putting his sons to bed, and now he sat on the bed’s edge and took Jacob’s hand in his own. Daniel was already asleep, his dark hair lying in feathers across the white pillowcase.
“Of course we will, you wee daftie, and you’ll be home for harvest and Hogmanay as well.”
Jacob shifted closer and rubbed his face against Matthew’s shirt. They all did that, his bairns, rubbing their faces affectionately against his chest or his back – just like their mother did.
Matthew lifted the lad to sit on his lap. “You’ll do fine, lad. And you’ve always said how you want to see the world.”
“Providence isn’t the world,” Jacob said. “Mama says it’s at most a country town, a place rife with bigots and narrow-minded fools.”
Matthew rolled his eyes. “Your mama is at times too outspoken, and some things she says you mustn’t repeat.”
Jacob laughed softly. “Mrs Leslie didn’t like it when Sarah told her Mama said she was an uneducated, meddling woman that kept her dairy shed cleaner than she kept herself.”
“Nay,” Matthew sighed. “I can imagine she wouldn’t like that.”
Jacob leaned back against him, eyes blinking. “The world...” he breathed. Matthew laid him back down and pulled up the quilt. Jacob yawned and promptly fell asleep.
Chapter 24
“Ian!” Jenny hissed.
“It’s alright,” he whispered back. “It’s not as if it’s wrong, what with us getting married within a week.” The hay rustled when he renewed his attack, stretching out to his full length beside her and kissing her. She kissed him back.
When his fingers worked their way under her bodice, she sat up to help him get at the laces and laid back while he explored her breasts; through the thin cloth of her shift at first, his open hands brushing across her nipples until they stood like pebbles against the linen, but soon his hands were on her warm skin and she seemed to like it, her face acquiring a pink hue while her breathing quickened. He slid his hand down her flank, noting that she broke out in goose bumps, a shiver rippling through her.
“Take it all off,” he said in a strangled voice and sat back to undress.
“Here?” Jenny looked about the hayloft.
“No one will come.”
“I...” Jenny sat up half-dressed. “I’ve never seen a naked man in daylight before.” Ian felt somewhat flustered, but drew the shirt over his head, leaving himself nude to her eyes. He was painfully aware of his cock, rising from its fuzzy nest of hair. She extended a hesitant finger to touch his member and at her touch he experienced a jolt, a spark of live energy that flew up his spine. Her hand on his stomach, and it was as if a red-hot iron pressed into his skin, a delicious but singeing warmth shadowing her hand as it moved from his navel and downwards. His hand came down to stop hers, his breathing loud gulps.
He stood up, helped her up, and her skirts were a puddle around her feet, her shift floated down on top, and still they remained a scant foot or so apart. The hair of her crotch was much darker than on her head. And her breasts…small and topped with pink nipples that he just had to brush his fingers across. She was his; all of this creature standing in front of him was his, and whatever he saw he could touch.
He knelt, guiding her down to lie in the hay. Her thighs spread at his touch, and he slipped his fingers into her private place and looked at her, amazed. So warm...he wiggled his fingers, and her pupils widened and unfocused, her hips shifting towards him. So warm and so wet, her curls damp with her moisture.
His cock was screeching with pent-up need, screaming that it had to, God it had to, and somehow he was inside of her, in so deep he could feel how his balls crushed themselves against her. In his head, it all went red and purple and red again, and then he came, holding on to her as a shipwrecked sailor to a rock.
Ian propped himself up on his elbow and looked down at her, and she gave him a slow smile from behind half-closed eyes. His wife...soon, anyway. His to bed, his to care for. He drew a hand over her soft stomach and wondered how long it would be before she carried his child.
“You must be getting back home,” he said.
She nodded but showed no inclination to move from where she was. Instead, she widened her legs in an inviting gesture, stretching herself to show off her neat small breasts. Ian didn’t need more encouragement; he rolled back on top of her.
*
“The foul deed is done,” Alex said to Matthew, leaning forward on her wooden spade. He was helping her manure the new beds of her expanding garden, and at her comment lifted his face to where Ian and Jenny were walking through the closest meadow in the general direction of the grazing horses.
“You think?” He came over to stand beside her.
“Definitely; look at how she’s walking.”
He tilted his head to one side, and in his head flashed a memory of Alex walking before him up a small hill on a Scottish moor, her gait wide-legged and unsteady after an afternoon spent on her back with him on top. He slipped an arm round her waist and squeezed.
“You don’t walk like that anymore,” he said with some reproach.
“You don’t make love to me like a rutting stag all through an afternoon anymore either, do you?”
“A rutting stag?” He nuzzled her hair. “Would you want me to?”
