Matthew and the others were doing a fine job of holding them back but she worried about them, especially when she saw that Matthew was back on his horse again. She was going to smack him when she got off the wagon. She understood his need to stand by his friend James but the fool was going to rip his stitches open.
She heard Boyd curse and looked at him but he was staring forward. Following his gaze she frowned as she saw the large stockade come into view. The Jones brothers stood on either side of the open gates and she urged George toward them even though she knew the animal was tiring. The moment she did so, the men ran to leap onto their horses and rush to aid Matthew and James.
“I didn’t think we were going to a fort.”
“This is his home,” said Boyd. “He told me they had put up a fence.”
“A fence.” She shook her head. “He probably thinks that is funny. Are those men up on the walls?”
“I think so. Like coming to a castle, ain’t it, only this one is made of wood.”
“Right now what it looks like to me is safety.”
Chapter Fifteen
Abbie sped through the gates and quickly drew the wagon to a halt. People came running out of the house. She leapt down and rushed to take George out of his harness. She was just freeing him when a tall, dark-haired man rushed up with straw to rub him down. Abbie abruptly stopped murmuring soothing words to George and stared at the man, trying to find something that would tell her he was one of Matthew’s brothers.
“Fine sturdy cart horse, lass. Havenae seen one like this for a while. I am Iain, Matthew’s older brother.”
“Hello, Iain. I am Abigail Jenson.” She then heard gunfire and quickly looked around. “I thought we had run into a fort.”
“Lots of folk think that. Just the MacEnroy place.”
“Oh, Jeremiah,” Abbie cried when a wail came from the back of the wagon, and she hurried over, getting back in the wagon, to collect the baby.
Matthew, James, and the Jones brothers rode in just as she picked up the child. When she began to get out of the wagon several men shut the gates then ran up ladders to a walkway at the top of the wall. She had to wonder what kind of life the MacEnroys lived that made them believe they needed such protection. The moment she was back on the ground a small, blond woman hurried over to her.
“I am Emily, Iain’s wife. Do you want me to hold the babe as you get your goat down?”
“If you would, please.” She gently handed over Jeremiah who still fussed but quickly grew quiet. “It has just been too much noise and fast, rough travel for the child.” She kissed Jeremiah’s cheek then went to fetch the goat.
When Abbie brought Delphinium down, she stood and stared at the goat for a moment. “You need a new name. We are going to be stuck with each other for a while and I cannot keep calling you Delphinium.”
“Delphinium? Who would name the poor beast that?”
“The woman I was staying with. I wondered if the goat ate her flowers so she stuck it with a name, but it could be she just thought it was an elegant word. She kept her goats in her cellar whenever there was trouble and at night. She used to have over a dozen of them but only had five left. I needed the milk though and traded her one of my mother’s quilts for him.”
“He seems to be doing well on the goat’s milk.”
“It does appear to agree with him. Jeremiah is an orphan. The Rebs killed his da and his mother died soon after he was born.”
“So you took him . . .”
“I am not that good. There was an older boy I was thinking of taking, another orphan. I knew babies were a great deal of work and there would be hundreds of other problems to be faced with, but she made me promise to care for him. She was dying.” Abbie shook her head and sighed as she took Jeremiah back into her arms. “The poor boy is stuck with me.”
“Babes don’t require all that much to feel secure. Food, warmth, hugs, and getting their cloths changed regularly. Older children can be much more work,” she added softly as a young boy walked over to her and glared at the baby.
Abbie studied the boy and immediately missed Noah. He had a mass of black curls on his head and lovely brown eyes. “He looks just like a boy I know,” she said. “Well, not just like as the boy I know has red hair but those eyes look very familiar.”
“Where is he?” asked the boy.
“I had to leave him behind for now as I knew it would be a risky journey. I hope it won’t be for too long though.”
“How old is he?”
“Five.” She smiled faintly, wondering if Noah was five yet and knowing he’d be pleased to hear himself called it.
“Oh, so he is still little. I am Ned.”
“Hello, Ned.”
“My nephew, my late sister’s child,” said Emily and she ruffled the boy’s hair. “Look, Ned. I was just meeting Jeremiah.”
“Is that the baby? Is he going to scream a lot, too?”
One look at Emily’s face told Abbie she best swallow the laugh that tickled her throat. Ned obviously had a problem with babies and she recalled some mention of Emily having borne two. So a little jealousy, she guessed.
“Ned, babies cry. They cannot speak like you or I can so it is the only way they have of getting our attention. Now be nice. You know what manners are. Use them.”
“Jeremiah is a very, very young baby, too. He cannot even sit up or hold things.” She smiled softly. “I fear he is so young, he does it in the middle of the night, too.”
“Oh. Just like your two do. Or did. Nuala is pretty big now and quiet. Maybe I should move in with the O’Neals,” he grumbled, and stomped off.
Emily stared after her nephew, and by the time she turned back Abbie was laughing. “How can you laugh?” Emily said even though her lips twitched as if she wanted to join in. “That was horribly rude.”
“I know. Such a boy thing to say. For a moment I feared he was going to say Nuala was at least human now.” Emily started to laugh and Abbie grinned. “Think he will actually attempt to move in with the O’Neals?”
“Who knows? They only live in a small cottage out the back so it is not like he is running away very far. I fear he may be a bit jealous.”
“A bit?” Abbie shook her head. “Just be glad he is not one to brood on it.”
“I suppose. I fear I know little about boys.”
“I had a brother. Rather hoping I still do. One of those lawless groups of men attacked our home and took him off to fight with them. They beat my da near to death and attacked my mother.”
“And you?” Emily asked in a voice softened by horror.
“I was hiding. I know nothing that happened was my fault, but it is hard to break free of that thought when you know you were hiding away while all the bad happened.”
“You just would have been killed or attacked like your mother and left behind broken.”
“And that is just what she was: broken. She died when Matthew, James, and Boyd helped me fight off another attack. She would not duck, kept trying to protect my senseless and dying father. Eventually a shot took them both down. Then a fire took my home. I left what little word I could for my brother in case he ever returns.”
“It has been a very sad, bloody few years up in these hills.”