Anne had never been so tired in her life.

She had never known such deep, aching weariness existed. Not during her night-long raids of nearby farms. Not while cleaning up after the Stuart men. Not during the times when Liam had taken ill. Not even during her own rare illnesses. She had never once been near the point of falling asleep while standing upright.

Until now.

They were sleeping, and thank heaven for that. In the three days since they’d first become feverish, it had seemed more often than not that one of them was almost always awake. They seemed to take turns sleeping, rather than sleeping at the same time.

Which meant she’d almost always had to be on alert, mopping sweat-slick brows and catching phlegm in rags held to their mouths and preparing poultice to apply to their chests. It seemed to be helping, at long last. Their fevers had broken. They slept peacefully, silently on clean linens, wearing clean shifts.

They no longer needed her as they had.

She could leave now.

Her heart caught in her throat as she gazed down upon their sleeping forms. They were so dear, even while ill. Moira had apologized nearly every time she’d called out for water or broth or anything she’d found herself needing. Poor, wee Owen had coughed until tears rolled down his cheeks, yet had managed to make her laugh more than once. Even in the midst of the grippe, he was able to keep his good humor.

She would miss them, there was no doubt. But they were not Liam. He needed her more.

Did he not?

She took a step away from them, then another. Her straw tick sat on the floor at the foot of the bed, and she longed to crawl into it and bury her head beneath a fur, but there was no time for that. If she slept through the night and woke in the morning in this house, she might never find the strength to leave. Not when the pair of them had worked their way into her heart, like a seed on the verge of growing into something much larger.

Something with roots. Something impossible to pull up and out.

She pressed her lips together as tight as she could to hold back the faint whimpers which threatened to escape. What would they think when they woke to find her gone? Poor dears. They loved her. It was not fair. Nothing was fair.

Perhaps it was best for them to find out now just how deeply unfair life could be. They would forget her in time, and likely not much time at all. They were young. She would not even be a memory within a year or two.

So she told herself. So she needed to believe.

She tied the cloak about her neck, tears now blurring her vision. Why was it so difficult? Why could she not simply leave and never look back? Liam needed her! Liam loved her, and he would certainly not forget her as the bairns would!

“I am sorry,” she whispered to the sleeping children. “Forgive me, dears. Forgive me. I had no choice. I had to find my brother and take care of him. He needs me, too. Your uncle loves ye and will care for ye as he did before. Never fear.”

She turned away then, before sobs could overtake her and hold her fast. Her feet seemed stuck to the floor as it was. No sense in making the inevitable more difficult.

Her hand was on the metal knob when a faint whimper sounded from the bed.

She froze, her eyes sliding shut. If only Moira did not wake—she knew the sound of her whimpering by now, having heard both it and that of her brother many times over three long days. If only this was an unhappy dream that she would not wake from.

If the lass opened her eyes and knew Anne was about to leave, there would be no going through with it. She knew this. She could not disappoint the child so.

“Mam… Mam!” Moira’s wracking sobs caused Anne to whirl around, stunned. “Mam!”

“Moira, dear!” She sat at the edge of the bed, where she’d spent so much of her time during the illness, taking the child by the shoulders and shaking as gently as she could. “Moira! ‘Tis only a dream!”

Moira’s eyes fluttered open, then darted back and forth as she accustomed herself to her surroundings. Anne understood this feeling well, naturally, as a truly dreadful dream was never an easy thing to wake from. Often there was a period of breathless moments when a body froze in shock, still caught between the dream and reality.

When she recognized Anne, she burst into tears and buried her face in Anne’s shoulder. Owen woke, of course, and was quick to fly to his sister’s side. “What is it, Moira?” he asked in a sleepy voice.

“Mam…” It was the only clear word the bairn sobbed. “Mam…”

“Mam?” Owen’s chin quivered.

Och, nay, Anne lamented. Two crying bairns.

“It was nothing but a dream,” Anne whispered, rocking Moira while stroking Owen’s hair. “Nothing more.”

