Page 18 of A Hellion for the Highland Hawk
Then again, he could think of worse ways to die.
“Go on, lassie,” Isla urged, gesturing to the seat beside him.
An imperceptible growl rumbled in the back of his throat, threatening to turn into a protest. But he couldn’t do that in front of everyone; they’d wonder what on earth his problem was with the lass, and that would ruin the entire ruse in an instant.
There were five others at the table that morning: Elsie and Jack, his cousin Beathan, and two of the more tolerable members of the council, Iain and Robert.
Jack grinned. “Nice to see ye again.”
“And you,” Nancy mumbled.
The man-at-arms yelped as Elsie jabbed him hard in the ribs with her elbow.
“What, love? I was just bein’ polite.” He chuckled and pressed a kiss to his wife’s brow. “Ye’d have elbowed me twice as hard if I hadnae been courteous.”
“Ye may be right,” Elsie replied, smiling as he kissed her again.
Hunter relaxed as Nancy took the seat beside him, though the pheasant was doing nothing to help distract him. The scent of her… It struck him like a punch, sweeter than anything he’d ever smelled, as if she were a dessert that demanded slow and satisfying consumption.
“This is Nancy Kane,” Hunter said, as gruffly as he could. “She’s to be me daughter’s new nursemaid.”
At that, Beathan perked up. The slightly younger man had been grumpy all morning after learning that he wasn’t going to be sent eastward to help with trade negotiations. As the clan’s envoy, he’d been looking forward to it, but with a council meetingcoming up, Hunter hadn’t wanted to spare him for such a long excursion.
“Nancy, this is Elsie, Jack, Isla ye already ken, Beathan, Iain, and Robert,” Hunter added, gesturing to each in turn.
“Have ye raised many bairns, Miss Kane?” Beathan asked, with a look of interest that made the back of Hunter’s neck prickle.
Nancy fidgeted with the spoon set out in front of her. “No, not many.” She cleared her throat and raised her head a little higher. “I… I had to raise one, and I think I did a decent job. They’re still alive and don’t have too many complaints, so I’ll take it as a victory.”
“Ye daenae sound like ye’re from any of the villages,” Beathan noted, tilting his head to the side, an admiring shine in his eyes.
Nancy smiled. “I’m not. My mother was a… um… midwife, and we traveled all over, so my accent is a little bit of everywhere.”
At that, Hunter cast a discreet look at his aunt. Evidently, between their parting in the dungeons yesterday and now, there’d been a few necessary adjustments to the story of who Nancy was and why she was here.
Isla smiled back at him with a proud little nod, and he had to admit it covered a lot of the gaps that he’d been concerned about. Although he’d have been lying if he said that getting the story right was the reason he hadn’t slept much last night. Nancy’sodd attire and fiery demeanor had crept into his thoughts unbidden, as had the way her lips parted when he’d whispered to her.
“Ah, so ye must be used to wee bairns, even if ye havenae raised many.” Beathan nodded as if that made perfect sense.
Nancy expelled a nervous breath. “Exactly.”
“What made ye want to do it again?” Elsie cut in, her hand on the swell of her belly. “I might have to borrow ye for when me own bairn arrives, if ye do well with Freya. Och, and if ye ken about midwifery, then maybe ye can help deliver the bairn!”
Nancy froze at Hunter’s side, no breath whispering in and out of her chest, her eyes wide and unblinking, like a rabbit catching the scent of something on the breeze.
He could sense she was on the brink of ruining all the good work she’d already done. Perhaps saying that her mother had been a midwife hadn’t been the best idea, but there was nothing to be done about that now.
Pretending to reach across Nancy to pick up a jug of weak ale, he murmured low enough so that only she would hear, “Be convincin’, because if ye cannae protect yer secrets, I willnae have to protect ye anymore.”
Nancyshouldhave said that her mother was a nurse, but she hadn’t known the 1710 equivalent of the word. Healer, perhaps? The last thing she wanted to do was trip up on vocabulary that didn’t exist yet, when she was already treading on a timeline she shouldn’t have been in.
She managed to take a breath and stared down at her hands, as if she might find the answers in the lines on her palms.
He’s right.
These people didn’t owe her anything, and the ones who knew the reality of the situation were putting themselves at risk just by knowing. This wasn’t 2026. They’d call her a witch or worse if she didn’t play along, and that probably only ended one way: burned at the stake, ducked in the river, or some other twisted medieval torture method.
Emily would have known exactly what might have befallen her, ever a fountain of historical knowledge, but she wasn’t here. That meant erring on the side of caution in everything she did from now on until she figured out how to get home.
