Free Born to Trouble by Rita Bradshaw Page B

he raised his hand in acknowledgement, he didn’t pause. He made his way to the far corner of the field where his mother and one of his sisters were already busy plucking the pheasants. Theirs was not a large family compared to some within the tribe. It consisted of his parents, two older sisters – Leandra and Ellen, who were both married with children of their own – Madora, his twin, who at sixteen was due to be married within the year, and his two younger brothers, Algar and Silvester, who were fourteen and thirteen respectively. Freda was the baby of the family, and she was eleven years old. Many of their relations had families of double numbers, and his mother had been one of twenty-two children, twenty of whom had survived to adulthood.
    His mother stopped what she was doing at his approach, seeing from his expression that all was not well. Corinda Lock was a fine-looking woman, her thick shiny hair still as black as the day she had married twenty-three years ago, and her figure as firm and lithe as a woman half her age. Born a Buckley, and the eldest daughter of the Buckley clan, Corinda could trace her ancestry for many generations, and her heritage showed in her noble bearing.
    ‘What’s the matter?’ Corinda asked as Byron reached her. ‘Algar and Silvester said the dog was after something.’
    ‘Not exactly.’ Corinda was tall for a woman at five foot seven, but even at sixteen Byron was several inches taller than his mother. Swiftly he explained what he had found, adding, ‘She’s in a bad way by the look of her, Dai.’
    Corinda stared at her son. Wiping her hands on a piece of sacking she gestured to Madora to continue with what she was doing. ‘I’ll get your dad – and keep this to yourself for the moment.’ Her husband had been tending a foal since they had camped; it had been born a few days before and was on the small side.
    Mackensie Lock listened intently to what his son had to tell him. He didn’t hesitate. ‘Fever or not, we can’t leave a child out there in that condition.’
    Byron made no answer but looked towards his mother. Quietly and in level tones, Corinda said, ‘Until we know what’s what, she had better be isolated in the caravan with just myself seeing to her. She can have Madora and Freda’s bed, and I’ll sleep in your grandmother’s. The three of them can have our bed and you’ – she looked at her husband – ‘can sleep with the lads.’
    Corinda and Mackensie slept at one end of their long tent, a strong waterproof construction made with wooden hoops fastened into the ground and covered with canvas. At the opposite end, Byron and his brothers occupied a curtained-off area, and the two girls and Halimena, Mackensie’s old mother, slept in the caravan. Although the boys would strip to the waist in the open for a wash and think nothing of swimming naked in a river or lake, Byron had never so much as seen his sisters in their undergarments, and the most perfunctory toilet was done with the caravan door closed.
    By the time Byron carried the small figure into the camp, Rex bounding and jumping beside him, Corinda had been joined by the wizened figure of Halimena. At seventy-six, Mackensie’s mother was still as nimble as a young girl. As her son had often remarked wryly to his wife, Halimena was quite capable of seeing them all out. Not that Mackensie didn’t love his mother, he did. They all did, and Halimena was greatly respected within the community owing to the fact it was generally acknowledged she had the Second Sight. However, she could be difficult to live with. As the eldest son, it had been Mackensie’s responsibility to take his mother under his protection when his father had died, but it had been a while before Corinda and his mother had co-existed comfortably.
    Flatly refusing to stay outside, Halimena followed her long-suffering daughter-in-law into the caravan once her grandson had laid the child on his sisters’ bed and left. Looking down at