Sisters Three (Completed)

Six Months On...(FINAL)

Morna pressed her way through the crowd, squeezing between men drinking in laughing groups and women gossiping as they tried to sell warm cakes with drizzled icing to those who came to watch the spectacle. The sidewalk and side streets were so tightly packed that Morna felt almost as if she had to flatten herself into a splinter just to regain the spot where she'd left Afton by the main road. She used her elbows to cut through walls of arms and backs when no one would step aside for her. But, thankfully, eventually she spotted the familiar light hair and worn blue coat standing by a light post. With a sigh of relief, she came up from behind him, offering him the wrapped bread he'd sent her to buy while they waited.

"You split it," he said, shifting the baby in front of him.

Morna did as asked, dividing the rather coarse brown bread into three hunks. She placed one in Afton's free hand, kept one for herself, and handed the last to Adair's swaying form.

Morna knew what those near enough to see the small group must think. That the young couple had their elderly mother or aunt with them, but if anyone were to look close enough they would see there were no lines on the haggard face, no twisted bones in the hands or stoop to the back. In fact, the white haired woman was barely past the prime marrying years, and had an air of grace to her, despite her vacant eyes.

"Adair, bread," Morna said, tapping the crust that Adair held in slack fingers.

Knowing she couldn't force it, Morna let Adair stare into the thin air without saying anything more. Turning away, she took the baby from Afton and kissed his fat cheeks. Her lips pressed against the fine blonde hair that had started to grow into curls around the edges.

It had taken her so long to collect this little family. Adair hadn't even said a single word yet, but Morna held out hope that perhaps one day she might come to realize the love that Morna and the baby were willing to offer.

In the six months since his birth, the baby had filled out to be a picture of Glenfarrow handsomeness. He bore Afton's chin and eyebrows and downy hair. For the longest time, Morna thought she be afraid of the squalling bundle, knowing just how much it hurt to lose someone that ingratiated into her heart, yet she knew she couldn't fear such perfection. She'd named him after her father, knowing he couldn't go by the name of the heir if she wished to keep him from the pain of the gaping hollow that surrounded the throne.

Afton reached over a twirled a finger through one of the baby's curls, smiling through his bite of bread and catching Morna's eye. A four-strong family, more than Morna had had in a long time.

Standing on the side of the main road, it was not a happy day for them, though the crowds were jovial and boisterous. What was about to happen was not a thing they relished, though they knew they had to witness it. Morna pressed her cheek against the baby's head, closing her eyes as the sun beat down and they waited and waited.

Finally, a trumpet sounded from far away. The crowd became louder, shouting and shoving, all hoping to see the procession that emptied from the Latterstill palace. As the row of black horses and armed guards came closer, Afton grabbed Morna's elbow gently, though she was well aware of their presence. Adair even seemed to come out of her fog enough to move her eyes in their direction, her nervous fidgeting stilling to just a tremble in the fingers still curved around the bread. Morna watched with baited breath as General Cooke rode by them, oblivious to the presence of not only Afton Glenfarrow's widow, but Afton himself, and the son that should have been heir. In fact, no one knew they were there, or at least had no idea of who they were. They had long ago been declared dead, and so Morna could hold the rightful heir to the country and know that she did not have to carry the burden that made General Cooke's almost bald head now even barer.