Cursed in the Blood: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery by Sharan Newman Page B

better than the task his friend Urric had been given.
    Anything was better than having to face Duncan of Wedderlie.
     
    Robert scanned the clear horizon. “I think you have your wish,” he said to Edgar. “We’re much farther north than Wearmouth.” He shook his head. “I only hope we haven’t been blown around Scotland altogether.”
    Edgar glanced over at Catherine, then remembered that she couldn’t understand the conversation. But the Flemish captain could.
    “Bilge,” he said as he paused from scooping seawater out of the hold. “The sun’s too low to have gone that far north. My guess is that we’re somewhere south of the Firth, but beyond New Castle. And thanks be to God and Saint Nicholas, we managed to save the mast and most of the sail.”
    “How far out are we?” Edgar asked.
    “We should see land by noontime,” the man answered. “But not soon enough for your wife, I’d say.”
    Edgar smiled sad agreement. He felt terribly guilty, as if he’d raised the storm himself to torment her. He should have hunted for a better way to protect her, rather than to take her into a danger that might be as great as the one she had left. He should have left her at the Paraclete.
    But in his heart, he knew he hadn’t thought of those things because he hadn’t wanted to. He didn’t want to leave them, not ever again. He cursed his selfishness.
    Edgar returned to the canvas shelter, now steaming in the growing warmth of the sun. Catherine and Willa were oiling James before putting him in fresh swaddling. The baby flailed his arms and legs about, glad to be free of the restricting cloth. And at that moment a miracle occurred. Catherine looked up at Edgar and laughed.
    All the demons that had been pulling on him fled at the sound. He knelt by the baby and tried to catch his slippery hand.
    “Look at your son!” Catherine said exultantly. “He grows fatter and stronger every day. All the tumult of the storm couldn’t frighten him.”
    “And you?” Edgar pushed back her matted hair to peer into her eyes.
    Catherine shrugged. “It was a blessing, really. Terror drove away all the nausea. It hasn’t come back … yet.”
    “The captain says we’re off Scotland now,” Edgar reassured her.
    “He’ll put in to the first village he spots and let us off.”
    Catherine couldn’t suppress her sigh of relief. “And then what will we do?” she asked.
    “See if we can buy a couple of horses and set off for Wedderlie,” Edgar answered.
    Catherine looked down at her stained clothing and felt her greasy hair.
    “Are there bathhouses in Scotland?” she asked.
    Edgar grinned. “No, but there are baths. We won’t greet my family looking like beggars, I promise you.”
    He got up swiftly then, but Catherine had seen his expression. What were these people like? He had never spoken much about them, only a comment here and there. He seemed to have a great deal of affection for his stepmother, and the stories about Waldeve had always made him seem bombastic but in a comical sort of way. He had never even told her the names of his brothers that she recalled. She wished she knew enough English to talk with Robert.
    “Mistress?”
    Catherine woke from her speculations. Willa needed help wrapping the baby. He wiggled so. She held him still as the soft linen was wound around him. Soon he would be strong enough to leave his arms free.
    “I wonder if we’ll be home before he starts walking,” Willa said.
    The idea startled Catherine. “Oh, I hope so. Edgar says that winter is black and bleak here. I don’t think I could bear the darkness.”
    But it wasn’t the darkness outside that unsettled her, but her fears about the cheerless people they might be among. Selfishly, she didn’t want to stay long in a house of mourning. She wanted to be among friends who would rejoice when James took his first step.
    As she settled herself to feed the baby she had another disturbing thought.
    What if Edgar decided it was his duty