The Gathering Storm (The Jacobite Chronicles Book 3)(54)
Iain looked helplessly at Beth. Much as he loved his wife, she was stubborn and unreasonable at times, and had become even more so as her pregnancy advanced. She seemed acutely aware that she was having it easy compared to her fellow clanswomen in Scotland and was determined not to let anyone pamper her in any way at all.
"Angus is making the porridge," Alex said, striding briskly into the room, carrying an armful of material. "And Iain is lighting the fire," he continued with such a tone of command that Iain turned to the task immediately, gratefully relinquishing his mutinous wife to the other man.
Alex dumped his burden down on the floor by the side of the sofa and turned to Maggie.
"I … " she started.
He took her by the shoulders and propelled her firmly back on to the sofa.
"And you," he said, "will do as ye're tellt for once. These," he gestured to the pile of shirts and stockings, "need mending. And that's what ye're going to do."
Maggie picked up one of the stockings, which sported a hole in the heel.
"These are Sir Anthony's," she said. "Sir Anthony doesna wear mended stockings. He buys new ones."
"He does wear mended stockings if ye canna see the darn," Alex said. "His sponsor's no' got a money tree growing in his garden. It's about time Sir Anthony economised a wee bit."
Maggie looked up at him, undaunted.
"You're just inventing work for me," she said. "And anyway, Beth's the one for the needlework, not me, as ye ken verra well."
"I've got other things for Beth to do the day," Alex said. "And her talents lie in fine embroidery, no' darning, which I ken well ye can do."
Iain blew carefully on the fire to encourage a blaze, ensuring that his back was turned to the confrontation. Maggie pursed her lips mutinously.
"I'll no' be humoured, Alex," she said, moving to the edge of the sofa.
"We're no' humouring ye, you stubborn wee besom," Alex replied angrily, leaning forward and placing his hands heavily on her shoulders again. "Christ, woman, ye're worse than Beth! We care about ye, and if we were at home we'd be doing the same. Some women carry their bairns easy, and some dinna. That's all there is tae it."
"But if I … "
Alex placed one finger over her lips.
"I'm your chieftain, and I'm ordering ye to sit here and mend these clothes. No arguments. If ye dinna, I'll have ye flogged and turn you out, and ye can have your bairn in the snow, if you're so determined to suffer unnecessarily!"
He straightened and strode out, leaving Maggie and Iain sitting open-mouthed in the library. Beth followed her husband to the kitchen, where to her relief Angus was, as Alex had said, making the porridge.
"Went well then, I see," he said, stirring merrily and eyeing his brother's set face.
"Wasn't that a bit extreme?" Beth commented, dropping the scrubbing brush in the bucket of cooling water and sitting down at the table. "There's not much point in threatening someone if they know you've no intention of carrying it out."
"I'm tempted to," Alex said. "Christ, she's always been stubborn, but she's nigh on impossible now. She seems determined to do the opposite of whatever ye tell her, regardless of how stupid it is."
"What did you mean, anyway, when you said she's worse than me?" Beth asked.
Alex shot her a dark look, and she decided suddenly that she'd rather not know.
"Is this what women are normally like when they're pregnant?" she said.
"They're all different, from what I've seen," Alex replied. "Some are a bit moody, some are a wee bit sharp-tempered, some," he gestured in the direction of the library, "are bloody impossible, and others are fine all the way through, like Anne, for example."
This was true. Anne Redburn, whose baby was due at the same time as Maggie's, in April, could not have been more different from the pale, heavy-eyed woman now resignedly threading her needle in the library. Anne was bursting with health and vitality, her skin glowing, her hair shining, and the weight she had lost following the death of her husband regained. At the moment she was in Manchester. Beth, knowing Anne's aversion to spending time at home alone, had contemplated inviting her to join them for Christmas, and had been relieved beyond words when Anne had told her that she had accepted an invitation from Isabella to accompany the Cunningham family to Raven Hall for the festive season. Among other things, it had meant that Alex had not had to play Sir Anthony throughout the holiday, for which he was immensely grateful.