“This is when I should slap you over the head and tell you you’re out fishing for compliments, Mr Graham. But being a dutiful and most loving wife, I’ll do this instead.” She stood on tiptoe to kiss him before whispering a hot “yes” in his ear.
“Mama?” Ruth’s voice rang with uncertainty.
“Yes?” Alex stepped out of Matthew’s embrace with a wry shrug. “What is it, honey?”
“It’s Offa. I think he’s hurting.” Ruth pointed up the slope towards the little graveyard.
*
Magnus was lying on the ground, curled shrimp-like with his hands held hard around his head. The skin around his mouth was numb with the effort of stopping himself from uttering a sound, and he’d squished his eyes shut to keep out the fucking painful light that was setting his damn brain on fire. It was a relief to feel Alex’s hands on him, to hear Matthew assure him they were here, both of them, and did he want Matthew to help him inside?
He closed his fingers round his son-in-law’s wrist and held on as the fire in his head burnt and raged, huge soaring flames of pain that abruptly flickered and died, leaving his brain sore but functioning.
An hour or so later, the pain had abated.
“This is ridiculous,” Magnus groused, looking at Mrs Parson for support. “I don’t need to stay in bed; it’s just a headache.”
“You’ll stay in bed for the rest of the day,” Alex replied, “and Mrs Parson here has promised to bring you something to drink and to keep you company.”
“I hope by drink she meant whisky,” Magnus said to Mrs Parson once Alex had left them alone.
“Later, perhaps, but for now it’s a good cup of wintergreen and St John’s wort tea. It will relieve that remaining headache—”
“I don’t have a headache!”
“Oh aye? And is that why you squint at the light from yon window?”
He drank the tea under protest, complaining that it was too hot, too bitter, totally useless, and anyway he didn’t need it. Mrs Parson just went on with her knitting. He fell silent and closed his eyes. This had been the worst one yet, and soon there’d be more.
He rolled over on his side and studied Mrs Parson’s flying hands. “You’re quite good at that.”
“Well aye, seeing as I’ve been doing it for close to sixty years.” She inspected the long knitted tube. “Stockings for you. The ones you came with are nothing but holes, and the wool is so poor they can’t be darned.”
Magnus eyed the dark grey stocking growing from her hands. “I’ll probably never get to wear them.”
“Aye, you will.”
He felt a flash of irritation with her, sitting there and telling him that he’d be around for yet another winter. But instead of saying something rude, he shut his eyes. Click, click, click, click...her needles beat out a steady drumming, and he fell asleep comforted by the sound and her presence.
*
“Are you better today?” Mark asked next morning, appearing by Magnus’ side as he made for the vegetable beds.
“Yes, it was only a headache.”
Mark scratched Narcissus on the broad, flat head. “A headache? It looked far worse when Da brought you in yesterday.”
Magnus looked at the lanky thirteen-year-old and sighed. “I’m going to die.”
Mark’s brows pulled into a little frown, hazel eyes regarding Magnus. “Everyone dies. Naomi’s wee brother passed away just after they got here, Rachel died when she was but four, our neighbours back in Scotland died of starvation and exposure… You’re lucky in that you’ll die of old age, not violent, untimely death.”
“I’m not sure that’s much of a comfort.” Magnus was taken aback by Mark’s laconic answer.
“Are you afraid?”
“Of dying? No, I don’t think so. Maybe of how I’ll die…” His hand closed around his secreted stash of pills. He shook himself free of all these dark thoughts and turned to face his grandson with a smile. “So, what are weddings like over here? Wild parties or sedate affairs?”
“Wild parties,” Mark grinned, “and Da is adding casks of beer and whisky just to make sure.”
“Do you dance?” Magnus waggled his hips in a stiff demonstration. Mark nodded that they did, but perhaps not quite like that.
“Mama says how you do it differently in Sweden.” To Magnus’ amusement, Mark began to hum something that sounded very much like a late seventies disco hit while dancing quite competently on the spot.
“Well done!” Magnus said. “But you have to work on the butt shakes.”
“Butt shakes?” Mark twisted to study his backside.
Magnus closed his eyes, pretended himself back in a hot, steamy Seville night a year or so before Alex was born, and danced. And there was Mercedes, alluring as ever with her long hair flying as she twirled and laughed, and she was spinning round him, faster and faster, and he could no longer remain upright because the whole world was tilting violently from one side to the other. He sank down on the ground, his chest heaving with a combination of exertion and plain simple fear.
“I’m too old for this,” he muttered.
“Just as well. Mrs Leslie wouldn’t have been impressed.”
“Of course she would,” Magnus joked. “She’d be all over me.”
