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And then she saw Aulay. He stood in front of a group of children with a sword and demonstrated a movement. The boys and girls, standing in two rows, repeated his movement. There were about twenty of them, between the ages of ten and twelve.
With her heart melting, she slowly walked towards the group. The pregnant woman she’d seen with Seoras sat nearby and weaved a basket, throwing smiling glances at the children from time to time.
“…and then Somerled came down from his ship,” proclaimed Aulay, “and he and his brave band of warriors stormed the castle of Glasgow…”
The children giggled and roared. Their faces were full of fierce joy, and Jenny’s heart lit up like a bulb. Aulay took a step forward, and simultaneously brought his sword down diagonally with an exaggerated grunt. Echoing him, the children all took a step forward and swung their swords with a grunt.
Jenny must have spontaneously ovulated another one of her last eggs. It was too bad she couldn’t get pregnant from regular sex, or maybe she’d let the Scottish giant have his way with her. He was older than her, but clearly still in his prime. The way his muscles played under his tunic as he slashed the sword, the way his thighs bulged, tightening the fabric of the breeches, the way the wind threw strands of long hair into his handsome, fierce face made her breathless. But with every minute and every hour, the appointment at the clinic was approaching. And her chances of having a baby were decreasing.
Aulay locked eyes with her, and the ground shifted under her. He told the kids to keep training and walked to Jenny.
“Lady Jennifer,” he said as he stood by her side.
Just his presence next to her made her skin buzz. “Laird Aulay. Please, call me Jenny.”
He smiled a crooked grin. “Aye. Jenny.”
He said her name slowly, and it rolled off his tongue like candy.
Jenny bit her lip to stop herself from smiling. “Who are the children?” she asked.
“Children of the clan including those who have nae parents nae more. I only teach them what their own fathers would have if they were still alive.”
Oh, wow. Did he care about children like she did?
His face darkened, and he added, “What I will one day teach Una, too.”
Jenny’s heart sank. When he’d told her Beathan had died protecting him, her heart bled for Ailis and for Una. She gave him a reassuring smile. She saw how hard he took Beathan’s death.
“Is it common that you’re teaching girls to fight on swords, too?”
He sighed and chuckled, almost shaking off the sadness. “Girls’ main priority is to learn household chores, but MacDonald women should always be able to defend themselves. It’s in our blood. Viking roots. Celts and Picts. Pictish kings were chosen from the woman’s bloodline. Viking women often knew how to use a short sword and a bow. The women who my clan came from were fierce, and I want that to be part of the legacy I leave for future generations.”
This was kind of forward thinking for the Middle Ages, wasn’t it? Empowering girls and treating them equally… Clearly not in all regards, based on how he had treated her. But, it seemed, he respected their right to fight and defend themselves. How could he be so arrogant and bossy and bark commands at her but, at the same time, have this softer side that she could admire and respect?
“And there’s Mhairi.” He nodded to the pregnant woman who was weaving the basket. “She watches over the children.”
Roaring, one of the younger boys ran to Aulay with his wooden sword, but before he could ram into the laird, Aulay picked him up and swung him around. The boy burst out in delighted giggles that only children could. Jenny saw sad children who didn’t feel well every day of her life—she didn’t get to see much of this side of their lives, and this moment was like the sun rising after a long night. That was what she lived for, to have her own child and give them moments like these…a million moments like these. She melted, watching this big, brawny Highlander lose all his fierceness and be raw and happy.
Mhairi left her basket and hurried to them. “Artur,” she cried. “Get off the laird this minute!”
“’Tis all right!” Aulay put Artur down, and they both giggled. It was impossible to say who had a bigger grin, Artur or Aulay.
Jenny’s own lips spread in a giant smile but then fell. A yellow crust formed around the child’s lips and under his nose. Impetigo. It was a mild bacterial infection that sometimes occurred in children. She could easily treat it with an antibiotic cream.
“Wait…” She sank to a crouch in front of Artur. “Artur, how long have you had this around your lips?”
The boy stopped smiling and looked suspiciously at her. “I dinna ken…three…four sennights.”
That was textbook impetigo. “Do you have sores on your skin anywhere else?”
Artur looked at Aulay, who gave him a short nod. “’Tis all right, lad. Ye may tell her.” After a long pause, he added, “She may be able to help.”
Something warmed in Jenny’s chest. Was he finally trusting her, believing in her abilities?
Artur nodded and rolled up the sleeve of his tunic. There were more small sores, and dark-red and yellowish crusts formed over most of them. Normally, children between the ages of two and five got it, but Artur was probably ten. She thought it must be because of the lack of hygiene. If they all lived in an orphanage, more children were probably infected. Impetigo spread in day cares and preschools every year, in summers and winters.
“Are there more of your friends with this?” she asked.
