Page 29 of The Splendor of Fire
Moira stiffened with surprise as Margaret pulled her into a crushing embrace.
Margaret chuckled. “I’m sorry, I’m embracing everyone. I’m all over the place for the last few days—a puddle of gooey honey because of my grandson.”
When Margaret did not release her, Moira relaxed and returned the hug, baffled by the emotion burning her throat. It’d been a long while since she’d felt the embrace of a mother around her.
“Moira’s brought us word that Léo is alive. She’s been taking care of him in Cràdh Prison.”
Margaret looked at Moira with shock. “Léo is alive?”
Moira nodded.
Tightening her embrace, Margaret squeezed her even tighter, causing the air to leach from her lungs. “God bless you, lass. Léo is a dear one. Please, when you see him, squeeze him tight for me, if not for him, Cara and Eamon wouldnae…” Emotion choked her words. She tried to compose herself, pinching Moira’s cheek. “Oh look at you, aren’t you beautiful? Those cheekbones. Ah, look at her eyes, they’re just like Hector, Lachlan, and Eamon’s.”
Cara’s brow crinkled. “They are, aren’t they? I thought there was something familiar about her. Like we had met before.”
Moira pointed to the baby and opened and pinched her finger beside her eye.
Cara nodded. “He has his father’s eyes.”
How unusual. She had never met anyone with eyes like hers, let alone three people.
Margaret cocked her head. “Is there something wrong with your voice? My sister raises bees and has the best honey in all the islands. I’ve just brought back two jars and left them with the cook. I’m sure it would cure you.”
Under normal circumstances the question irritated Moira, but Margaret’s warm nature melted everything around her. Moira smiled and touched her throat, then shook her head.
Cara placed a hand on Margaret’s knee. “She’s mute. Childhood illness.”
“Ah. Well. If you don’t have a voice, God must have gifted you with abundance in other areas.”
Cara produced the picture. “Indeed, look at this.”
Gifted with abundance. To live without a voice and to be unlike everyone else had always felt like a shortcoming, and a punishment. Caught off guard, Moira felt sudden shyness about her talent with a charcoal. Was that an area of abundance? She’d never thought about it.
“Oh, Cara. She’s go’ his little expression and everything. This is the most stunning artwork I’ve ever seen.” Margaret nodded toward the painting of the annunciation above the hearth. “It’s even better than the blessed mother, forgive me, God, for thinking so.”
Moira could see what Margaret meant. The mural above Cara’s hearth was colorful and beautiful, but the expressions were flat, no life in them. Sudden realization swept over her. God had given her an ability for sketching, and then overflow beyond.
A knock sounded at the door and Hector pushed into the room with a bouquet of buttercups that he presented to his wife with a tender kiss. He lifted the blanket away from Eamon’s face and gave his bairn his own kiss, tickling the boy’s little feet..
Moira took in the hulking Hector and wee Margaret, making a small space between her fingers and then pointed to Hector making her fingers wide.
“Oh. Because I said mother-in-law. Margaret is the mother of my first husband, Duncan. She isn’t Hector’s mother. That is why she is so small and Hector is so tall.”
Hector smirked. “I see Cara’s mastered interpretation while I’ve been out. I’ll have you know my mother was a tall woman. Six feet tall, just like you. Part of the Morgans of Clan MacKay. All noted for their great height. Bred tall MacLeans. Even my sister was tall.” Margaret swatted his arm. “But my mother-in-law makes every inch count. Howdid the drawing turn out?” Cara passed him the sketch and he blinked. “This is good.”
Moira smiled. His approval filled her with satisfaction, but she wasn’t sure why.
Hector looked stunned. “Very good. Cara, it’s an exact image.”
“I know.” Margaret draped her arm around Hector’s waist and squeezed. “Isn’t it remarkable? What a treasure to keep for when he’s older and you have only a memory of holding him like this. You’ll always be able to look back and remember when he…he was only yours.” There was something underlying in Margaret’s tone. Something unspoken. Something painful.
Hector kissed her cheek. “You’re right, Maw.” He cleared his throat and looked down at his wife. “I’ve come to see if I may borrow Moira for a few hours, maybe a few days.”
Cara smiled. “I thought she was returning with Father McElduff to Iona this morning?”
Poor Father McElduff. So ruffled by yesterday’s events he’d taken to bed with a headache, and been too frightened to appear to break his fast this morning. For all his bravery against the storm, the sight of Hector had well and truly terrified him, despite all efforts to assure him that his captivity in the guardhouse was a big misunderstanding.
Hector shrugged. “I just sent him back to Iona, knees knocking so hard I could hear them from the boat slip.”