Mark looked at him strangely. “Who would want that?”
Alex detoured by the kitchen garden to ensure Magnus was okay, and got a black look in return for her effort as he told her to stop mollycoddling. She scowled back at him and flounced off to check on her chickens and the impressive sixteen piglets.
“All that nice ham,” she cooed at the small, black-spotted animals. “Won’t that be nice come Christmas?” After giving the sow a long rub behind her ears and commending her on her exemplary motherhood – not one piglet bitten to death – she stepped out into the June sunshine in time to see Ian walk off towards the river and hurried after him.
“Are you nervous?” Alex swept her skirts round her legs and sat down beside Ian. He nodded, his eyes locked on a hawk in the sky.
“I’m not sure. I like her but I’m not certain that I’m in love with her – but I would very much want to be.”
“And why are you marrying her if you’re not in love with her?” More to the point, why had he made love to her yesterday if he wasn’t sure? She stared up at the bird, thinking that there was something very self-sufficient about Jenny. She still had her doubts about this match.
“She came to me when she needed help, and I liked that.” He liked a lot more about her, he mumbled: the way her hair whorled over her left temple, how her tongue would peek out of the corner of her mouth when she concentrated, the way her hand felt in his…
Alex laughed and gave him a shove. “It seems you’re well on your way there.”
He made a non-committal sound and threw himself back to lie in the grass.
“It’s not like with you and Da.” He turned his head to look at Alex, a hesitant expression on his face. “But you grow into it, don’t you?”
“Absolutely,” Alex said – well, what could she say? “It’s just a matter of nurturing it.”
“Aye.” Ian closed his eyes.
“How utterly archaic,” Alex said to Mrs Parson when they trailed the bride and her female well-wishers from the candlelit barn to the wedding chamber prepared by Elizabeth. Mrs Parson beamed and took a firmer grip of Alex’s arm in an attempt to walk as straight as possible.
Alex stood back, pitying her new daughter-in-law as she was undressed, perfumed and led to lie waiting in the bed, her long hair artfully arranged around her. Thank heavens they’d already gotten the sex part out of the way, Alex reflected, watching with some amusement when the bridegroom was led through the door, his shirt already half out of his breeches thanks to the many helping hands that surrounded him.
Alex escaped outside, leaning back against the warm wooden wall. Above her hung a fat full moon, a greenish white against the dark night sky, and a weak breeze caressed the leaves of the closest plane trees into a whispering rustle. She was tired. Spring had been one long hectic stretch of work except for the few days in Providence, and she would far prefer sleeping with Matthew in her own bed tonight than cramming down to sleep with Ruth and Sarah. She sighed and decided no one would miss her if she chose to retire. Besides, David needed to be fed.
“If you want, we can ride back home tonight.” Matthew’s dark voice startled her.
“What are you? A mind-reader?” Alex yawned widely.
“At times.” He came to stand beside her. He smelled of wood smoke, of beer and barbecued pork, but under it all was his own fragrance, warm and salt and startlingly fresh, like that of ice-cold water in a mossy spring.
She sniffed and broke out in a pleased smile. “You still smell like you did when we first met.”
“So do you,” he concluded once he’d done his own sniffing. “Of tart green apples and fresh split wood and warm milk.”
“Warm milk?” Alex unstuck her breasts from her shift – she had to find David soon – and shook her head. “I didn’t smell of warm milk when we met.”
“Aye, you did; you always smelled like a mother – the mother of my bairns.” For some strange reason, that comment made Alex ridiculously happy.
They stood side by side in the night for some time. From the barn spilled light and noise, loud laughter interspersed with the sound of fiddles and stamping feet.
“What is it, lass?” he said, taking her hand.
“I don’t know. I’m just tired, I think, and then all of this… Our oldest boy married, our next son already contracted for marriage, and Jacob on the threshold of leaving us. I guess it makes me feel old, to see them begin to grow away from us.”
“But you have a wean and two wee daughters and a lad just seven. And you have me, and I’ll never grow away from you.”
“No,” she ran her hand down his smooth, well-shaven cheek, “you won’t, will you?
“And then it’s Magnus,” she went on. “I’m not sure I’m going to be good at nursing him as he gets worse. He goes all snappy and I bite his head off when I should be understanding and supporting.”
“He doesn’t want you to be mild and meek; he wants you to be as you are, to treat him as you always have.”
“You think?”
From the barn came a wild round of applause, and Alex recognised Sarah’s high voice, heard her say something and then begin to sing.
“Sarah? Isn’t she in bed?” Matthew cocked his head and turned to look at Alex with an expression somewhere between wild amusement and desperation. “What is she singing?”