“Aye, I ken yer were making yer visits.” She waved to the table. “I will be honored if ye will take a bit of tea with me.”
“’Tis a pleasure to meet you, as well, Mistress MacCabe.” Evan followed her the few steps to the table, where they both sat. Mistress MacCabe took a pot of boiling water from the fireplace and poured it into a very pretty blue-and-white flowered teapot. The aroma that immediately wafted from the teapot filled the entire space. Lovely. Katie sniffed. Most likely tea combined with lavender and a touch of chamomile.
Once Mistress MacCabe sat, she waved at the plate of luscious-looking scones. “Please, have some of my special scones. I sell them every Saturday at the marketplace.”
Katie had to keep from moaning as the burst of sugar, cinnamon, and another flavor she couldn’t identify filled her mouth. “This is indeed delicious, mistress.”
The woman dipped her head in acknowledgment, as if she expected nothing less. Evan also finished one scone in only a few bites and then reached for another one. “Mistress Stirling is correct; these are truly wonderful.”
“Thank ye. I will send some up to the castle.” She leaned in close to Katie. “Yer cook is a fine one, but her scones do not hold up against mine.” She winked. Katie truly liked Mistress MacCabe.
…
Evan licked his lips and eyed the remaining scones on the plate. He’d already had three and could certainly find room for another one, but he didn’t want to eat the poor woman out of her house.
Mistress MacCabe was a cheerful sort. Lively blue eyes belied the wrinkles on her face. Her home was small but tidy. Various smells from drying herbs hanging from the ceiling gave it a cozy warmth, reminding him of the MacNeil kitchen where Cook always had rows and rows of herbs. She also had fruit or meat pies and other treats for a lad who used to sneak into the kitchen to swipe some treats. Those memories also brought back a longing to return home.
Before he could think twice, his traitorous hand reached out and grabbed another scone. Katie grinned at him, and he grinned back as he took a large bite.
’Twas good to see the lass smile at him. They’d gotten into quite a heated exchange over her brother. As he watched her compare notes with Mistress MacCabe on various herbs used for medicinal purposes, his mind returned to their conversation. ’Twas a sad day when a mon did not take an interest in his own bairns. ’Twas one thing to suffer when yer wife passes, but to ignore the child because of yer grief was no excuse for a mon at all.
At least while he was still at Fife, he could take the lad under his wing. Get him started training with a broadsword. Even though there was no need to prepare for battle, since the Sassenachs had taken over everything in Scotland, ’twas still a handy thing to know. A mon never knew when the need would arise to protect himself.
He glanced at the small wooden clock on the fireplace mantle and pushed his chair back. “I’m afraid we must take our leave. We have other calls to make.”
So deep in conversation were the two women that they looked up in surprise to see him sitting there. Katie and Mrs. MacCabe slowly stood, still chatting away. They linked arms as they strolled to the doorway, heads down. Instant friends, it appeared.
“I will call for ye in a couple of days to make the visit to Freya. The poor thing is quite nervous, this being her first bairn. ’Twill make her feel better to ken that there will be two of us when the time comes, which as I said before, will be soon.”
The two women hugged like old friends, and Evan and Katie mounted their horses to ride away from the house. “What was that all about?” he asked as he directed his horse to the left to visit the next cottage.
“Were ye not listening?”
’Twas probably not the best idea to tell the lass that once they started talking about healing herbs and medical practices, he’d closed his ears to the conversation. Although he could slice a mon with his broadsword, fell an animal with an arrow, and wring a chicken’s neck, when it came to healing and stitching up, his stomach generally rebelled. He had the embarrassing habit of fainting like some swooning lass at the sight of his own blood. “Aye, I did for a while, but women’s talk eventually makes me close up my ears.”
Katie snorted. “Typical man. Make ye nervous, does it?”
“Nay,” he snapped. “Healing is women’s work.” They rode for a few minutes while Katie smirked. “Are ye not going to tell me, then? A punishment for not paying attention?”
Katie shook her head. “Nay. It seems there’s a young lass—Mrs. Freya MacDuff—getting ready for her first bairn, and she’s quite nervous about it.”
“Isn’t it normal to be a wee bit scared?” He made sure to stay far away from pregnant women, but occasionally he would overhear talk among the lasses, whether he wanted to or not.
“Yes. Women do die in childbirth. My mum, in fact, was one. But there are also many, many healthy births, with happy mothers at the end.”
He studied her profile. Her face had gone from happy to sad in a matter of minutes. “Have ye attended a lot of births, then?”
“Aye. Mum let me accompany her many times. ’Twas most unfortunate that she was the one who died, with all the women we helped.” She shook her head. “She was a good woman. I miss her every day.”
Katie seemed to shake herself from the melancholy that had overtaken her. “Mistress MacCabe is the local healer, as you might have determined.”
“Aye. I thought as much.”
“She is getting on in years and asked me if I would take over her role