Iain now returned to the kitchen.
"She's fine," he said in response to the unspoken question in the faces turned to him. "She's already nodding over her needle. I dinna ken why she canna admit she's tired. It's normal enough, after all."
"I don't think she sees it that way," Beth said. "I think she sees it as being weak. A bit like I did when I was in Scotland and felt I had to prove myself. She doesn't want us to feel sorry for her."
"She wanted the bairn to be born in Scotland, too, which doesna help her mood," Iain said.
"Does she?" asked Alex. "Why did ye no' stay up there, then, instead of coming back to England wi' us?"
"We didna think of it then," Iain said, yawning and combing his long hair with his fingers. "But she doesna want the baby to be a Sasannach."
"It'll be a Gordon, that's all that matters, surely?" Beth said.
"Aye, that's what I've tellt her, but she's no' happy about it. She's a wee bit worried too that she's no' carrying the baby right, I think, though she hasna said anything, even to me."
"She'll be fine, man, if she takes care of herself," Alex said reassuringly. "But she canna make the journey home now, she kens that, surely?"
"Aye, she does," Iain said, ladling a generous helping of porridge into a bowl. "I'll take her a bite tae eat through, if she's still awake."
Nobody mentioned the fact that Anne had made the journey to Manchester without a qualm, and had every intention of returning to London at the beginning of February. But the roads to Manchester were not the same as the rough and boggy trails and paths to Loch Lomond. And Anne's pregnancy was clearly not the same as Maggie's.
* * *
"Right then," said Sir Anthony as the Peters' carriage clattered into the frosty courtyard of St James's Palace on the last day of January. "I don't know if William will be there or not, but if he is, you stay close to me. Don't give him any opportunity to get you alone. If he tries to, refuse point blank to go with him. He's no shortage of willing mistresses, and he'll soon turn to someone else if he can't get you on your own. You'll just have to put up with George's German war talk, I'm afraid."
"I'd rather put up with a week of that than five minutes of Cumberland," Beth said, remembering the feel of the duke's hand on her knee at the opera with a shudder.
Two hours into the Court visit Beth still felt the same, just, although she was bored almost to distraction. To give King George his due, he had thoughtfully sent for refreshments, and did address a few polite comments to Beth in English. But as soon as he got onto talk of war, he became excited, and when he became excited, he spoke in his native tongue.
She watched him from the discomfort of an inadequately padded gilt chair, as he explained his intention to recommence the war in Flanders as soon as the thaw started, his hands gesticulating, his neat little physique dwarfed next to her husband's large frame in spite of Sir Anthony's ability to diminish himself.
How such a small and compact man had managed to father such a massively-built and corpulent son was beyond Beth. George's eldest son, Prince Frederick, seemed to have inherited his father's build at least, although whether he had inherited his features or personality she had no idea, having seen the prince only once, in Ranelagh gardens at a distance. Sir Anthony had expressed an intention to introduce her to him, but it was difficult at the moment, as relations between father and son, normally extremely hostile, had temporarily broken down altogether. A visit to Prince Frederick now could cause total ostracism from the rest of the royal family, and Sir Anthony wanted to keep up to date with the king's intentions in Europe. Beth sipped at a cup of rapidly cooling tea and tried to appear contented. At least Cumberland was not present, having gone riding with his sister Amelia. That was a blessing. And Maggie, still pale and permanently tired, seemed to have taken the family's concern to heart, at least a little, and was relaxing a bit more. That was a blessing too. Beth's stays, which were digging painfully into her sides, were not. She could do with loosening them a little.
Suddenly decided, she stood and curtseyed, thereby interrupting the male conversation.
"If you will excuse me for a moment, Your Majesty," she said, blushing prettily at the embarrassment of having to reveal a need to relieve herself and endearing the king to her, who granted permission to leave his presence, then forgot all about her the moment she'd left the room.