EstherThe baby seemed to have been awoken by the fury pumping through her veins. Esther strode about the small cottage, pacing between bed and easy chair, and the child bounced with her. She felt it roll and kick, deliberate, pronounced movements now. The spike of an elbow, the jab of a tiny, perfectly formed foot.
Esther was dressed. She had risen sometime after the sun, knowing immediately she was on her own in the room. There were the usual sounds outside. Women chatted outside in the courtyard, and she listened intently for her sister’s voice. But Isobel was not there.
The master at Gallerton Hall had not been Esther’s only lover—an apprentice at the smithy had left black traces on her body—but she had never given in against her will. Hearing Brendan with Isobel the night before ince
