On a Highland Shore Read Free Page B

with Margaret obvious. And frequent. Margaret couldn’t wait for her wedding. She’d escape Mother’s moods, go to court, and be part of its glittering world. Be the mistress of her own home, which she was determined would be filled with laughter instead of constant strife as Somerstrath was. And she’d have a husband who was both charming and devoted to her.
    They turned to other topics, their conversation slowing, then stopping altogether. Margaret closed her eyes, telling herself that she needed to enjoy the sunshine, and after a few moments, she slept.

    “Margaret! Wake up!”
    She gasped in surprise and opened her eyes when four-year-old Fergus threw himself atop her with a gleeful cry. She smiled and clasped the little boy to her chest. Nell was right behind him, but the other boys ran down to the water instead, chasing the shore birds into the air with hoots of delight. Fiona laughed and shook her head.
    “Ye were asleep, Margaret,” Fergus said. “In the day.”
    Margaret laughed. “So I was.”
    Nell’s mouth was pursed as she sank next to Margaret. “Mother is in one of her moods. Nothing makes her happy. She’s constantly cross.”
    “She’s tired,” Margaret said. “Ye ken what she’s like in the last few weeks. Everything wearies her.”
    “I,” Nell intoned, “will never have children.”
    Fiona rolled her eyes. Margaret fought a smile and brushed Nell’s light brown hair back over her shoulder. She remembered being twelve, remembered the struggle she’d felt she’d waged to be treated as an adult. Her sister was voluble, quick to love, quick to anger, quick to forgive. Impatient. Headstrong. And the most loyal ally Margaret could imagine. They were very close. She told Nell things she wouldn’t even tell Fiona. She would miss that. As she’d miss the little boy curling now against her, the smell of sunshine and earth in his hair. She smiled at Nell. “No children? Not even if they were like Fergus?”
    Nell shook her head and heaved a great sigh. “No, not even then.”
    “I get tired, too,” Fergus said, dropping his head to Margaret’s shoulder.
    “Of course ye do,” she told him. “We all do.”
    “Mother should take a nap,” Fergus said. “Like ye did.”
    “She should indeed.”
    “Father’s cross as well,” Nell said, “and he’s not even having the child.”
    Margaret looked into Nell’s green eyes, seeing her sister’s confusion. Their father was cross because he was worried. The wet weather had prevented the crops from being sown on time; the harvest would be lean. The cattle had found little to eat on the sodden hillsides when at last the men had led them to their summer grazing fields. And their mother was near her term, which always made her father worried and his moods unpredictable. But Nell was too young to realize all that; she would learn the fragile nature of life soon enough. And Margaret’s thoughts were far too serious for such a lovely day.
    She rose to her feet, pulling her brother up with her. “We’re not cross, are we? The sun is out and we have no work to do right now. We’re happy, Fergus, are we not?”
    Fergus laughed. “Aye, Margaret. We’re happy!”
    Nell’s expression softened as she reached for the child’s hand. “Come, wee one, let’s go see the lads,” she said and led him down to the water, where the other boys were running out on the sand, then darting back as the waves tumbled in.
    “Och, will ye look at them?” Margaret said, half-exasperated, half-entertained as her brothers, drenched to the knees, ran back from the water. She should tell them to be careful. But it was summer, the day was lovely, and this was one of her last days with them. “Remember being that age?” she asked Fiona. “When a summer was an eternity and we thought life would always be like that?”
    Fiona looked wistful for a moment. “I do. We thought nothing would change, didn’t we? But we were wrong.” She stood, then, her tone brisk