“I dinna wish it to be a dream,” Owen whimpered just before two fat tears rolled down his cheeks. “I wish for Mam to be here. And Da. I want them back.”

Soon, there were three weeping, orphaned children in that room. Anne may no longer have been a child, but she felt the loss of her parents as acutely as she had when the loss occurred. She had spent many a night weeping in her bed, longing for them, wondering what she’d done to cause their loss.

She understood, years later, that their death had not been her doing. As a lass of only thirteen, with a brother not much younger than Owen and Moira, she’d been far too overwhelmed and overwrought to do anything but cry herself to sleep.

“Come,” she murmured, easing both of them back until their heads touched their pillows. “Rest, now. Ye must sleep if ye wish to feel well.”

“Why will they never come back to us?” Owen asked, his voice thick and a cough threatening to make itself known. He was still in no condition to upset himself so—neither of them were.

Anne kissed his forehead. “Because that is the way of it, my dear. My da and mam went away as well, to God. Is that what ye learned of it? That they went to be with God?”

Moira nodded. Her sobs had quieted to soft whimpering and the occasional hitching breath. “Aye. People told us so.”

“They were correct.” Anne settled in beside her, on the edge of the bed, the two of them small enough that she could extend her arm about them both at once. “Your mother and father will wait for ye. They watch over ye, as well, and it pleases them that ye are such a good lass and laddie, and that ye give your Uncle Drew little trouble and make him very happy.”

“We do?” Moira asked. This seemed more important to her then than any talk of her parents.

“Aye, dear. Of course. Ye make him happier than he was before ye came, I am certain. He loves ye very much. But I am afraid your mam and da will not come back. I was so sad when I learned my parents could never come back. I know how it feels.”

“Do ye still miss them?” Owen whispered, his eyelids heavy.

“Och, I do,” she whispered in reply, stroking his smooth cheek. “Every day.”

“I dreamed she was with us,” Moira smiled, her voice turning soft and drowsy. “It was lovely. But she had to go, and I wanted her to stay, and I asked her to stay and cried and pulled on her hand…”

“Shh…” Anne kissed her forehead, crooning softly. “Rest now. It was only a dream, and she loves ye and is watching over ye. I promise.”

She rested her head on her folded arm, still holding the pair of them with the other. She watched as they fell asleep again, their furrowed brows smoothing, the uneasy lines of their pursed mouths easing.

Owen stirred one last time, struggling his way out of the sleep which pulled him under the surface just long enough to whisper one last thing. “I love ye, Anne.”

She smiled, even as her eyes filled with tears of regret, shame, guilt. “And I love ye, Owen.”

And she did. She loved them both so dearly, the wee things. She knew what it meant to be in the world with no mother, no father. Nothing but memories and dreams which would never come to be because once a person was dead and gone there was no bringing them back.

No matter how many tears were shed over them.

For children so young, they had already lost so much. And they loved her. They trusted her. They fell asleep in her arms, both of them, knowing she would not bring them harm. They could rest easy with her beside them, warding off further nightmares. Loving them.

And if they woke again, they trusted she would be there to dry their tears.

While she had been mere moments from leaving them forever. What was she thinking? What was any of it about?

They needed her, and, God help her, she needed them. They would haunt her forever if she left now, knowing as she did how fresh the pain of losing one’s parents and security and everything they had ever known. Coming to a new home, with strangers and new rules and the struggle to learn how to please.

There had been no pleasing Malcolm. There had never been any pleasing him. These two were fortunate that they’d come to a happy home, with friends who cared for them and an uncle who had been beside himself during their illness. The man had been nearly inconsolable at times, try as he had to pretend otherwise.

She could not bring to mind the image of Malcolm ever caring so much.

Even with so much love and affection around her, however, there would be no making up for a long time the loss of yet another person they’d come to love.

She had waited far longer than she ought to. It was too late now. For all of them

A single tear leaked out from beneath her lowered lashes when she closed her eyes.

Sleep was not far behind.