Alethia strained the medicinal tea she’d made into an earthenware pitcher and added the dried cranberries. Fragrant steam rose in a cloud as she stirred some honey into the mix. She inhaled deeply before covering the container with a piece of cheesecloth the cook had given her. “Beth, tell the family he should drink this tea as often as he can. If they give him any other fluids, make sure they boil them for at least two minutes first.”
“Aye, milady. I’ll tell them.”
“Oh, and he can eat the berries I added. They’ll help.” She handed the pitcher to Beth before thanking the cook. That chore done, she headed for her room for some much-needed solitude. Hunter returned at exactly the same moment, as if he’d known Alethia would be there. With all the activity surrounding the laird’s trip to London, and the weaver’s son needing tending, they hadn’t had any time for just the two of them. She gave him a quick hug and opened their door.
She sank down onto the bed, and he scrambled up to sit beside her. She sent him pictures from her mind, teaching him the signs to go with them. Hunter learned very quickly, and his questions came fast. Like any small child, he was consumed with curiosity. Besides “I’m hungry,” which seemed to be all the time, “Why?” and “What is it?” made up the bulk of his conversational signing.
Opening herself to the pictures Hunter sent back filled her with joy. She’d never met another person she could do this with. He sent her the image of a baby being nursed in his mother’s arms, and signed the inevitable question.
“What?”
“Mother and child,” she signed back.
He sent her the image of a young woman with sad gray eyes. She had Hunter’s golden brown hair and similar features. A wave of aching loneliness permeated his entire being, and Alethia knew the image belonged to the beloved mother he’d lost.
“I lost my mother and father too,” she signed and sent him pictures of her parents. “I’ll take care of you now. We can take care of each other,” she signed. Hunter climbed into her lap and curled himself against her with a sigh. Eyes stinging, she scooped him into a hug. A knock on the door interrupted the moment. Hastily wiping the tears from her eyes, she called, “Come in.”
Elaine swept into the room, a gown in her arms. “My father and the Douglas men are leaving for London two days hence. There is to be a feast and dancing tonight. You are to play.”
She signed what Elaine had told her to Hunter.
“What do such gestures mean?” Elaine asked, sitting at the foot of the bed.
“We’re talking,” she answered.
“Show me.”
Hunter scrambled over to Elaine and signed his name to her.
“He’s telling you his name is Hunter. Here’s how you spell your name.” She showed her.
Elaine signed her name, then tweaked Hunter’s nose once she’d finished. “Can you say everything this way?”
“Yes, it’s a complete language.”
“Do Malcolm and my father know of this? ’Twould be quite valuable to be able to communicate without sound, I should think.”
“I haven’t spoken to either of them about signing, other than to say I would teach Hunter.”
“Mayhap you should. Och, but I’ve come for another reason. I wondered if you might be able to use this gown. ’Tis too short for me and might suit you.” She held it up.
The gown was a sumptuous dark-green velvet. “It’s lovely, Elaine. You’re a terrible liar though.” She flipped the hem to reveal the crease where the old hem had been before her friend had taken it up.
Elaine laughed. “’Tis not my fault you have the gift of a truth-sayer. I mean for you to have it just the same. The color is perfect for you. Wear it tonight,” she said as she rose to leave, “and wear your hair down.”
The great hall was full to bursting as Malcolm’s clan danced to the music Alethia made with her wee instrument. Robley and Liam accompanied her with bodhran and bagpipes. Malcolm leaned against the wall by the hearth, content to watch. She was a vision in the green velvet gown. It clung to her curves and brought out the chestnut in her hair.
“Malcolm, I would have a word.”
“Mother.” He smiled and moved from the wall. “You look lovely this eve.”
“My thanks. Walk with me outside for a breath of air.” She took his arm. “That’s a good lad.”
It never failed to amuse him. He towered over her and hadn’t been a lad for a long while. Yet she continued to treat him as if he were still a child of eight. Putting his arm around her slender shoulders, he steered her through the crowd and outside. “What is it you wish to discuss?”